texture and temperature

We meet at a coffee place in Sausalito. She had called a few minutes ago, said she was running just a bit late. Now she calls again as she walks toward me, and I recognize her immediately from her photos. While she's inside getting her coffee, I try not to look too often toward the state trooper sitting at the next table. Now she's back, coffee in hand. We decide she will follow me. She gets into her silver Mercedes and turns around.

About 15 minutes later, we're at one of the old bunkers. It's late afternoon, sunny and warm, but already cool in the shadows. She has most of her first outfit on under her street clothes, fishnets, a thong, a bustier. She opens her suitcase, and trades running shoes for boots. I begin to photograph her, tentatively at first, as we get to know each other.

She's a little over average height, thin, with breasts that appear to be artificially enhanced. But it's not her breasts I'm interested in, actually I'd be happier if they were a little smaller, a little more in proportion to her body. It's her attitude I'm interested in, the way she conveys that attitude.

I guess she's smart enough in a mainstream sense, she's apparently been reasonably successful in the business world. She's in her mid-30s, recently divorced, in a custody battle for the two kids. The clock is ticking, and she's ready to "spread her wings." That's whay she's created an internet model portfolio. That's why she says she wants to do something "edgy." She's from an upscale suburb, from a decade or more of very mainstream, very vanilla existence, after growing up in a small town. There's so much she doesn't yet know about. She doesn't have the abstract intelligence of my artist friends, she lives in the material world and not the conceptual one. So it's going to take a while for her to make the connections. She's seeing only the surface. But she's blessed with the right look, with sharp features, and with that attitude. That's why I contacted her.

We're done with that first outfit, I didn't like the bustier anyway, it didn't fit properly. She changes right in front of me, apparently she's not at all shy. The fishnets stay, she changes to a different thong, one with a skull pattern, and a black bra. I pull out a whip, a four foot snake, and after a few seconds of verbal lessons, let her play with it. Even as she holds it too tentatively, without any real confidence, she moves it effectively enough. The photos are fascinating, of a creature with a brand new toy. She tells me that she knows who she would like to use it on.

But she's told me that she likes to play both sides, so now she changes into white. We work with some steel bars over a window. She's much more at home in this role.

The light is beginning to fade now, and it's becoming cool. She had said on the phone that she didn't want to do nudes, but now she says she's going to take off the bra. First she changes back into black, and stands in front of a steel, grafitti-covered door. Now, what we've discussed, what she knows is coming. I tell her to walk backward, tell her she's going to lean against the cold steel in a moment. I capture the look of anticipation and fear on her face. Then I tell her to do it, and she does, without question. New expressions, all captured on film.

I bring her down the concrete wall, to where an iron ring is set into the wall. She's already off in a distant headspace, no longer very aware of the physical world. She doesn't see the handcuffs until I'm standing directly in front of her. She offers her wrists, and I snap the cuffs shut, attached to a silver chain running through the rusted iron ring. As I pull out the whip, she looks down at her wrists, brushes against the rough, cold concrete.

It takes only 10 minutes, and I never actually touch her. Instead, I talk about what might be, and document the reactions. I ask her to tell me her fantasies, and she does. They are the best images of the shoot. Finally, she has the presence to say that she's getting cold, and I've been aware of the shivering for several minutes. So I let her down immediately.

I begin to put my cameras away, turn, and see that she's walking in a slow circle, still half naked, still deep in her submissive headspace. I have to tell her to go get dressed, put something warm on. She snaps back to reality quickly then, and in five minutes we're both packed up and ready to go.

We sit in the car with the heat on full and talk for another hour. Then, she follows me back to the highway, and we go our seperate ways.