Photographing me

I did a tiny piece of modelling when I was 19 years old. It was for a friend, who was doing a photography degree. She had befriended a local studio, and we went a couple of times to do some work there. I think the first time was something to do with colours, and I was draped in purples and reds of all variation, different fabrics, combinations of clothes. Another time, I was posing for a commissioined piece of work. And I really felt rather uncomfortable with this modelling lark.
They were decent photos, I suppose, but I can vividly remember the horror I felt that people I knew would be looking at them, and thinking that I had posed for the photo because I thought I was special, because I thought I had a face that could attract attention, because I thought I was worth a look. Ironically, at that time, my self-worth was non-existent. I was in an emotionally, and sometimes physically, abusive relationship. I couldn't understand why my friend had chosen me to pose when I was a frumpy, plain little girl who was constantly told that I was nothing special, and that the only value I had was in being another half of a partnership.

Scary.

Anyway, that was my introduction to the world of modelling. The owner of the photgraph shop was the usual stereotypical 'dirty old man' photographer, who spent most of the time when I was there, trying to persuade me to pose for him in a style of his choosing, i.e. topless. I declined. Besides, my boobs were almost as non-existent as my esteem, and my boyfriend had categorically refused to 'allow' me to do so. My body belonged to him, not other people. That is what he said. And I accepted this.

I have moved on since this sorry situation. Blimey, if they could all see some of the photographs that I have posed for recently! I wonder what they would make of it. Obviously, my boyfriend of the time wouldn't recognise the form of my body as it has changed dramatically since the cumbersome days of the 1980s. But let us say there has been a transformation, and that now I will readily and eagerly pose for sexual, sensual, orgasm inspiring photographs. I want to reiterate something here. This does not mean I have suddenly become a woman full of self-worth and confidence. I still have very negative feelings about myself and my body. I still find it incredible, unbelievable that anyone would take sensual enjoyment in photographs of my face, my body, my breasts, my pussy. I am amazed at the desire and pleasure that these features of me can provide. And this is obviously linked to past experiences.

So why this transformation? Why can I pose readily and eagerly now in a way I would never have imagined when I was younger, and quite frankly, had a far more photogenic body?

Well, it is back to that single moment issue. The now, the immediate, the second of life in the taking of the photograph. That is part of it. It is also down to encouragement and trust, of longing and of sharing. It is about someone respecting me, someone appreciating me. It is about someone looking at me, and me recognising that they actually want me! They actually want to take photographs of me, so that they too can have that memory of the moment. They can then return to the photos and imagine their hands wandering over my body. They can remember the occasions when they removed my lacy knickers and felt their way over my voluptuous thighs towards the manna I was oozing out of my vagina. They can think about how I delighted in being so turned on by the camera snapping that I needed them to undress and make love to me. They can visualise the scene beyond the photograph when I cried with ecstacy at reaching a warm and thoroughly fulfilling orgasm.

And once photographs have been shared, there is a special intimacy that goes way beyond the sexuality of the moment. The intensity of trust, of knowing that these photographs are not going to be shared, that at any point in time, they can be revisited and reviewed is wonderful. I do so love the idea that, on occasions, frequently or not, my photos are viewed, are appreciated, are used for arousing effects and are loved by their owner. And that is reciprocated by me. My photos of cocks in various states are inspiring. They are mine and I love them. They provide me with the oportunity to review, to revisit, to delight, to cum.

So once photographs have been taken, bodily images have been shared, what happens next? Well, it isn't really a progressional thing. But there is the thing about taking photographs of yourself.

I started by taking clothed photos of me. Shots of me in my lacy knickers, showing my arse to camera, then the front of my body - all enclosed within some sexy lingerie. Then I progressed to topless images - of full frontal (pussy still contained in the knickers), then close ups of my boobs, all done, in the main, to remind the viewer of what I offered, what I wanted him to have. The development continued in line with the progression in the nature of our sexual relationship. I photographed myself with fingers in my panties, tantalisingly pointing towards my pussy, revealing the upper layers of my pubic hair - just a little suggestion that there was more down there, waiting to be exposed, wanting to be exposed. And then I undressed. I removed my panties, and I took shots of my pussy. I liked that. I liked the fact that when I hit the send button on the phone, that he would have that instant wave of recognition and familiarity and it would remind him yet again, that I wanted him to look at my pussy, I wanted him to imagine what it might feel like to be inside me, feeling me folding in against his fingers and hopefully his cock.

And then it progressed further. I took photographs of me with my fingers pushed deep inside my cunt, raw red at the excitement of it all, gently submitting little trickles of sexual juices onto my fingers so that they could be captured by the lens. I opened my body, pulling back my labia, to reveal the depths of my hole, to show how much room there was inside of me for his erect, hard, horny and huge cock. And as he viewed these photographs, I imagined how it was growing, how it was juicing up, how he was sliding his foreskin down to reveal a purple head of perfect excitement, how we was sitting there jerking off, and I was the one who was getting him there, I was the one who was stimulating him to orgasm, despite the fact that I was some miles away.
I am writing about this now, and I can feel a familiar warmth growing inside my pussy, I can feel the protraction of my g spot, awaiting the touch that it is going to get as soon as I have finished blogging.

I do the photos for many reasons. I do it because it stimulates the recipient but I also do it to satisfy me. I am immensely turned on when I am taking photos of myself. I am turned on because I am finally beginning to understand that I can be sexually arousing, that there is a beauty and uniqueness in my personal sexuality. I am excited at the thought that I have something to offer, that my pussy is interesting, is visually stimulating. I need to take more photographs to truly believe that I have a pussy worth photographing. I am not there yet. I look at my photos and I am almost in disbelief that this is part of me, this sexuality is actually me, the folds and foibles of my layers of inner skin are actually mine. So in some ways it is a voyage of discovery, of knowing my own body and of glorifying in the fact that it is mine, and I can choose who gets to see it, touch it, feel it.
But as I am doing it, taking these photos, it never fails to excite me, to arouse me to such a state that I need to wank as soon as I have finished posing.

So to yesterday. I took some photographs of my tits. They are such clear images that you could see every raised speckle on my nipples. You could see the veined ridges, prominent with the heat of the moment. And I looked and thought 'yes, they have the potential to arouse'. And as I write this, I think 'do they'? I'm not there yet. I think they do. I am told they do. But maybe I still need to take more photos, and have more photos taken, for me to genuinely and categorically believe that this body of mine is of worth in its own right, and because of that it can stimulate, and despite its flaws, of which there are many, it can still be seen sexually in its imperfection. I digress.
Yesterday, I took these photos, and then I looked at them. And I was pleased that the photos of my own tits were giving me the same stimulation and same arousal as viewing other people's tits. That felt good. I was beginning to see that my boobs could be as exciting as that of a porno model, who is used to flashing her tits around. I am absolutely and definitely not saying that my tits have the aesthetical beauty of a well trained and highly tuned body, but I suppose they are good enough, for me and mine.

And as I view them, I remember how they are seen by others as fairly decent tits. And that is horny - memories, thoughts etc. You see, none of this works without the mind, without the thoughts and feelings kicking into gear. You can look at a work of art, see its sexual beauty but not want to dive to the nearest loo to wank, because it may be only using certain aspects of intelligence and thought in viewing. The joy of the individual, the self-prepared photographs is that they are done with the range of thoughts, feelings, awareness and the knowledge that they will stimualte.

I will finish now with the cunt. I took photos of me in my grey, lacy knickers. They were riding into my pussy all day, and I took a photo of them pushing into my vag, so that you could see how they had been resting on my body all day. I liked the idea of them being peeled away from my pussy, and I imagined that if there had been someone undressing me, then they would have removed the panties, and held them to their nose, sniffing deeply and taking in the fact that they had been wrapped around my pussy all day, absorbing the juices from my cunt. I removed the panties, and took some more shots. I took close ups of my cunt, I folded my labs back and stuck them down, with the natural glue that was emerging, so that they created the image of an opening to, I hope, a pretty heavenly place. And then I shoved three fingers inside me, held them there as I took the camera in my other hand, and took the reverse image that the mirror in front of me was providing.
Totally stimulated by this point, I pushed hard and not too long on my gspot and allowed it to do its work, pulsating vibrant and passionate waves over my entire body until I came on the towel placed beneath me.

Greedy me.
Not quite finished.
I needed more. There is some pent up sexuality in there at the moment. I took my phallic bunny from its wrappings, inserted the batteries and switched as many buttons onto high as possible, placed the ears of rabbit in my clitoris and moved the shaft up and down inside me. The stickiness of my lubrication, was very distinct, and it wasn't long before I came again, holding it for some time, exuding sexual sensations everywhere.
And as I finished, I thought, I must have some photographs of me doing that. I must get someone to take a photograph or even a video of me, capturing the stimulation, the arousal, the journey to a very exciting cum. And as soon as the photos are taken, I would like the shooting to be adjourned for a short while, so that I can grab an erect cock and push it inside me, leaving my fingers there so I can feel it within me.