"I masturbate a lot."
"I want to watch."
*
The day turned out to be nothing like I would have expected. I was never supposed to have met her, let alone talk to her. But we talked. Candidly. Some would say that such openness in a conversation will only occur between people who know each other inside and out. The intimate relationship that spins from a life-long partnership. But it does not work like that, not at all. On the contrary, it was the anonymity that made us bold. Made me bold. Had me throw myself into an intimate discussion; totally frank, completely honest. I do not think that I had ever before used the word 'masturbate' in a conversation with a woman. In any conversation. But to tell her about my daily routines did not bother me at all. And her question -- her request -- did not appear strange or unnatural but quite appropriate. Right there, right then, I never once reflected upon the alternative: to say no.
"Come to my studio!"
A night's sleep and time to think during a long walk through town did have a somewhat sobering effect on me though. I cannot honestly say that I did not invent a hundred reasons to not show up at her studio that morning; asked myself a hundred times what the hell I was doing. After all, accepting an invitation to masturbate in front of a complete stranger, most people would agree, is not the normal thing to do. Friends, family, loved ones -- what would they think if they would ever find out? Would I live to experience the shame or would I end up on the wrong side of an ice-pick before the day was over? I had to suppress a certain anxiety over her possible coming out a man-hating, serial killer.
I had a hundred reasons to just turn around and skip the whole thing. Only one reason not to: I wanted to follow this through. I was desperate to see where it would take me. Notwithstanding my desperation, I could, however, not really see the reason for my eagerness.
Attraction? Sure. Are there such things as soul mates? This was as close as I had ever come to meeting one. The night before, I had felt that I knew her inside and out and that she knew me. We seemed to be able to anticipate each others' thoughts yet constantly surprise each other. The stimulation I had felt was immense.
And I did like the way she looked although life had not blessed her with either feminine curves or a typically pretty face. But she was athletic and it added nicely to her slightly aggressive nature and boyish charm. I could not decide if I thought that she had picked her name, Robin, to fit her appearance or if she over the years had adopted features that would fit the androgynous name. Childishly, I tried to calculate the odds of scoring with her. I mused myself with the notion that 'half way in' could never be a more appropriate expression if one party was already naked, aroused and working a rigid erection.
Curiosity? I was still curious about her. Despite our open-heart conversation the night before I sensed that there were areas that I she hid from me. I had learnt the name of her first boyfriend as well as girlfriend, her preferred positions and places for sex, and I knew that she had made an abortion at the age of sixteen. But there was more -- must be more -- to her than had met my eye.
And yes. I was curious as to my own fascination of the idea -- to masturbate in front of her. The thought had never, ever, occurred to me. Yet, now it was magnetic. I had to follow this through.
"Good morning. You are late. I didn't think you'd come."
"I can leave if you want me too."
"Why did you come then?"
"I want to."
"Do you really know what it is that you want?"
"I do know that I want to masturbate in front of you. I don't know what I want after that or where it will bring the two of us, but I do want to do this."
"If I tell you that it won't bring us anywhere -- that we'll probably never see each other again -- will you change your mind?"
Suddenly I felt cold. My limbs felt like if they were drained of blood. Despite the chill, I felt sweat break through on my back and under my arms. Could it be that this was a prank? Would the guys break out from inside the studio and mock me now?
If it was instinct or lust I do not know but the uneasiness lasted for only a second.
"No, I won't change my mind."
She immediately became relaxed, the way I remembered from the day before. The realization that she had perhaps been even more nervous about this than me comforted me a bit and at a hearty "C'mon in" I briskly walked in through the open door. I was starting to feel the return of the almost magic connection that I had felt with her the previous evening.
Although I never had visited a professional photo studio before, Robin's place looked pretty much like I would have expected: sort of hair stylist meets computer freak meets rock star. Mirrors, stylist's chairs, fashion magazines, computer equipment and lights -- lights of all colors and shapes. It was a mess, but a classy mess that seemed to be designed to perfection. A quick check-up on the internet had informed me that Robin and her colleague Richard ran a posh agency that made company executives look good in their annual reports and magazines. It had surprised me a little -- it was not quite the kind of customers that I would have expected -- and it had impressed me a lot. Nevertheless, I had found no evidence of nude photography, let alone erotic pictures. I still was not sure if that was a surprise or not.
