Habit to Heels Chapter 04

Chapter 4 Photo Shoot/ Ruth's Story

The snow flurries force Tara to click on the Sky Chicken's wipers on the way to Taylor's photography studio. Sister Tara wearing a sweat shirt, sweat pants, thin black socks (that are not warm), her tennis shoes, hair tied back with no head covering feels rushed. She has only about 1 hour to pick up the Coats drive back to St. Rose, in the snow, and change into her habit before Evening prayers.

Taylor opens the door to a spacious loft with whitewashed walls, with an array of photography equipment scattered throughout the room.

As Tara steps inside a mix of dust, bright lighting, and open-air space with a wife of hair spray contrasting to the winter dusk outside. "Your mom told me to swing over and pick up a big box for St. Roses's coat drive."

"Oh yes Sister Tara, come on in!" "I've got a shoot going on right now, I think you'll find it interesting." Taylor gesturing for Tara to enter. He grabs his camera and continues to photograph his model. Taylor façade as all business, when he is following his plan toward the nun. He is photographing a model, and staying professional, all the time thinking about Tara's natural beauty.

Tara quickly notices a model standing in front of a large hazy red backdrop. Striking--tall with long brunette hair and a confident stance. She was made up,  very faint blue eye shadow. A sleek, black sequin v-neck low cleavage dress, accentuates her curves and form. Posing as the photographer clicked away.

Tara standing frozen lost in the scene, captivated. The studio is warm, and tara being to become hot dressed in sweats.

Taylor noticing Tara's expression and gaping open moth breaks the silence. "Oh yes this is Dollya." Turning attention back behind the camera. "OK Dollya lets see the pouty look."

Tara notices how Dollya's dark red lipstick accentuate her pouty soft lips. Then she simulates a kiss toward the camera. "Laughing."

"Hi do like this dress?" Dollya standing holding out her hands and spinning, she has no way to know that her new audience member is a nun.

Tara nodding, entranced. "It's... beautiful, a um a stunning yes stunning. I love your makeup." Correcting and repeating herself at the same time. Noticing her body, curves, and style, Dollya demands all the attention. Tara's amazement as she is speaking, Dollya slowly disrobes, slipping out of the dress. With a blink of an eye instantly nude, not even shoes.

Tara watches Dollya's body, proportioned round breasts, perky rosy red nipples. Watching how her perfectly smooth skin is accentuated by the hot studio lights. A well trimmed pubic bush matching her log brunette flowing hair. Never covering up, but always in control of exactly what the photographer can capture. With long slender but powerful legs and cute feet she stands tippy toed practically all the time. Tara watches her movements and her body, from her perfect hair down to the arch of her foot.

"Tara, is it? I love being nude in front of the camera. I find it joyful and empowering at the same time." Giggling and spinning for the camera. "I did a fashion shoot in Chicago last week. The other models told me I was good enough to "Keep my clothes on.' I told them I am more natural nude, I love the freedom."Her tight cute ass cheeks exhibit a small left-side dimple that lifts and she spins.

Dollya strikes a pose, waits for the camera click and then change poses. The model and the photographer become in-sync.

Taylor seeing Tara's rapt attention interrupts. "Photography is more than just taking pictures. It's about seeing beyond the surface. About capturing the essence of a person--their story, their emotions. " Laughing toward Dollya. " OK miss freedom, now that you are free from clothing, let's shoot on the bed."

With a hair flip and an eye roll Dollya struts over to a bed set up under more lighting. As Taylor ascends a ladder to shoot overhead the model rolls around the bed playful to her audience and the camera as well. She rolls around the sheets and pillows, exposing her body back and full frontal. Nude yet always mindful, not to spread her legs too far. Not to expose to much.

Dollya, an exhibitionist, nude bold, and confident, without clothes becomes more sexy as she plays to the camera. Tara witnesses the model's empowerment and beauty. Simulating sex positions and playfully showing herself to the photographer.

Right there in the studio light, Sister Tara (Who grew up in the Convent of St. Rose) has never shared or witnessed such an intimate moment before. Dollya exhibits no sense of shame or exploitation--only a raw, unguarded beauty.

Taylor encourages every emotion and position from his model. "Dolly's, you are really 'ON'  today, and you got better with Tara in the studio watching."

Dollya laughing as she enjoys the attention and the raw nudity, throws a pillow toward Tara. "See that's what it's all about."

The real-time rush finally takes over so Taylor quickly finishes the photo session. He loads the big box of coats into the Sky Chicken. The air outside has a mixed scent of moisture and winter. The snow flurries left a thin layer of white covering the ground and the car. Taylor after time with a nude model,. "I'm glad you came by today. I hope you saw the beauty of this kind of art." He notices the new-fallen snow on the nun's cheeks, lips, and eyelashes. In the shadow of early evening Tara is even more beautiful.

Tara is unable to say much. "I think I understand." She was in her sweats with the hot studio lights. Standing outside she quickly chills, almost shivering as she leaves. The nun is still uneasy about being a voyeur to it all. Her mind racing between being rushed and the photo session. She drives to St. Rose in a daze quickly changes into her habit, and in the nick of time makes it to evening prayers.

A few days later, Tara,  checking on the elderly residents, spots Ruth. Sitting in her favorite chair rocking by the window. Ruth is knitting a light blue scarf. A large paper bag filled with balls of yarn is perched beside. Sister Tara sits down inhaling the scent of the wool as it mixes with the old carpet and dusty drapes.

"Well,  how's the convent treating you these days? Still on time for prayers?" Ruth looks up.

Tara chuckling. "I try, but you know how it is. Sometimes life gets in the way."

"Oh, I know all too well," Ruth holding out a friendly hand. "Life has a funny way of pulling you in directions you never expect."

Ruth usually spoke about her youthful days with a certain gleam in her eye. Setting her knitting down and rocking back in her chair, her mood quickly shifts. "You know, Tara," Speaking almost in a whisper. "there's something I've never told you about those days. Something I've kept to myself for a long time."

Tara cautiously. "What do you mean?"

As if conjuring up a lost memory from another time. Ruth looks toward the late winter afternoon light slivering through the Venetian blinds. "Working as a dancer entertainer in Vaudeville, we weren't like the girls today. We wore next to (Whispering) 'nothing'. And the men who came to watch--they weren't just there for the show. They were there for... everything else."

Tara, not quite sure where this was going. "Ruth, I--"

Ruth lifting her frail hand. "Let me finish. "I was young, Tara, 16 or 17. One night after a performance, the crowd was rowdy--lots of men who'd had too much to drink. I was backstage by myself. Out west most of the shows were inside makeshift shelters. Backstage was usually only some tents and tarps. There was a tall fat man backstage," Ruth continuing with a matter-of-fact tone. "Older--probably in his late 30s."

Her face squinting with eyes upward. "He smelled of old...old cigars and chewing tobacco. He'd been watching me the whole night, and after the show, he saw me. He said I had talent, and that I could go places if I just played my cards right. Holding me by my shoulders with rough soiled hands, and then... well, then he shoved his mouth and tongue into my face." Wrinkling her nose. "He tasted the same as she smelled, old cigars and tobacco."

Ruth pauses, looking right into Tara's eyes, attempting to gauge the nun's reaction.

Tara sat silent, her heart racing, and wriggling in her chair. Not sure if she was ready for what was coming next.

Continuing a distant gaze. "He forced a kiss and pushed me into the back where the tall grass and green clover grew. The night air was damp, I remember hearing the Katydids in the fields. He got over me." Ruth gesturing with her palms flat together and horizontally. It happened so fast. Forcing me down. I could not get out from under him. I moved my hips to try and get away."

Ruth making a claw with her hand. "I tried to push him away, he was solid, heavy, and I scratched his shoulders and back. He laughed when this happened, coughing and choking and laughing. He spit a bit of chewing tobacco out with each gasp of laughter, disgusting."

Now gesturing with a fist toward her side. "He drove right into me. While breaking my virginity, he split me open. Forced into me. The pain and the pressure." Trembling a bit, her words now less sure, voice wavering. She repeats herself, cycling her words like a piston "Pain and pressure, pain and pressure, pain, and press..." fading as she sighs the last word.

Ruth after a while knew that her point was understood. "As quickly as it started he stood, pulled up his pants, and walked back to the shelter. I was left alone, blood all over the clover on the ground. Crying by myself. Like that song Crimson and Clover." Speaking with the melody. Ruth teary.

The story, such a violent act, so long ago. While processing everything, Tara is speechless. Feeling like the room had grown smaller, she had never imagined that someone like Ruth--someone so full of life, so sharp and sure of herself--had lived through something so vulnerable, so raw.

Ruth, after a caesura. "It taught me that the world isn't always kind. And you can't wait for it to be. You have to take what you can and fight for the rest." Ruth wiping her eyes. "I never told anyone that, Sister. Not even my closest friends. But I trust you. And maybe, just maybe, you'll understand."

Tara trying to  respond simply nodded, her eyes sweet and understanding. The story shakes her core,  all the sister can do is lean into Ruth and hold her tight with both arms. She can feel how old and frail her friend is.

Ruth smiling as if the weight of her confession had lifted a little. Still in Tara's embrace. "Anyway, don't you go running off to vaudeville." She pats the nun on the back lightly.

Getting up to leave Tara couldn't shake the image of Ruth backstage. She was so young and naive, caught in a world that stole her youth. Tara felt the weight of her own choices--her faith, her role in the convent. What was she running toward? And what would it cost her when she got there?