There’s no question that digital cameras have revolutionized amateur erotic photography. With no developing service in the loop, and no film costs, it’s a lot more fun to snap pictures in the bedroom. Of course, there’s still the trust issue to manage between photographer and model, as shown in this anecdote from Bonnie:
When he decided I had received my fair share of swats, he directed me to stand in the corner. This is not one of our regular rituals. I suppose we’ve done it before as a kind of submissiveness test, but it’s been ages. At this point, I was feeling well spanked and in the mood for almost anything. I would much rather have moved straight to the bed, but for the time being, I was willing to play along.
So there I stood with my nose in the corner and my pants at my ankles. I could tell that Randy was enjoying the view, but this arrangement wasn’t doing much for me. He left the room for a moment with the instruction, “Stay right there.” When he returned, I thought I heard him chuckle. As soon as I turned to see, he commanded me to get my nose back in the corner. I decided the whole business was silly and pointless. Instead of making love, we’re doing what?
For a split second, my little corner was brightly illuminated. That mumble-frumble took my picture while I was standing there like that! I totally didn’t know what to say.
Years ago, he took a lot of pictures of me. In those days, we used conventional film that had to be developed in a darkroom. We weren’t about to give those kind of pictures to a commercial service, so we did it ourselves. The funny part was that I knew how to develop photographs and he didn’t. As a result, there were a number of unflattering pictures that simply didn’t turn out. Oh well.
With the digital camera, the game has changed completely. It’s his and he shoots what he likes. I don’t like to have my picture taken, and least of all at a moment like that. He knows this, and until yesterday, had displayed admirable restraint.
I wanted to give Randy a piece of my mind for violating what I thought was an implicit understanding. But I just couldn’t. He was giddy about his digital study in pink. He told me that he was delighted by how well the picture turned out and wanted to show me. Reluctantly, I gazed at the tiny monitor on the back of his camera. Even at two inches square and blurry, I hated it.
“That never goes anywhere!” I insisted.
“Don’t worry. It’s in safe hands.” Cautiously, I believed him. “Until you leave me,” he continued, “Then I’ll post it on Flickr.”