Diary of a Glamour Girl

Lips_Fingertip_WebA few weeks ago I did something insane.  

One hundred percent, certifiably, “What the hell was I thinking?” insane.

I found a photographer and I had glamour shots taken.

Stop shaking your head at me!  Yes!  I know I’m too old for this shit.  Yes!  I know it’s risky.

Like I said.  I went insane.

Maybe I did it because I can see myself aging a little more every day and I wanted to freeze my body in time.  Crows feet here, smile lines there, sag in the biceps, hair that hasn’t been its natural color in a decade.

Or maybe I did it because I have had more sex with my hubby these past two months than ever before in our married life together.  I’m turned on just about every minute of every day and all I can think about some days is being in bed with my boy.  So maybe I did it because I’m turning into an oversexed slut and I wanted hubby to have porno shots of me in his wallet.

Or maybe I’m just mentally unstable and they ought to cart me away before I do something really, really stupid.

Doesn’t matter.  Taking nudie pictures is simply not the kind of thing that a middle-aged wife and mother of three does with her spare time.

Okay.  So we’ve established that I’m insane.

A few weeks ago I decided to make my hubby a little Christmas present.  A super top-secret present.  A present nobody else in the world could possibly give him.  I wanted it to be sexy, and steamy, and a little bit naughty, something he’d never forget for the rest of his life.

I decided to put together an album of sexy shots for my boy.  It’s the Christmas gift that will keep on giving for years to come.  It’s something that only the two of us will ever be able to share when we’re about to have sex and there’s something really hot about that.

If you are thinking about doing something like this, though, hear this warning…  You don’t just drop by a studio on a whim and get naked photos taken of yourself.  It takes planning and preparation.  It requires you to think through every possible angle and every possible security precaution because you definitely DO NOT want “glamour” photos to get into the wrong hands.

The name “glamour photos” itself is kind of a misnomer.  It’s more often code for “pornography” than “photos of people wearing elegant clothes.”

So if you know the risks – and I thought I did – you will plan carefully before you dive in and let someone take naked pictures of you.

You start by finding the right photographer, someone you trust, someone you feel comfortable enough with to get naked in front of her.  Yes, I said naked.  Naked as a newborn.  Naked like a late-40s, ultra-horny, stiff-nippled newborn.

Then you have to figure out just how far the photographer is willing to go.  Naked boobs?  Just a nude back shot or full frontal?  Outright masturbation or spreading?  And even if they would let you spread your legs, will you even want to spread your legs?  And when that moment comes, will you have the guts to go for it all?  And with the photographer be sensitive to any nerves you might experience?

Then you have to figure out what kind of sets you want to shoot.  Outdoor sporty?  Formal-wear glamorous?  Come hither in skimpy lingerie on a bed?  Office slut fantasy?  (My favorite!)

You figure out what you need to do to prepare.  All your physical flaws are going to be out there for the camera to capture.  Your C-section scar.  Your saggy belly from the C-section.  Your little patches of cellulite on the back of your thighs.  Your coffee-stained smile, your thinning lips, the crows feet around your eyes, smile lines around your mouth, and your aging, spotty hands.

So you arrange for a pre-shoot touch-up.

You get a nice, high-quality waxing.  Since you don’t know just how daring you’ll be, you wax everything, including your pretty little pooper.

You get your teeth whitened.  Make ’em shine!

You might even take a little risk and get a nice, light spray tan.  Don’t go Boehner!  You don’t want to be orange for such a special occasion.  It’s either the spray tan or body makeup, and let me assure you the damned stuff wears off over time.

You get a high-quality mani-pedi, something with some nice french style tips.

OH YES!  Hair!  You must do the hair!  You’ll want something flexible, that you can wear up or down, or start wearing up and let down without too much fuss.

You go shopping for just the right outfits, something that will blow his mind and remind him why he married you in the first place.  Or you pull one of his favorites out of the closet just to show him you’ve been paying attention.  Sexy shoes.  Sexy garters and stockings.  Maybe something a little retro?  How about flying in some ARS Vivendi French or Cuban heel stockings for a vintage look?

You hit the liquor store.  You get your favorite wine on, because you’re going to be nervous as hell the second you drop your cups in front of the photographer.  And let’s not forget the sheer terror of dropping your knickers and letting a total stranger snap close-ups of your cunny.  You are going to go that far, aren’t you?  This is a one-time affair with the camera, right?  You don’t want to be drunk, but a little something to take off the edge would be a good idea.

And you don’t want baggies under the eyes, so the night before the shoot you make sure you knock yourself out with something good and stiff.

(Scotch does it to me every time.)

And then the big day comes!  You need to play it cool, because as far as hubby and the kid know, Mom is off to work again, just like always.  But Mom isn’t going to work.  Mom has a secret mission to carry out.  You dress in one outfit, but know full well you’ll be carrying armfuls to the car the second hubby is out of sight.

The whole way there your hands are shaking because you know something completely unhinged is about to happen.  You know you are about to do something you never once imagined possible.  You cringe at the idea that your photographer is going to see your stiff nipples and you pray you don’t come off looking like a horny slut.

Of course that’s impossible, because you wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t a horny slut.

Thank GOD the photographer is a girlfriend you trust!  You brought your own hard drive for a direct to disk photo dump.  You’re getting ALL the originals and you have a blood oath with your girlfriend to never tell another soul about what you’re doing.  Of course, every time she’s with you and your hubby you know she’ll be smirking and winking and nodding.  The day he finally gets the present, he’ll understand why.  He knows what she does for a living.  Two + Two = Naughty, Commiserating Girlfriend.  Then the three of you will be in on the secret and that will make it feel that much more dangerous and that much more titillating every single day of your life.

With your hands still shaking, you arrive at your photographer’s studio.  In this case, it’s her house.  She helps you carry in your wardrobe.  Her house is the perfect venue for such shenanigans, a 4000 square foot, warm and well-appointed oasis set way off the beaten path and far away from prying eyes.  The shades won’t be open, but you never know…

You already had a scrub-down shower at home, every nook and cranny, but you disappear into the bathroom for just one more check, glass of wine in hand.  Mirror here, mirror there, mirror, mirror everywhere.  DAMN!  I must have missed those hairs!  Tweeze, tweeze, tweeze.  YES!  Every crevice is finally cleansed.

Time to dress.  You’ve already decided.  Go with the glamorous fantasy first.  It will help you to feel more sexy than slutty, peeling away the layers of a gown one zip at a time.  So out of your “work” clothes you go and into evening wear that would swivel heads.  It’s a  new gown, something you bought just for the occasion.  And you brought along some vintage-sexy foundations.  A bustier, garter with long, white stockings, and full-coverage panties to go over top.  On go the gown and 5″ heels and suddenly you look like a smokin’ cougar heading out for an elegant date, not a slut preparing to disrobe before your not-spouse.

Makeup time.  Gotta get it perfect.  These shots are going to be HD, baby, not some grainy old Polaroids.  HD is unforgiving, to say the least.  So you spend a little extra time getting the neck blend juuuust right.  At some point you’ll be throwing your head back in pretend abandon and you wouldn’t want a frost-line to show up under your jaw line.

And perfume!  Don’t forget to put on a little of your favorite perfume to set the right mood!  Dahlia Noir always gets me wet.

You wear your hair up.  Your neck looks stunning!  Stunning in a slightly saggy, middle-aged way, that is.

You reach the point of no return.  You look yourself over in the mirror, adjusting, poofing, teasing out the last few strands of hair.

Your hands are shaking.  Time for that second hit of wine!

As you emerge from the bathroom and head down the long hallway toward the first “set” – (her den, filled with lots of wood and leather) – you psyche yourself up.

“This is okay.  It’s all okay.  She won’t say anything.  He’ll love it.  You’re going to be fine.  It will all be fine!”

As you enter the “studio,” you see flash umbrellas gathered around her desk and her leather office chair.

“I thought we’d go for a little ‘just got home from dinner’ feel,” she says.

Deep inside you are freaking out.  “What was I thinking?  I can’t do this!”  You look terrified.  This isn’t deer in the headlights terror.  This is sitting on the receiving end of a kill shot terror.

She sees the fear in your eyes and gives you an out.  “Hey…  N.C…  It’s okay.  You want to bag this?  We don’t need to do this, you know?”

You psyche up again.  “No…  It’s okay.  I’m just…  I’m just starting to realize…  I’m really doing this.”

She doesn’t know your little secret.  She doesn’t know you’re planning on doing something so wild it would make Hugh Hefner blush.

She reassures you.  “Hey, if you start feeling uncomfortable, we’ll just stop, okay?  Just say stop and we’ll stop.”

She doesn’t know that you plan to go way beyond what you told her you were going to do.  You told your girlfriend all you wanted to do was show some skin, maybe bare some back, maaaybe take off your bra and panties and show some cheeky back poses.  Oh…  If she only knew.

“Yeah…  Yeah, I’ll just stop you if I feel uncomfortable.”

So you step forward, onto the “set.”

“Now listen, N.C…  Usually I work with an assistant, but…  I wanted to keep this just between us.  It means things will go slower, though.  You okay with that?” she asks, puttering back and forth as she sets up some test shots, checking levels with a light meter, remote firing her camera.

“Oh yeah…  Take all the time you want.  I like it better this way…”

She gives you your first direction.  “Okay, now just turn toward the camera, relax your hands in front of your belly…  That’s right…  Tilt your head up slightly…  Good girl…  Smile for me…  More teeth…  Very nice…  This is a test shot, so hoooold…  Good!  Just stand there for a second while I pull it up on my laptop, okay sweetie?”

She steps away, you get the nervous giggles.  Time for another hit on the wine.

She beckons you to the laptop screen.  “HEY!  Take a look at this, N.C.!  You look fabulous!  This lighting is perfect for your skin tone!”

You step over, you lean in, and you gasp.  She’s right!  You DO look fabulous!  With all the work you put into preparing, you look 10 years younger.  Your smile is blinding.  Your lips look thicker.  That push-up makes you look chesty and your posture is elegant.  Your skin tone is a nice shade of “spray painted on Monday, cured by Tuesday.”  Oh yes…  The shoes and gown are rockin’, too.

You only get one word out…  “Wow…!”

“Hey, you wanna keep working on this?  You feel better now?”

Your confidence surges.  Or maybe it’s the wine kicking in.  Either way, you’re ready to shoot for Playboy!  “Yeah!  Yeah…  Let’s go with this.  Just…  Give me lots of direction, okay?”

“No problem, baby!  You’re going to look great!”

And the shoot begins.  For the first half hour you get your bearings.  She’s giving you a little direction here and there.  “No…  Turn your body away a little and look over your shoulder…  That’s right, darlin’.  Yeah…  Hold!  GOOD!  Now…  Turn back to your side, a little less over the shoulder…  GOOD!  Now… Look out the window…  Right… Down with your chin a little…  Hand back a little…  NO!  Not on your rump, dear.  That’s better…  GOOD!  You’re doing great, N.C.!”

She stops.  “Stay right there, baby.  I just need to check how things are going…”  She steps aside to the laptop.  The photos are popping and you look elegantly sexy, ready for that night on the town.  Or a stay-in night getting un-elegant and quite dirty.

You ask the next, obvious question.  “Hey…  Can I…  Should I maybe start…  You know…  Unzipping now?”

She turns, glances over her shoulder, and smiles.  “You sure?  We could do this kind of stuff all day if you wanted to.  You don’t need to unzip unless you want to.  It’s your session.”

You step out of the lights and take another hit of wine.  “Yeah.  I’m sure.  I want to get sexy.  That’s what I came her to do.  I’m going to do it.  You still okay with this?”

Now she’s back behind the camera and she’s smirking.  “You realize, darling, that you are paying me.  I’ll do pretty much whatever you want.  But just be ready.  The lighting is going to change if you start showing me more skin.  I’ll need to have you hold some poses with your skin exposed and…  Just let me know if that gets uncomfortable.”

“Yeah…  Trust me.  I’ll run away screaming if it gets too uncomfortable!”

You both laugh nervously.  She’s never photographed nudes before.  You’ve never let anyone see your flesh before beside your Ex and your hubby.  Oh yeah, and your primary care physician, and your OB, and the entire OR staff who cut you open to deliver the first kid…

“Okay, then…  Let’s go back to that pose you did where you were looking over your shoulder.  Let’s unzip all the way so I can get your back and check lighting.  Then we’ll have you re-zip and we’ll take a sequence with you dropping the zipper a little at a time.”

You comply like a good little porn star in the making.

“GOOD!  That’s great!  Okay…  Here we go…  Start unzipping…  Slowly…  That’s good…”  POP!  POP!  POP!  POP!  “…Right…  Now look away…  Yeah…  HEY, look into that mirror!  YES!  Excellent…  Okay…  Keep going…  Why don’t you…  I don’t know…  Do something sexy with that other hand…”

You close your eyes.  You weren’t supposed to do this, but the time feels right.  You’re loosened by the wine.  She’s not stopping you.

With one hand, you pull the zipper all the way down, exposing your back.  The gown is falling off your shoulders.  With your other hand, you rub your privates through the gown.

Suddenly, everything in the studio goes quiet.  No, POP, POP, POP!  She’s staring at you.  You’re praying she’ll keep shooting, that she won’t ask any questions, that she won’t run away, that she won’t end the shoot because you’ll never get your nerve up like this ever again.



“What are you doing?”

Woman_Touching_Web“You told me to…  To do something sexy with my hand.  I’m just…  I’m just pretending…”

I’m not pretending.  Besides being what I really wanted to do in the shoot, it’s also what I do when I’m really nervous.  I sneak away and masturbate.  Lots of people do it.  So sue me.

“Do you…  Do you really want me to keep shooting?”

You’re praying really, really hard now.  “Please, please, please, please…”

“Yeah…  Would you?  I mean…  This is just for me and hubby.  It’s not like I’m going to be a porn star or anything.  I’m just feeling really, really sexy and…  and…  this just feels right.”

My avant garde girlfriend only knows me as a nice, clean, church-going woman.  The whole rubbing the pussy thing is just a teensy bit out of character.  “You’re sure?  You’re sure about this?”

I catch her eyes over my shoulder.  “Please.  Please keep shooting.  I want to make this really sexy.  Really, really sexy.”

“Okay…” she mutters and steps back behind the camera.  “I’m not sure how much direction I can give you…  This isn’t my canvas, sweetie.”

“Mine either.  Just…  Let’s just go with it, okay?  Let’s see what happens.  I want this to be something really, really intimate for hubby.”

“Okay…  Then let’s keep going.  You just do…  Well…  Whatever the hell it is you were just doing.  I’ll just keep shooting.”

And on you go.  You close your eyes and pick up where you left off.  You feel the gown falling off your arms, but you want it to fall slowly.  You’re rubbing your pussy now, no longer worried about what your photographer might think, and it’s starting to feel very, very warm down there.

She’s been shooting for a few more minutes and realizes you need some direction.  It’s uncomfortable for her, but she’s a pro.  She figures it out.

“Okay…  Why don’t you…  Why don’t you let the gown drop to your waist…  Yeah…  Face me a little more…  That’s right…  Bring your arm across your chest…  Good!  Okay…  WOW!  That’s a beautiful set you picked!  LOVE that!  Totally vintage!  Good…  Let the gown drop…  Yes…  All the way…  Yes…  Okay…  Why don’t you…”

She stalls.  She wants to tell you to touch yourself.  She wants to tell you to put your hands over your privates.  She knows what comes next.  She’s an artist.  It’s not that hard to know what should come next.  She just can’t bring herself to say it.

“Relax, Sheila.  I think I have this…”

You reach down with both hands and start rubbing your thighs, bending your body toward the camera.  As you come up, you trace your fingertips across your puss.

She relaxes.  “Yeah!  WOW!  That looks so sexy!  Turn a little…  Give me side…”  She’s moving in and around now, quickly re-positioning the flash umbrellas between mini-sets.  “Okay…  Hold still for a sec!  GOOD!  Now…  Give me back again…”

It’s time to go to the next level.  You’ve taken dozens of shots.  She’s warmed up.  You’re really warmed up.  You’re standing there in nothing but your foundations and shoes and you look sexy as a starlet.  You don’t ask permission.  You don’t warn her.  You’re in the groove.  You feel it.  You know it’s time.  A soundtrack is playing in your mind.  It’s time to play with the camera.

You start unhooking the back of the bustier.  The Pop, Pop, Pop continues without pause but the direction has slowed.  You’re in your own world.  You’re reading your space.  You’re feeling the pace of her shooting.  You know where she’s going before she even needs to ask.

The bustier falls to the floor and you are now standing with your back to the camera.  You’re looking over your shoulder, holding one arm across your chest, rubbing your panty-clad ass with the other hand.

Go, go, go!  Keep moving!  Don’t freeze!

You turn.  Your arm is still across your bare chest, but that’s not good enough.  It’s time to go to the next level.

You drop your arms, pressing your palms to your thighs.  You’re standing there before your girlfriend, your photographer, a woman you’ve known for nearly two decades, and you are half-naked.  Your nipples are at attention, aroused, excited both by the risque journey you are on and the fact that your girlfriend is a drop dead stunner.


Her jaw drops.  She gulps.

“Sheila!  Keep going!  Keep shooting!”

She obeys.  Pop!  Pop!  Pop!  You’re staring right into the camera lens, pretending it’s your husband.  You’re seducing him.  You rub your breasts, pinch your nipples, and continue working a sultry seduction that hubby won’t experience for weeks.  Pop!  Pop!  Pop!

Your girlfriend/photographer is excited now, realizing you’re both catching lightening in a bottle.  “WAIT!  N.C.!  Hold on a second!  I need to check the lighting!”  You hold a freeze, kneeling on the leather office chair with your butt to the camera.  Your tits are dangling and you’re looking back over your shoulder at your lover, the camera.

“GO, baby!  Keep going!”

You reach up between your legs and spread your fingers across your ass.  You’re caressing your left tit with your right hand, massaging your ass with your left, and the flash keeps recycling.

It’s time to take another step on the journey.  You keep your back to the photographer.  You stand up and strip-tease your panties.  You wisely wore them over the garter.  You know she’s still with you, but if she saw your privates too soon…  You don’t want to freak her out.  Yet.

The soundtrack is pulsing in your head, pounding, you hear your daughter’s Britney Spears dance tracks cranking in your ears.  One inch…  Two inches…  You’re bent away from the camera…  Pop, Pop, Pop!   Your panties are down now, stuck between your thighs and you just want to drop them and go wild!  But not yet!  This is an “elegant” shoot.  You need to seduce the camera, not jump its bones.  You wriggle your panties down, giving the photographer a shiver you hear come out through a quivering breath.

You stand up, your back still to the camera.  Garter belt.  Stockings.  Shoes.  That’s it.  You shimmy a little, putting a little wiggle into your strip tease, and your photographer laughs.  She starts giving direction again.

“N.C., you are in-SANE!”  Now she’s the one falling into the fantasy.  “Hey…  Turn a little…  Yeah…  Oh WOW!  Your breasts are amazing!”

“Thank you,” you acknowledge.  “It’s a special cream.  You want the name?” you ask casually as you keep turning, twisting, bending, and writhing.

“Yeah!” she confirms, pop, pop, popping the whole time.  “I have no idea where to take you next.  What do you want to do?”

You go all-in.  If she’s not on board yet, then you’re in serious trouble.  You turn, full-frontal to the camera, completely bald on the bean, no tuft, no puff.  Her eyes widen and she gapes.

“Oh…  My… God…”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“N.C….  Oh my God…”  The gape comes off quickly and the pop, pop, popping resumes.  “WOW!  Hey!  Go sit on the desk…  Yeah…  STOP!  Lean back!  Yeah!  Hold that pose…”

Your photographer is completely lost to the fact that you are now spreading for her.  Your ass is on the desk, your one foot is on the floor, and your other foot is on the nearby leather chair.  Your slit is in full view and you catch the view in the nearby mirror.  You never realized just how long your lips are.  Your clam is stuck shut, with some dew on your labia minora, and it looks like it’s desperate to be fucked.

The photographer repositions her flash umbrellas in a hurry and rushes to continue shooting.  “Hold still another second…”  She takes a couple of sample shots for lighting.  “GREAT!  Okay…  Keep going!  I don’t know what you want to do, but you look AMAZING!  Keep going!”

You play with yourself a little.  You have a little fun, seeing how much masturbation you can get away with before you totally freak out your girlfriend.  Not happening.  The “artist” in her is too into it.  Your clit is swollen and you decide to give it a little air.

“OH MY GOD!” she shouts.  She’s moving in for close-ups, she’s never seen a pussy like yours before, clean as a newborn, spread for a camera, the most beautiful shade of pink she’s ever seen.  “Yeah!  Spread your lips!  Yeah…  Just a little bit!  WOW!  WOW!  HEY!  Go for the chair!  Go sit in the chair and lay back.  Wait for me!”

You sort of wait as she repositions a flash umbrella yet again.  Now you’re having too much fun.  You keep rubbing your pussy, getting it wet.  Hubby’s going to wonder just what went on during the photo shoot!  You’re moaning now and she’s hot and you’re hot and things are moving FAST!

You keep shooting for another half hour, playing with your pussy the whole time you’re lounging in that chair.  Then you turn and kneel on the chair.  She gets shots of your perfectly waxed asshole.  She gets shots of you spreading your pussy from behind, from the front, a finger in your hole, pinching your nipples, spreading your legs wide.  You’re completely out of control and neither one of you cares anymore.

It’s time for a break.  You started this journey at 9am and now it’s almost half-past 12.  But you’re horny as hell and you better come soon or you’re going to go after your beautiful girlfriend.  That little libido-bender is a risk you just do not want to take.  So you wave her off and you give yourself some “me” time.

“Hey…  Sheila…  I think we have enough of these shots.  Give me a minute here, baby…”

She stops dead and stares.  You start fingering yourself right there, in front of your girlfriend, and you watch her eyes as her mind explodes.  Gray matter spatters all over the den.

And then you come.  And you get it out of your system.  She shivers, but tries to hide her arousal.  And you both laugh.

She smirks.  “You feel better, N.C.?”

You sigh.  “Ohhh yes.  I’m hungry.  How about lunch?”

Vibrator_WebSo you grab your robe, you break, you eat, and you laugh hard together.  There’s much more shooting to do.  You still want to shoot the bedroom set and your lingerie.  Plus, you have a “special” surprise in mind, but now that you’ve broken in your girlfriend and shattered her perception of your prudish nature, it’s all good.  You brought a very special toy to play with and that is how you plan to cap off your afternoon.  She better put down the shower curtain before you start to play.

Yes, you are a glamour girl now.

For the first, last, and only time in your life, you got naked for the camera.

And nobody but hubby – and maybe a certain, privileged adult blogger you know – will ever see the evidence!

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