There is so much I want to say about Brussels
The city invited me into its lucid dream. I took it with me.
The city is its own unwritten book…for me, the visitors especially, and Brussels was the place where I was seized irrevocably by photography.
My press credential allowed me within a few meters of world leaders who appeared regularly at “VIP Corners” held by the European Commission, hosted by the eminent Manuel Barroso of Portugal, its president. The Barlaymont was fun, though I much preferred my studio.
Jin was one of the first models I photographed in my flat in a section of town called St. Gilles on a street whose name I do not remember. Book of Blue was still young and a daily frontier into beauty. Models responded from Craig’s List. It was all so delightfully easygoing; this was about 2006. All kinds of women…from many countries…and the afternoon light washing the space was pure Rembrandt (you cannot see it in the photo above, though now you’ll recognize it).
And Jin arrived, maybe even my first girl in Brussels. I so delight in Eastern beauty, and this, she offered. Jin’s otherworldly aura morphed with her fierce intensity. She was easygoing to converse with, speaking impeccable English with a slight British inflection. She had the most adorable little tits and pretty hips.
That afternoon I learned a myriad of things about her as she strolled around my space casually nude, posed in mirrors and the window, and told me about her identical twin sister. Born under the sign Gemini, but of course, they were South Korean orphans adopted to Paris by a French Freudian psychiatrist and her husband (which I took to mean, assuredly at least slightly nuts).
Among other things, they were champion volleyball players and by her description, voraciously competitive, communicated telepathically and did not like to lose.
After we had taken pictures for an hour or two, the session was winding down. I was scrolling through the camera. She said calmly that she wanted me to lick her vagina. I looked up at her rather surprised. She was here for photos, and we had just met, by which I mean it had not occurred to me that such a thing might happen.
“Really?”
“Really.”
She knew, and I knew, that if she suggested it, it surely would.
On the cool windowsill, her hips opened.
I started at the back of her vagina, where I knew she wanted it, perfectly positioned to smell her clit.
Your otherworldly photo of St. Gilles is as lovely as this story. Rare for a photograph to engage all the senses like that one does. One of my favorites.