My New Job as a Vagina Model–Wahoo!

I’m single.  Yep, it’s true.  Life takes some strange pathways sometimes, and yesterday I received a request from a newish friend by email as follows:

btw: can I take a picture of your vaginer??  I’m working on a new
piece and need pic’s [sic]

I’d say it’s a new piece!  My friend is an artist, a real one, a photographer and videographer who just had a show at The Getty.  (For those who don’t know, The Getty is currently the top museum in the world as far as prestige and funding.)  So it’s actually a very big deal for an artist to have a show there.  Even a vagina-photographing one.  Especially a vagina-photographing one.

It will just be a straight beaver shot, she explained.  And if I know of anyone else I can ask, please do she requested.  Of course I’m going to call up my other gal pals (or transgender friends) and ask if they want to do a “layout.”  Not.  And, during the session, I truly will be laid out, though not getting laid.

And here’s the conundrum.  I do want to use the vadge in the traditional way and soon.  If I do not, I think I may explode.  It has been quite a while, boys and girls.  I cannot bear even to write the timeframe.  It’s not women who are fickle.  It’s men.  There is one person on the horizon, an ex who has suddenly materialized again, and I really don’t care if he loves me or he doesn’t love me.  I just need to connect physically with someone, in addition to the vagina photographer.  Just like any red-blooded American woman, I simply want a luscious boy to nibble on my taco.  I’ll gladly provide the hot sauce and napkins.

The last time I “did it” was with the same guy.  Only it wasn’t the same.  I had been getting less and less interested because he’s kind of a strange dude.  Artistic, full of emotion only not expressing himself except through his music.  Yet, frat boyish and sensitive.  Typical male with a guitar.  But I must say the boy’s labial skills are the very best I have ever encountered.  Tongue and fingers and technique and enthusiasm all combined into pure lust on both our parts (literally and metaphorically). 

It’s great to be desired.  He claimed that my responsiveness to him made him even more responsive to me.  So the more I panted, the better he performed, the better he performed, the more I moaned and groaned.  And so on.  Isn’t that the exact point of hooking up?  

I haven’t spoken to him in over a year—and now the smart ones out there can figure out how long it has been since I’ve had sex.  I’m planning on the next encounter.  All six foot four inches of him.  I’ll let you know how that and the pussy posing goes.