Tuesday, 28 August 2012


She is a friend of mine. Better than that actually. My Jungian shadow, albeit a a light one to my natural dark expression of me.

We met last weekend to catch up and to film me for a video portrait. She's an artist.

We hang out first. I love hanging out with her for a simple reason that our combined juxstaposed looks and personalities attract people and the world seems such an open place with her there.

She's all woman, with a shock of curly dark hair, dreamy brown eyes and pillowy lips, set in a pale face. Her body is soft and curvaceous, with her gorgeously heavy breasts accentuating her nipped in waist, melting beautifully into the curve of her buttocks. A see through wrap on her shoulders, draped over her strappy top, barely covers her cleavage. Imagined naked she looks like a nude from an erotic Edwardian postcard.

I am athletic, tanned, strong and wily with piercing blue eyes, short platinum blonde hair and high cheekbones. I am wearing a black backless body suit with a pair of tight white shorts, like a well-groomed suburban housewife with a head full of perverse scenarios, about to start a class with her tennis coach who is also her lover.

We banter with strangers, do an impromptu session with a new trendy cafe owner on how to best market his new joint, we laugh and luxuriate in each others' company. We are a dream team.

We finally head to mine for the shoot when the monsoon rain hits. We run through the deluge laughing maniacally and get drenched within seconds. When we stop under a tree for a moment, giddy and out of breath, she looks at me and says in her exacting yet soft German accent:

"Look at your nipples! I can see your body all the way through. If I were a man, I'd drag you to this garden and fuck you right now"
I look at her hair, with droplets of rain caught in the curl, the shawl clinging to her white skin and I feel like I want to kiss her.
Instead I take her hand and we run out into the rain again.

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