I once asked a very wise man how I would know when I was in love with a girl.
"When she tells you." came the answer. So it was with Samee.
Samee and I met at a party one night. She was dressed in a little red number with mile-long legs, and tipsy enough to be cute without being trampy. We gravitated together, and spent the evening with my arm around her and her arm around me, under my jacket. "You were so warm," she said.
Our first date was lunch, actually. She was seeing a much older man, and I was, well...at loose ends. It wasn't long before she "found" a Saturday night available, and we went to the movies. It was a terribly artsy flick, which is to say it was terrible. I didn't care, I was with her, or more properly, she was with me.
After the show, I offered to show her my studio. She had never dated a photographer before, and told me she had done some modeling. "I was in this big fur coat in the middle of July, with nothing on underneath because it was so hot!" Ah, advanced advertising deadlines: you always shoot the Christmas stuff in July, and the summer stuff in December. It's actually easier to shoot the Christmas stuff, because you can get it all year. Fourth of July props are nonexistent in the middle of the winter. Still, the thought of her naked underneath a fur coat...
My studio was in a new office complex in the swankiest part of town. Late at night it was totally silent and deserted, which was when I liked to photograph girls naked. You could play the stereo as loud as you wanted and no one complained. Besides, girls get more turned on near midnight than at noon anyway, and it shows on film.
Samee flung her arms wide and twirled in the middle of the camera room, the sheer open volume was as big as a theater stage. I went to the refrigerator and pulled a bottle of wine, then switched on the sound to give her something to dance to.
"Do you really take pictures of naked women?" she gushed, as she "fell" into my arms.
"As often as I can." I said, and kissed her quickly, a peck on the lips.
She got an intense look on her face and deliberately kissed back, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling herself against me as hard as she could.
"Would you photograph me naked?" she whispered.
"Any time you wish." (Like I'm going to say `no.')
She backed away, and lowered her horns at me, her eyes intense in mine. "I have silver-dollar size nipples." she said. "Pink."
"Okay, show me!" I challenged.
She didn't answer, but put down her glass and shucked off her coat (it was a cold October night). She began to unbutton her blouse, and unsnapped her front-snap bra. She then jerked them open like Superman does when he's looking for a phone booth.