‘That’s terrific. That’s what we need to discuss. How do we best express you, your personality and your individuality, through the medium of my camera?’
Stumped, I look for inspiration amongst the portraits on the wall. Most are innocuous enough – beautiful girls in cashmere wraps or naked but for jewellery. Until you look at their faces. Rapt, caught in another world, another state of being. Their vulnerability is shocking and arousing.
‘Seems to me,’ I say, trying not to let my voice tremble, ‘that I won’t get much choice in that. One’s face does what it does at that crucial moment.’
‘Yes, you can’t fake it.’ Sash appears at my shoulder, inspecting her work along with me. ‘It’s a moment when you are nothing but yourself. The masks peeled off, the face metaphorically bare.’
‘That’s a strangely frightening thought.’
She puts her hand on my shoulder. I’m not tactile, outside the bedroom, and I flinch a little.
‘You’re not the first person to think so. Come on. Sit down and we’ll talk about your needs.’
I take my tea and perch on her white leather sofa. ‘Didn’t Lloyd give you any idea of what was wanted?’
She laughs. ‘Oh yes, he did. But I’m starting with you. You’re the girl in the picture. What are you getting out of this?’
A win. I’m getting to win.
‘I’m getting to represent myself as what I am.’
‘Which is?’
‘An insatiable whore.’
She is taken aback. For a moment, all she can do is stare at me.
‘Sorry not to put it more delicately,’ I say. ‘I suppose people generally say that they want to express their flowering sexuality or their empowering femininity or whatever. But I don’t dress it up. I’m not a flowery feminine sexually empowered blah-de-blah. I’m an insatiable whore. That’s what you’ll see. That’s what you’ll get.’
Sash sips at her tea.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘You sound a little bit angry. Are you sure you want to do this?’
‘I’m only angry because people don’t like insatiable whores. Well, they do really, but they won’t admit it, so we get bad press. It’s not fair, is it?’
‘I suppose not. So, when we pick props you want something fairly full-on? Aggressively sexual, almost?’
‘Yeah.’ I think of Lloyd looking at the photos, knowing that I hate standing behind a camera. I want him to know how I feel about it. ‘Aggressively sexual. That hits my spot.’
‘That’s a powerful concept. We could build some strong images around it. You’re a woman in charge of your sexuality, using it freely, without guilt. Actually, I can really work with that.’ Sasha’s face lights up. ‘This could be a wonderful set. Come and pick some props.’
Sasha has every type of luxe fabric and body decoration imaginable. I run my fingers through marabou and faux fur and lace and ropes of pearls. In another box, she has her kinky stuff. It looks tempting, but I’m not going to be tied up or trussed for this shoot. I’m going to be free.
‘I don’t want props,’ I decide. ‘Maybe just that chair. Just me, in the buff, on a chair. Keep it simple, yeah?’
‘I think simplicity will be the key to this set. It’s all about you and your attitude. Are you ready? Do you want to take off your clothes now?’
I distract her while I strip off my business suit by talking about the make and model of her camera. I want her to know that I know my stuff. I want her to know what she is dealing with.
By the time I’m down to my black bra and knickers, we have covered image processors and the respective merits of manual and automatic focus adjustment.
‘Do you
want some underwear shots first?’ she asks politely.
‘Nah.’ I look her in the eye as I unhook my bra then ease down my panties. I maintain a smile that I hope isn’t too forced. ‘Let’s start as we mean to go on.’
I fling up my arms to reveal everything, my breasts rising to optimum presentability as my hands stretch high.