The origin story o[f] [m]y exhibition kink.

There are a few particular pages of my real-life story that I like to reread once in a while, and one of the best is a dreamlike memory I have from college involving the TA from my photography class. The story begins after midnight in a bar, and ends at 5 in the morning with a mortified janitor waking a naked and hungover sleeping beauty on the photo lab couch. Truth be told, I’m certain it was the beginning of my exhibition kink.

While I do love the “build up” of the story – the main event in this case has enough tension for me to skip the intro. All you need to know is that “Greg” was a quiet and unconventionally handsome presence in the darkroom during my senior-year B&W film photo class. For most of the semester, we didn’t speak, but I’m certain he caught me quickly looking away and blushing bright red on more than one occasion.

Fast forward to me in a bar with my girlfriends – walking that line between being too self-conscious to talk to guys and “cute/brave tipsy.” At some point or another, I ran into Greg, who boldly called me out on my rather obvious crush. I could have died on the spot, I swear, but he repeatedly reassured me that he thought it was cute and had actually been daydreaming about photographing me. “Trying to capture that flustered look on my face when I got caught watching him.” Clever guy – of course hearing him say that elicited the exact reaction he’d just described.

Skip ahead, skip ahead. He has a key to the photography lab – have I ever been in one of the academic buildings at night? No? Well then, we should certainly ditch the bar and set out for an adventure. Skip ahead, skip ahead.

It’s dark and silent with that eerie, dim lighting throwing shadows on the walls as we make our way down to the basement of the art building. We had stopped by his apartment to gather snacks, a blanket, and a big bottle of vodka. All the makings of an exciting, naughty picnic.

I’m a combination of GENUINELY shy and tempted to hide, and adventurous with a desire to show off. The vodka, the music blasting from the photo lab speakers, and the fact that Greg was charming and a bit of a dork helped me transition from the former to the latter. I was ready to be photographed.

I still have a few printed sheets of the negatives from that night. From one frame to the next, you can watch my energy change as the clothes come off. Awkward in the first shots, then more giggly and silly as I dance around in a bra and my skirt. A bit embarrassed when I’m down to bra and panties. Nipples hard and goosebumps covering my torso and arms when I’m fully topless, and a bit of sexy playfulness when Greg tosses me the blanket to drape over myself to warm up.

We used up an entire roll of film on that slow strip tease, still having yet to touch each other once. I’d NEVER done anything remotely like this in my life, but there was something about the way he was directing me that made it feel like art. Made me push my slut-shaming conscience aside in order to taste the first truly arousing moments of my life.

Greg asked how I felt about being photographed fully nude, and I can still remember that war inside myself as I grappled with my decision. It’s the same conflict I feel each time I post a photo of myself on Reddit. Am I a good girl or am I a bad girl? Is it fair that I have to assign “good” or “bad” to my body and sexuality at all? Shame vs. arousal, fear vs. excitement.

I decided to let him do it. I wanted to be brave. I wanted to be a woman. I wanted to challenge the way I’d been brought up in favor of following the path of the artists and the free spirits. There’s a series of shots that Greg used a self-timer for. He’s standing behind me, and one by one you can see him slipping my panties down over my hips, thighs, knees, calves, ankles. I step out of them. Off camera, he slowly slid his hands back up the path he’d traced, moving higher and higher until his arms were around my shoulders from behind. The first place he kissed me was on my ear. It tickled, and gave me chills down my spine, and he squeezed me tight to help settle them again. He whispered in my ear for a while and told me I was beautiful, kissed my neck, and had me hold still while he went to press the self-timer button again.

The photograph he captured at that moment is my favorite of the night. Greg is sitting in a chair looking straight into the camera, and I’m standing behind him with my arms draped around his shoulders. There’s a hazy, glowing halo effect caused by the various studio lights. My eyes are closed, lips parted, looking both aroused and calm. Soft curls tumbling down around my shoulders. I remember that when I first saw that photo I was shocked. I didn’t recognize that girl. She’s not worried or anxious at all. She’s in the moment – feeling, enjoying, trusting. *Living.*

The night went on, and eventually we did end up hooking up, but I still feel that the most erotic part of the whole experience was between our eyes and the lens of the camera.

Thanks for reading <3

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/me237h/the_origin_story_of_my_exhibition_kink