After the munch, I made friends with H and Q, --how could I not, with imaginations like those! Exchanging messages on FetLife, he told me that Amy and I should get to know his lovely wife as well, and that we would all get along swimmingly. He said that if there was anything I’d like to try at a party, he’d be glad to demo it for me. I must’ve seemed like I was hitting on him in a romantic way, because he told me a couple of times that his dance card is full, and whenever he said that, I’d cry, not out of jealousy, just from missing the connection I’d had with Bill so much.
Q and his wife run a photography business, and after this several-part series, you’ll see why I would highly recommend it to anyone. Feel free to email me for information on how to get in touch with them.
Tears notwithstanding, I do like a photo shoot for big life milestones. In high school, I came out of the closet by staging a photo shoot in which I made out with my crush and encouraged my girl friends to make out with each other. I developed the negatives in Photography class at school, and they got confiscated. All of our parents got called in and the whole school found out. Even though I got hollered at and smacked around by bullies, I spent the rest of that school year feeling like a badass.
So, okay, I had ulterior motives when I asked Q to do my author photo for my book that’s coming out this summer. I knew that I wanted some pictures to happen that wouldn’t be appropriate for the back of a book. Learning to goof around in a friendly way is one of my goals, and I thought it would be a good way to heal from Bill and start my kinky life with flourish. Ulterior motives seem silly now. I could have just said what I wanted to do. I guess I can work on that.
He agreed to do the photos in exchange for me “posing with fire” for his portfolio. I wasn’t sure what that would be like, but it sounded like exactly what I wanted to accomplish.
I took the day off of work and so did sweetie. I was nervous and not sure what would happen, but I packed up a few outfits, including my favorite pink pajamas, in my gingham suitcase, put on my favorite undies for luck. The photography couple lives out in the suburbs, so the plan was for Sweetie to drive me there and then go to a nearby diner to do some design work.
When we got out the car on a street that looks like the ones my in-laws live on, the air smelled like springtime. Their house was perfectly new and pretty, with a little stone angel statuette sitting on a bench on the porch. E, the wife, opened the door, unsurprisingly as adorable as can be. She reminds me of Hope Davis playing Joyce Brabner in American Splendor, except more friendly and effusive.
They told us the house was recovering from Q’s birthday party the previous Saturday. There was a round mattress on the floor covered in a red satin sheet, and a person-sized cage dismantled on the living room floor and ready to be put away. E told me that three girls had gotten in there and then gotten creative with some chocolate covered strawberries. I found the house so comforting and safe and wanted to settle in for a good, long time.
Q got to talking to Sweetie for a few minutes, and E told me that she and Q had been together for 30 years, since they were in school together. E has a girlfriend who’d made a plaster cast of her bosom at the party. It was downstairs waiting to be painted. This is clearly the polyamorous constellation to emulate. Their warmth and generosity really drove the point home:
People who are well-fucked sure are nice.
Next time: It feels perfectly normal to go into a near stranger’s basement.