It didn't help my psyche much either that, right after the incident with Alexis was over, there was no real way to find her again to talk. I still had a store to run. I had to get ready for the biggest day in the toy and sex store universe: Valentine's Day.
By now, anyone of us, who have ever once been in any kind of relationship, knows that this fucking day is no different than the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four days that came before it. If we lived on a damn deserted isle, with no calendar of any kind to reference, holy hell, ninety nine percent of the human population wouldn't by able to tell when this shite holiday was year to year. Unless... there was a partner that needed senseless affirmation that he or she was loved by said other partner on the hook to spend money they didn't have on cheap shite they most likely didn't know what it was for in the first asinine place to begin with.
Or, wipe out a flower field in the name of something heartfelt, but in reality it was an attempt to curry just enough favor to get some ass while the victim of your horniness was dying a slow death in a cheap vase. It all ironically started the minute one dumb bastard placed the order of roses for what an over-inflated florist charged just to show how much the hormonal, lovesick dumbass cares.
Never mind the fact he or she pays the bills, helps to raise their kids, and doesn't say a word until their prostate or ovaries is/are about ready to explode because he/she's too fucking busy paying for more plastic surgery that his or her spouse is using to seduce the new guy at their Zumba class with.
On the other hand, it's an a-fucking-fantastic time for booking women's boudoir shoots to spice things up for themselves, the little hot milf's I mean. And not all boudoir photographers are the same either. I'll give you two examples. Before you plop down a security deposit, ask to see their previous work. If those don't impress you, walk away. What you're looking at is his or her "best" snaps. And chances are they won't be any better with yours.
The other is what they charge and what services are included for the money. I, a year or so ago, had someone ask me to look at a session they just received from their photographer at the time. I was stunned at what I saw. They were dark, uninspiring, bland, and didn't convey that sense of sexual tension that should be in a bedroom style shoot. The woman that booked and shot the session I'm sure did her best.
However, when you get told their normal rate is eight hundred dollars but for you this one time, they'll do it for two... maybe you should go somewhere else. They're desperate, not very good, or you're going to be a part of their growing pains. Regardless of how the house of cards falls, you're out of some cash for some photos even your special someone would be less then impressed with. So, go with someone that has experience, a portfolio, and if he or she is good expect good results for good money.
Now you might have started to wonder why I basically just put an ad in my own memoir for good and great photographers everywhere. Pretty simple actually, right about the time I was ready to beat customers over the head with a life like John Holmes cock to AC/DC's Thunderstruck for being more obnoxious than necessary, the woman that wanted my opinion on her boudoir shoot called me out of the blue. She had seen me post somewhere online that I was working out again finally and wanted to know if I needed a workout partner.
Angel, a very petite, early thirties, mother of three, was a gorgeous woman that just so happened to also be a ballerina turned instructor at the Indy Ballet. Her fierce blue-green eyes, multicolored shoulder length hair, and dancer's body that was still there even after the kids, was somebody I had admired from the very first time I met her. Also being a dog lover of Sheps of any kind, added many points to the cool chick score. No nonsense, but still had a crooked sense of humor, allowed us to get along pretty well.
When she had felt good enough to show me her photos to get my take on them, I was touched. Might be why I went a tad harsh on the critique of the photographer for fucking up her entire shoot, but I digress. We had brainstormed on how I would have done her shoot, and I had left her an open invitation to try a second shoot. I wanted a crack at showing her how the concept was supposed to be a steamy, sultry vibe for a boudoir session.
Her going back to the gym, I found out later, was an effort to get ready for that little walk on the wild side and to let out some pent up steam. When we got together to work out, I found out that she and her husband had recently started a separation, and the reasons behind it were pretty understandable even without buying a program to keep up with a few of the more juicy, jaw dropping events. In the things I heard within that hour and a half of praying to the metal gods, even I had a different take on her life.
Ever have your opinion of someone change when you hear a few intimate stories you don't see blasted out on social media? Yeah, mine didn't change on her all that much. I just realized that even the most awesome put together people; deal with bullshit in their personal lives. The general public wouldn't have a clue how deep the shit is they might be dealing with on any given day. But Angel was a trooper and if anyone would ever make her cry again, not even her dogs would be able to help find the bodies. I mean, you know, theoretically speaking. So, we kind of finalized a workout schedule to finish getting her ready for the shoot, and I got excited to work with another wonderful person.
* * *
About two months later, I got the call from Angel. She was in her peak conditioning and wanted to go for the session that would light a fire in the groins of any man that swung that way. I was more then ready for the news. With a slight grin of anticipation I rented an Air B-n-B kind of deal for a spectacular set location just outside of Indianapolis, in Castleton. It was a horse farm that was simply beautiful from the impeccably kept colonial style house to picturesque grazing fields with a barn. I knew the owners from doing photos of their talented daughter and feisty jumper, Gunner. The family was gone for a few weeks to buy a new stud and compete in a few competitions. Everything was set and ready to go for the following Saturday. Even though I've grown wise enough now not to question some things, anyone else ever get a little strange when plans progress on a smooth course?
Yeah, the god of destiny likes to make fools of us all. The night before Angel's shoot, I get a text from a number not in my phone out of the blue. It happens quite a bit but I knew this one was going to mess with my head.
Unknown number: "Hey! I'll take one of those shirts!"
