Determined sunbeams stretched across rumpled bed sheets, inching their way up the pillow in a desperate attempt to kiss the sleepy face resting there. Sheer, white curtains danced on a gentle morning breeze that carried with it the melodic sound of birds chirping in the distance. Asia couldn't pinpoint what permeated her unconsciousness first, the birdsongs or the sun, but she judged both preferable to the angry blaring of her alarm clock before dawn.
Lazy Sundays were her favorite and she didn't even bother opening her eyes as she reached for her lover. Sliding her hand across the sheets, she found them warmed by the sun but unoccupied and finally opened her eyes to find herself alone. Puzzled, she rolled to her back and craned her neck to locate the clock on her nightstand. The movement brought with it the awareness of an overall soreness followed by the warm blush growing in her cheeks as she remembered last night.
"Natalie," she whispered reverently, closing her eyes and touching her fingers to her lips. Never before had she felt so loved, so complete, as she did with Natalie, and though they had been together nine months, Asia still viewed their union as some sort of impossible dream.
Loneliness set in quickly, and she rolled to the other side of the bed, burying her face in Natalie's pillow and breathing deeply. The scent of jasmine filled her nose as potently as if she were smelling the silky black hair itself, instead of the pillow it rested on each night. Warmed by the sun penetrating her skin and happy with the smell beneath her, Asia pushed away from it all, needing more.
She shuffled to the bathroom to brush her teeth and put her contacts in before reaching for the short, silky kimono-style robe hanging on the bathroom door. She wondered if she'd find Natalie hovering over the morning paper or in the office writing at her computer. Asia smiled, pulling on her robe as she descended the stairs. She found it endearing the way her lover could be so predictable sometimes and so unpredictable others.
Stopping in the kitchen for a cup of coffee, she smiled at the brightly colored frogs on the coffee mug Natalie had given her. The house was unusually quiet, and she wondered what her lover was up to. Natalie required music at all times, but the only sound at the moment came from the large grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the living room.
"Huh," Asia whispered, upon finding the office quiet and dark.
She padded to the garage and found both cars there, as well as the shiny black motorcycle Natalie rode.
"Nat?" She called down the hall, wondering if she'd find her in one of the guest bedrooms but there was no answer.
Every empty room added to the nagging fear that something was wrong. The only place left to look was the basement. Asia sighed, half praying she'd find Natalie there and half praying she wouldn't. Building the dark room in the basement had been both a blessing and a curse, in Asia's mind. She knew it was wrong to feel slighted when her lover threw herself into work, but Nat had promised this weekend would be work-free.
The moment she opened the hall door leading down to the basement her fears were confirmed by the muted red beacon over the downstairs door.
"Damn red light," Asia muttered, closing the door upstairs to avoid contaminating Natalie's work area with any unwanted light.
Finally, she thought, as the soulful strains of Natalie's new favorite artist reached her ears. Asia let herself in and waited until her eyes had adjusted enough to move through the room with certainty. She called softly several times so as not to startle her lover but received no answer. Her fear grew as she reached the entrance to the final section of the dark room.
"Where the hell are...," Asia began in irritation but stopped mid-sentence, shocked at what she saw. Hanging from every available space on the drying line were photographs of her. At least half of them had been taken without her knowledge, and her first instinct was defensive. The other half, however, had been taken last night, and Asia's grip on her mug loosened enough to allow coffee to spill onto the floor and splatter at her toes.
So in awe of the photographs surrounding her, she never even looked down. Moving closer to the drying line on her left, she set her mug down without thought and scanned each picture carefully. She hated having her picture taken, but couldn't deny that her lover had captured the
real
Asia, time and time again. Her drying dishes at the sink, her knitting in the easy chair, her singing to the radio, her writhing with pleasure in their bed.
"Oh, Nat," Asia whispered, seeing herself in the throes of passion for the first time ever. One after the next, Asia scanned the photographs in awe of the completeness and utter correctness of the images Natalie had captured. Her head tilted slightly back, eyes barely open but visibly unfocused, lips slightly swollen and parted just so; every little nuance of the joy that danced within her last night was evident in the photo.
Dashed were her certainties that she resembled a tortured troll during sex, and there in the quiet darkness Asia let them go without a fight. No blush crept into her cheeks, no embarrassment tightened her chest, no impulse to look away ever invaded her consciousness. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. More than that, with the photos staring back at her, she couldn't find a single way to argue that beauty.
The shock of seeing her passion so boldly displayed began to fade as she navigated her way through the shadows of the darkroom. In place of shock grew a sense of wonder. She wondered at the absence of vulnerability she felt while seeing herself more exposed than ever before. The photographs were so artistic that seeing anything less than the truest expression of love and passion was impossible.
Not a single photo smacked of porn or gratuitous body shots. Every line, every shadow, and every expression was a direct display of the storm that raged inside her the moment the camera's shutter snapped. Frame by frame, Asia relived last night almost as if it were happening to her again. Nearing the end of the line, she recognized a distinct tingle in her nipples. Surprised, she also noticed her breaths coming quicker and more shallow than usual.
Tempted to reach up and massage the tightening of her breasts, Asia resisted and moved on to the next to last photo. Memories of her pending climax flooded her brain as well as her senses. The guilty thought crossed her mind that she was growing excited by her very own portrait but it passed the instant she turned her gaze to the final photograph. There, in no uncertain terms, was the culmination of all her passion, all her lust, and all her love for her partner.
"That's my favorite," she heard from somewhere behind her.
