A small gallery in SoHo had mounted an exhibit called “Me, My Selfie and I”. It consisted of erotic images of women taken by the women themselves. Each image was accompanied by a hundred-fifty word essay describing what the image meant to her and included a short bio.
An artist curated the exhibit, choosing ones she thought captured the most evocative expression of the women. The pictures were printed in large format, mounted and hung around the gallery. My bank had made a small grant to the owner of the gallery for a past exhibit and I regularly received invites to their openings. This one intrigued me.
As I wandered around taking in the images and reading the essays, I marveled at the courage of these women to expose themselves in this fashion. Not only did they bare their bodies, but also their souls. As a person drawn to exhibitionism, the sight of these images was exhilarating. I noticed that a number of the women who submitted these selfies were present. It was interesting to see them in their natural state of dress as well as in a picture of them in their true natural state.
I was looking at a picture of a middle-aged woman. She was in her bathroom, standing under the shower. The water hit her shoulders and streamed over her naked body. Holding her phone out, she shot the selfie in the mirror. Her body showed some of the effects of time. Her essay and bio described her as a thirty-nine year old divorced mother of a teenage girl, teacher and avid mystery novel reader. She mused if anyone would ever want to look at her naked body again at this stage in her life. I shifted my eyes back to the large print. I could detect a Caesarean scar on her tummy. She was not fat, but also not firm. Her large breasts sagged, but there was still a prurient appeal to them. I focused on her large nipples and areolas that covered about a third of her breasts. She trimmed her pubic hair to a narrow dark strip that definitely did not match her blond hair. Her legs were attractive. Many would still want to look at her body and I had noticed quite a few visitors lingering at this photo.
Perhaps it was the look in her eye that captured us. In spite of her nakedness, I felt a strength and determination in that look. As I studied the picture, I sensed someone standing close to me. I turned and was startled to recognize the woman from the photo. With her hair styled and wearing clothes that emphasized the womanly figure underneath, she was clearly a very attractive woman.
“You’re beautiful,” I said. “I hope you realize that.”
She looked at the picture. “Many people have said that tonight. Honestly I never felt it in the last few years, anyway. I appreciate your saying so.”
“May I ask why you submitted a photo?”
The woman continued to stare at the display. She then turned to face me. “Control. I wanted control over how I felt about my body, my sexuality. This gave me control. Since my divorce, I was so hesitant to take my clothes off before a man, or even one of my women friends. I feared what they would think. With this, I just said fuck it. Here I am world. Take me or not, but I’m here and this is what I look like.”
I placed my hand on her arm. “That’s terrific. God, you are courageous and beautiful. I think everyone here feels the same. I hope you feel good about doing this.”
“Have you been married?” I was taken aback by the question. A truthful answer would take too much explaining, so I simply said no.
“Divorce is a gut kick,” she said. “Even if on one level I was happy to be rid of him, on another level I felt rejected. You know having a baby does a job on your body. I can’t understand how these models or Hollywood actresses appear in a bikini not long after giving birth. I worked hard, but knew I would never have a tight, hot body again.”
She looked at her naked self. “That’s who I am. Did my ex just see the flab and scar? That’s what I thought after we split. Of course, he took up with a younger woman, who never had kids. She had this tiny little body. Like I said, divorce is a gut kick. So, to answer your question, yes, I feel quite good about doing this.”
I was about to say something when a good-looking man approached carrying two glasses of wine. He handed one to the woman and she smiled. He kissed her lips.
She turned to me and smiled.
“Thanks,” she said. Our eyes met and then they moved on.
Taking one last look at her image, I thought about my own desire for control and how I used my body to control other’s reactions and behavior. By exhibiting my body I gained a sense of power over others and myself. She and I might just be kindred spirits.
As I moved around, I saw a number of people I knew both from the art community and the business world. These openings always attracted a strange mélange of peoples and personalities. I chatted with some of them and we exchanged views on the exhibit. I went to the bar for another glass of champagne when I noticed a woman standing off in a corner. She was tall and had a striking beauty. Not a classic face such as a model, but one full of character. I felt I knew her, but could not place her or recall a name. I mentally ran through the pictures in the exhibit and was almost certain she was not one of the women on display.
She must have felt me staring and caught my eye. Her intense gaze held mine and then she smiled. It was at that second that I recognized her.
I noticed she held an empty champagne flute, so I carried mine and a second full one over to where she stood. I offered the glass. She caught the attention of a waiter and passed him her empty. She took my offering and raised the glass. She took a sip, leaving a faint ruby print on the rim.
“Thank you,” she said and smiled.
“My pleasure.” Her auburn hair framed her strong features, with one lock falling across her forehead. With a gesture that I was certain she practiced hundreds of times a day, she pushed it back and hooked it behind her ear.
“Gretchen,” I said as I extended my hand.
“Danni,” she replied. “Enjoying the exhibit?”
“Very much. I admire how these women can be so honest. It can’t be easy to let the world see you in such a raw, pure way.”
Danni looked at the picture next to her. It was of a young woman standing in front of a full-length mirror. Her slender body was held erect, with her tiny breasts defined by surprisingly large and dark nipples. She held the camera with one hand and placed the other over her smooth mound. You could detect that one finger had penetrated her compact vulva.
“You recognize me, don’t you?” said Danni as she looked upon the image.
“Not at first,” I said. “I felt I did know you, but couldn’t place it. Then you smiled. God, you have a smile that is both sensual and innocent. I know that sounds contradictory, but that’s how it strikes me. It was that same smile you had when you came. That’s when I recognized you.”
Danni turned back to me. “Think I’m crazy for doing that?”
“God, no. I think you are amazing. To be that open is something few women could do. I must have watched you a hundred times.”
“Oh.”
“No, I’m not some crazy stalker or lurker. It’s just that you are so beautiful and watching you work through your orgasm was fascinating. Then you smiled, just like you did a moment ago, and laughed. I thought I had never seen or heard such an honest emotion in my life.”
Danni smiled. It made my stomach flip.
“Do you mind talking about it?” I asked.
“No, actually no one really ever wants to talk about it. My friends seem too reticent. I think they are afraid to engage me on such a sexual level. I’m not a really overtly sexual person. I never share sex stories with my friends, you know talking about what our lovers are like in bed and that sort of stuff.”
“Husband, boyfriend or girlfriend?”
She laughed. “Well, I had a boyfriend at the time. After seeing the video, he broke up with me.”
“Did he say why?”
Danni took a sip of champagne. “Something about being embarrassed to have his girlfriend on a porn site. I think it was just bullshit.”
“Probably jealous that he couldn’t make you come as hard as you did on the video,” I said.
Danni’s dark eyes burned into mine. “You’re the first person to get that. I’m quite sure that was it. He was a bit insecure anyway and I think that pushed him over some edge. What the edge was, I can’t say.”
We had finished our drinks. I didn’t want to end this conversation. “Could we go somewhere and talk. I’d really like to know more.”
“More? About what?”
“About you. About what you did. About your sex life afterwards.”
“That’s a lot of more,” Danni said. “Not sure I know you well enough for all that.”
“Fair enough. Let’s start by getting to know each other better. How about dinner?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Have you eaten?”
“Not really. I just had a couple hors d’oeuvres here.”
“Come on, there are a couple decent restaurants down the block. My treat.”
Danni smiled. “Sure. Might be fun.”
The September evening was warm and we decided to walk to find a place to eat. We fell into an easy silence, each of us taking in the sights along the way. I recalled reading the article in the arts and culture weekly about the new project by David Curley. I knew some of his previous efforts as they pushed boundaries between the acceptable and the forbidden in sexuality.
His new concept was to invite women to come to his studio. They were to bring their favorite work of literature. It could be fiction, poetry, essays, whatever they really enjoyed reading. He would sit them at a table in front of a totally black background. You would only be able to see the women from the tabletop up.
What you couldn’t see is that the women were naked from the waist down, according to the description on the website. Underneath the table an assistant would use a vibrator on each woman as she read out loud. The camera was locked down and as the women read from their choice of literature, you could see them begin to react to the sexual stimulation that was occurring below. Some would start to squirm. Others would take deep breaths and try to continue reading. The session would end when the woman climaxed. The camera stayed on the women until they began to come down. They all usually laughed at the end. As the camera faded out you could hear studio noise and voices congratulating the participant. A couple times you would hear the woman comment on the experience.
I had watched all ten videos that were on the project’s website. I found Danni’s to be the most riveting. She was reading erotica. She kept control until about two minutes in. Then she began to react. Toward the end, she put her book down and gave into her orgasm. Her long hair fell in tumbles as she bowed her head. She brought her hand to her mouth and brushed her knuckles along her lips. She raked her locks and pushed them back. Licked her lips, closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth. At one point she put one hand under the table for a moment and smiled that enigmatic way that entranced me. When she came, she had both hands pressing on the table top as she let out a series of soft grunts. At the end, she pushed her hair back, looked directly in the camera, smiled and said, “Well, well.” She then laughed.
We found a small bistro that had a table for two. Sitting in the back, we ordered a bottle of wine and reviewed the menu. After our first glass had been served, we ordered. With nothing to distract us, our eyes met.
“You really don’t mind discussing the experience? I am fascinated by exhibitionism. One of my avocations is collecting stories of exhibitionists. Allowing yourself to be videoed while having an orgasm is certainly high on the erotic side of exhibitionism. I love to hear your story and write it. I don’t even know if I will ever publish them, I just love writing them. Of course, I would keep your identity obscured and I would allow you to read and review the story. So, can we talk?”
Danni thought for a moment. “I guess I am open to discussing part of it. Well, all of it, actually. I’m not sure I want to discuss with you the other parts of my life or certainly my sexuality.”
She smiled and added, “Not at this point, anyway.”
“Fair enough. How about you tell me how you got involved.”
Danni drank some wine and nibbled on a sesame bread stick. “You mean how does someone who looks like a librarian end up having an orgasm that is recorded and shown to thousands of people?”
“I think it’s millions by now,” I said, recalling the stats I read on the site. “And, you hardly look like a librarian. You are quite beautiful and sensual.”
“I don’t see that. I dressed up for this opening tonight in clothes that are atypical for me. Besides, I am a librarian.”
“Really?”
Danni nodded. “I work at CUNY, in the social sciences area. I am responsible for helping with research.”
“Well, you just shattered my image of librarians. Any of the students or co-workers see the project?”
“I suppose so, none have mentioned it.”
“So, how did you get involved?”
“Now, that is a story.”
***
DANNI’S STORY
If I had to help one more hapless student work through how to conduct a useful search, I was going to scream. “God, they spend enough time on-line; couldn’t they write a decent research string?”
The one thing that kept me going was the thought that I was meeting my sister tonight and going to an interesting-sounding party. Bradley, of course, did not want to come. He didn’t like my sister’s “artsy assholes”. I didn’t care. I did like them and found them fascinating and interesting. They were so far from the deadly academics I dealt with every day. Five o’clock finally rolled around and I was on my way.
As I rode the train to Brooklyn, I mentally ransacked my closet for something to wear. Dull colors, full cuts, and slightly out-dated garments were the rule these days. Getting off at my stop, I walked toward my apartment and passed a small clothing store. On impulse I entered. A young lady greeted me and asked if she could help.
“I need to find something to wear to a party where there will be artists, hipsters and lots of cool people.”
The girl laughed. She eyed the plain long skirt, oxford cloth shirt and brocade vest that I was wearing. “Something not quite along these lines,” she said.
“Definitely not along these lines,” I agreed.
The sales girl helped me select a short pink skirt, a pale blue cami with a charcoal blouse to wear over it. She added a scarf and some funky jewelry to complete the outfit. She convinced me to buy a couple pairs of lacy thongs. “Feel sexy, look sexy,” she said.
Looking down the girl asked if I had any other shoes. I shook my head. The girl wrote out the address for a shoe store in the neighborhood. She promised to call them and ask her friend to help me pick out something to go with my new outfit. As she was packing up the purchases, the girl said to be sure to leave at least three buttons on the blouse undone.
“You have a nice body,” she said. “Let it show a little. And, think about not wearing a bra, your breasts are beautiful.”
I thanked her and took my bags to the shoe store. Another young lady helped me pick out some shoes that made my legs look good and added some spark to the rest of what I planned to wear.
As I regarded myself in the mirror that evening, I couldn’t recognize the person looking back. Bradley had been and was due back later that night. So, I did not have his input on my new look. When my sister rang at the door, I wondered what she would think. After buzzing her in, I waited by the door until she knocked. I let her in, letting the door cover me.
“Ready, Danni?” my sister asked and then stared. Her mouth opened and she looked me up and down.
“Is that you?”
“All me,” I said smiling.
“Wow, you look fab. What got into you?”
“Tired of the old frumpy, dumpy stuff.”
“Well, it’s about time. You’re not wearing a bra under that cami, are you?”
“Nope. And, I just might undo one more button on this blouse. Plus…” I lifted my skirt to show her the tiny thong I wore.
“Good for you, Danni.” My sister hugged me. “Good for you.”
We took a cab to the loft where the party was. Arriving a little after ten, Aubrey and I found the party in full swing. Aubrey introduced me to the host, David Curley.
“Aubrey, darling, you did not tell me you had such a delightful sister. Welcome, Danni. I hope you enjoy yourself tonight. Feel free to wonder around the place and meet all these other fascinating people. To tell the truth, some of them are not so fascinating, but you’ll have to work that out by yourself.”
Aubrey and I got drinks and wandered around. She introduced me to some of her friends and I chatted with some other people I had met at past parties. Aubrey managed one of the higher end galleries and knew many of the artists working in New York. Not too many artists, writers and bloggers crossed into my world at the library.
Looking for a bathroom, I walked to the back of the huge loft and found a long line. I decided it could wait a bit. I strolled back toward a room defined by black partitions. Entering I found a total disarray of CDs, DVDs, tape cassettes, boxes full of paper, a desktop computer and shelves filled with random piles of books and other materials.
“Fucking disaster, isn’t it?”
David was standing next to me.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your private space.”
He grinned and looked around. “No problem. I told you to look around. This mess depresses me.”
“Fits the image of the artist,” I said. “You know, he can only concentrate on his work. Can’t be bothered to sort out all the details.”
“Actually, I am quite an organized person and really enjoy order. The problem is that I am completely incapable of doing the organization. It drives me absolutely crazy trying to find anything in here. I waste hours moving piles around. God should send me an angel librarian.”
“Well, I don’t officially have wings or a halo, but I do qualify for the librarian part. I’d be happy to help you.”
He turned and looked at me. I realized my new clothes did disguise the frumpy woman hiding inside. His eyes lingered on the opening in my shirt. I felt my nipples grow stiff and thought he probably could see how they pushed against the fabric of the soft cami.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. Have my masters in library science. I work at CUNY full time.”
“Sweet Marian the Librarian, you are a gift from the gods. And, you would consider taking on this dump?”
“Yeah. I could only do it nights and weekends, but I’d love it.”
“Darling, love is too strong a word for wading in the detritus of my life. But, tell me, why would you even consider it?”
“I work with assholes all day. They are totally inept and clueless. Here I would be part of, well, the artistic process. I think it would be fun.”
“Danni, let me be straight. I am an asshole. Tonight you see the social and engaging David. Most times I am a grouchy, juvenile, temperamental and unrepentant asshole. As far as the artistic process, I dare say ploughing through this shit is pretty far removed. But, if you are game, I am prepared to pay you a paltry sum and you just might be around when the Muse makes a visit and we make some art. Still up for it?”
“How about I start tomorrow?”
“Saturday will work. Just not too early. I will be recovering from a night of many further abuses. Unless…”
I waited.
“If I gave you a key, would you mind coming in and at least trying to figure out what to do? Then, when I can function, at a nominal level, we can determine how to proceed.”
“You’d trust me with a key to your loft?”
“Are you planning to rob me?’
“No.”
“Come in and kill me as I sleep?”
“Of course not.”
“Creep into my bed and take advantage of me sexually?”
“What? No way!”