Dear M.T.R.,
I still remember the first time I saw you. I was behind the counter at ReThreads, my vintage clothing emporium, haggling with someone who wanted to trade a stack of textbooks for a vintage necktie, when you walked in. I was drawn to your delicate features and the way your midriff top accentuated your cute little “innie.” I agreed to trade the books for the tie just to get the guy out of the store – it was almost closing time – and then I realized that the picture on the english text on top of the stack was YOU. I held it up and said, “Is this…” You rolled your eyes and smiled, saying, “Yeah. Want me to autograph it?” You were probably kidding, but on a whim I said, “Yes, I’d love it if you would.” (the truth is, I wanted to know your name!) Shrugging, you scratched across the cover with a pen and handed it back. I looked at it and said, “thanks…uh… Ms. Ue/~.” Laughing, you said, “The letters are all there…just use your imagination. My name’s Megan, by the way.” I thought to myself that considering the way you prounounced your name, your six degrees of Kevin Bacon would be pretty short.
I went to the door and flipped the sign to “Closed”, locking the door. “I’ll let you out whenever you want, I just don’t want anyone else coming in,” I explained. You were admiring a Bakelite lamp at the cash register. “I love this,” you said. It’s such a wonderful shade of green." “Uh, that’s orange,” I said, and you grinned ruefully. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. I always get those mixed up – it’s like there’s a crossed wire in there.”
Looking up the stairs at the back of the shop, you asked, “What’s up there?” “Oh, that’s where I live. the first room is the gallery where I have my art photography hanging, then the bedroom is in back of that.” “Photography?” you said, perking up. “Yes, the shop is just how I pay the bills. I’m really an artist.” I hesitated. “Want to see?” I could tell you were tempted, but you said, “Some other time. Let me out, okay? I have to split.” I opened the door, wishing I could think of the perfect thing to say that would make you stay, but I came up empty. It was always that way when I met a woman I really liked.
Fortunately, you started coming in to the shop regularly, and we struck up a superficial acquaintance. You were sort of an impulse shopper, choosing vintage items seemingly at random. As the weeks went by, I constantly kicked myself for not asking you out whenever you left the shop. Then one day, you came in just at closing time, just like you had the first time we met. “Hi Megan…just let me lock the door to keep the riff-raff out, you can stay and look as long as you like.” I locked up and turned around, then jumped as I discovered you standing right behind me. “Sorry, you startled me,” I said. You bit your lip a bit and said, "I’ve never forgotten about your photo gallery. I want to see it, I just said no that first night because I thought maybe you were just wanting to “show me your etchings.” I laughed nervously and said, “Come on up. I just hung some new stuff.”
I turned off the store lights. We climbed the spiral staircase and I switched on the gallery lights. You breathed, “Ooooh! I LOVE black and white pictures.” “Me too,” I said. “Using black and white makes a picture more artistic, don’t you think? It takes it one more step away from mundane reality.” You nodded, absorbed by a series of nudes along one wall. I took the plunge and said, “I’d love to shoot you sometime, if you’d be willing.” You turned and looked at me skeptically; it looked to me like you were trying to figure out if it was just a come-on.
“But Troy, you’ve never seen me like this. How do you know I’d have the right look?” you said with a challenging tilt to your eyebrow. “Well, I know you have a little birthmark by your navel,” I said, adding, “you were wearing a crop-top the first time you came in here and I just happened to notice it. I like it.”
You just looked at me, clearly not yet convinced I was sincere. I said, “As for the rest, I didn’t necessarily mean nudes. I always leave that up to the model. I’d love to shoot you fully clothed, too.”
Once again I saw that you were intrigued, but you again said, “Some other time. Come on and ring me up…I have to get going.” I totaled up the vintage trench coat you were buying and watched you walk down the street…and I said to myself, “You IDIOT! You’ve ruined everything. She’ll never come back.”
But the next night at closing time, you were there again, wearing your new trench coat. You were carryng a Pet Taxi; inside was a beautiful cat. “This is Cebeaux,” you said.
I locked up as usual while you and Cebeaux poked around, and then joked, “That’s a lovely coat, ma’am. where’d you get it?” “I bought it from a photographer friend of mine,” you said. “Listen Megan, about last night…I…” You raised a finger to silence me and said, “Let’s go out back to your studio. I want you to take some pictures of Cebeaux and me.”
We walked out the back door and locked it, then went into the little building out back that I had converted into a studio. You walked over by the backdrop, turned to face me, and loosened the belt of your trench coat while holding my gaze. You weren’t wearing anything under it. It took all my will power not to stare openly at your body while making wolf noises. I busied myself setting up the lights while you took Cebeaux out of the carrier.
Willing myself to be professional, I guided you through a very productive photo session. I got some really artistic pictures that played Cebeaux’s soft fur against your smooth skin, and then you dropped the feline prop and posed for me alone. At one point I stepped up to adjust the lie of your arm, and I realized you were breathing heavily.
I’d seen this happen before. Some people find that posing nude is a real turn-on. Always before, I’d pretended not to notice, not wanting my models to be uncomfortable. This time was different, though. I found that I didn’t WANT to pretend not to notice. I took your face in my hands and adjusted its position, went back and snapped a couple of pictures, then came back and took your face in my hands again. This time I slowly leaned in to kiss you; you closed your eyes and kissed me back. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” I said huskily when we finally came up for air. “Me too,” you breathed. Abruptly I was acutely aware that you were still completely nude. I slowly unbuttoned my shirt, still trying to give you space to back up if you wanted to; you took over and efficiently stripped me, then led me by the hand over to my prop couch and drew me down to you in a passionate embrace. We spent the rest of the evening making love, finally stopping when Cebeaux complained loudly about missing dinner.
That was two years ago, and I’m still amazed every time I wake up next to you, Megan. I have news, darling. That new gallery, “Photographs: Do Not Bend,” has finally agreed to host a one-man show of my work – and it was one of those pictures of you from that first night that convinced them. They said they could see the love with which I took the picture…and how right they were, because I’ve loved you since I first saw you.
all my love,
Troy
