Click through on this picture. Then click it again, which should take you here. You deserve, nay, you need, to see this photograph in all of its 1080×821 carefully-waxed puckered-anus glory:
I don’t know the story behind this photograph, but friends, the expression on her face tells me that some motherfucker is going to pay for this.
I’m jaded after many years of sex blogging. The perfectly-exposed nekkid lady bits were not the first thing to catch my eye. Nope, that would have to have been the “Mickey Rat” ears, followed shortly by the blankly-murderous expression on her face.
So, what’s going on, here?
The setting, clearly, is chain-hotel modern. Not quite new, but not totally scuzzy, either. The desk and motel information folder at the right of the scene confirm the setting.
This could be a pure modeling transaction — the hotel venue would fit. Show up, put on the clothes the photographer hands you, pose how he wants, try and fail to conceal your disdain, take your money, go home. Lots of so-called photographers out there who get their jollies that way, or so one hears.
Or, it could be a prostitution transaction. Show up, dress up for the customer the way he wants, put on the silly hat, try and fail to conceal your lack of give-a-shit, accept extra money to pose for his collection of memorial wank-photos, do your business, go home.
The costume itself is has stripper elements (especially the fishnet and clear vinyl heels) but I don’t think she wears it like work clothes. And getting a “real” stripper naked for the camera in a hotel room isn’t going to be an easily-achieved proposition unless she’s also doing modeling or sex work on the side. Maybe, in a bachelor-party setting, but there’s no hint of festivity in this photo.
It’s true that I’m a man, and thus never got the complete “goes with” briefing. And it’s also true that bad fashion sense has been displayed, once or twice, by prostitutes and strippers. But I still feel like the red-with-white-polka-dots top is out of place in that clothing ensemble; and that’s what makes me think, at the end of the day, that the lady in the picture is an amateur, wearing what she imagines a stripper might wear.
The beauty of a picture like this is that we’ll never know how it happened. We get to make it up. But here’s what I think.
I think she’s somebody’s wife or girlfriend, who lost a bet.
“And what if I win?” he asked. “What do I get?”
“What do you want?” she asked, knowing she could not lose this one.
“If I win…” His eyes grew vacant, and he got a little smile on his face.
“If I win,” he said, “then on our Valentine’s day trip, you have to pose for a dirty picture for me. You’ve got to shave, and pose however I want, and wear your stripper costume and whatever else I want. No arguments, no complaints!”
“You won’t win!” she said. And the bet was on.
You know he’ll pay for this. But long after she’s gone, he’ll still have this photo to remember her by…
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