Archive for the sexual Category

UNBELIEVABLE SECRET COULD CHANGE YOUR LIFE FOREVER!! (and other, less exciting stuff) 

Posted in erotic, fashion, fetish, FLICKR, lingerie, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, pinup, sexual, Sexy, tennessee, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 23, 2013 by cliffmichaels

..

sabrina1

SEX BLOGGER SHARES SHAMEFUL SECRET!

There are plumbers, nurses, engineers, gardeners, and cabbies; all of them, and thousands more, pursue honorable vocations. While their skill and efficiency may vary, at the end of the day each may say she earned an honest dollar for her honest labors.

Not so with headline writers. They, like lawyers, car salesmen and politicians, lie in the worst possible way: by telling a bent, twisted and   black and white version of the truth.sabrina2

Because newspapers and magazines desperately wanted you to buy their rag, the front page – or cover – screamed a bevy of large type come ons: The Shocking Truth About…. Will the World End Next Week… Goat Born with Three Heads… If you fell for the lure of one of the headlines you usually found out, when your read the article, the truth was much less shocking than the cover’s implied promise.

Today, as newspapers and magazines fade from the scene, digital media has taken up the art of writing alluring headlines. If old media angled for sales, Internet outlets crave hits. They don’t really care if you read the piece you click through to; your click is enough.

I admit, given my modest audience, I’ve been tempted to attempt to imitate my Internet betters. I normally try to find a song, book or film title or quote, or a play on words to head a post. These headers are usually honest in an plain spoken  kind of way; they do not promise more than their subsequent text delivers. But with each post I edge closer to hyping the content: The Most Depraved Women in the World! – Shocking Tales of Sexual Depravity! – Depraved Political Tricks! Monster Ants Attack!

But – if I do fall prey to the unprincipled practice of pure postal prevarication – I promise, at least, to do my best to feel ashamed.

 ***

sabrina3

HILLBILLY COEDS PLAN CAMPUS ORGY!

There was a fairly bad English play once titled, “No Sex Please, We’re British.” While wildly popular in Britain in the seventies despite near universal critical scorn, the play managed a mere sixteen performances when it crossed the Atlantic.

I wouldn’t be surprised if someone writes a sequel entitled No Sex Please, We’re Tennesseans. The University of Tennessee’s student run Sex Week scheduled for early April has drawn the ire of several of our esteemed legislators. They were shocked – shocked – by the thought students might be interested in sex on campus and might actually want to enhance their sexual knowledge. The lawmakers demanded the University withdraw all funding for the one week program.

The university, citing the long cherished principle of academic freedom, stood firm…

You didn’t believe that, did you?

Of course the university mostly bailed and withdrew all university funding for the program but did allow a modest amount of student funds to remain available to fund the (greatly reduced) bacchanalian sex romp.

sabrina4

The outraged legislators are, of course, not mollified. They point out student fees are not voluntary and, therefore, money extracted from God fearing, pure minded Christian students will go to fund depravity.

The Vegas line is one in twenty-seven  Sex Week will actually happen in Knoxville next month. Personally, I wouldn’t take those odds. This is Tennessee, after all.

***

THE SHOCKING SECRET DEMOCRATS DON’T WANT YOU TO KNOW!

Politicians are a craven lot. Large majorities of the populace support universal background checks and restrictions on large gun magazines. The outlook for any gun control legislation passing, however, remains poor. The proposed assault rifle prohibition died prematurely without coming up for a vote at the hands of Harry Reid last week, done in by the defection of  red state Democratic senators.

The NRA has managed to rouse its horde of single issue votes once again. “Safe district” Republicans would never support gun control (and would probably vote to legalize private ownership of bazookas and tanks). Democrats remain deeply traumatized by the party’s 1994 Congressional wipeout that followed their vote to ban assault rifles. Democrats in the house and Senate pray they won’t have to vote at all. Voting against would enflame the party’s base but voting for would likely mean facing a NRA firing squad. Public support for gun control, while temporarily strong, will wain as time passes. On the other hand, the NRA never forgets.

Once the public glare of Sandy Hook fades away, Democratic politicians will slither away in the gathering darkness, giving thanks they can  make soothing noises but nothing more – at least until the next gun massacre hits the news.

sabrina6

photos by Alan Antiporda, subject to this creative commons license. Click images for details.

More of Sabanas

TGURLS IN THE TABLOIDS!

Read all of VISIONS

Stripper Kitties!

Posted in fetish, FLICKR, history, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, politics, religion, sexual with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 24, 2013 by cliffmichaels

..

whore4

Let’s face this sad fact: Visions is a tawdry sex blog. It’s true. No matter how many high minded posts we upload about culture or politics, the smutty pics and stories are what draw hits. We know it. You know it. Hell, even Bob Doles knows it!

There are, as you surely know, lots – and I mean Big Lots – of sex blogs on the ‘net. Sex is either the most popular topic in the History of the world or in the top three – food & death being the other two (except in England, where sex is replaced by gardening).

Here’s a sex blog I’ve discovered: Tits and Sass. T&S can best be described as a serious journal written by sex workers – strippers and hookers, mostly. More than forty contributors are listed. Here’s what the site says about itself:

Tits and Sass is a group blog run by sex workers who saw a void when it came to witty commentary on the public image of our industry. The ideas promoted about us in the public eye have an impact on the realities of our lives as sex workers every bit as strong as the law, so we’re not letting any more dead hooker or stripper bones jokes pass by without comment.

whore7

Visions spends much of the time wallowing in ignorance and had no clue the was a vibrant community of literate – and politicly active – positive sex workers. Here are links to some of the more serious T&S posts: Sex Work and Storytelling at “Sex and Justice”License to Pimp: A Conversation with Filmmaker Hima B.Stripper Shot At Strip Club Denied Worker’s Comp. If you doubt a sexblog can be deadly earnest, here’s a “quote of the day”:

The TERF [trans-exclusionary radical feminist] is obsessed with dividing feminism at all costs and commenting negatively on women’s sexuality. sex-shaming is a historical patriarchal tool to remind those of us who are women of the position the patriarchy wants us to hold: inferior.  the TERF is loud about sex work being evil, ignoring that for many trans people and for many people of color, sex work is the only work there is. (emphasis in original)

But, hey, Visions doesn’t really care when it comes to serious sex stuff about the intersection of sex work and  politics, law, culture, or feminism. We are just looking for some quick and mindless fun. We found it! There appears to be a continuing feature on T&S, Stacks & Cats: photos of sex workers’ cats with stacks of their (earned) cash. Check them out here, here, and here.

Flickr Groups: Hookers, Whores and Whorehouses , Porn Stars & Strippers

whore6

Photo credits: click top image for cat; cash: both – and remix – subject to this CC license. For bottom two images, click for credit and cc license.

 

Read all of VISIONS

Too Darn Hot!

Posted in erotic, FLICKR, lingerie, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, pinup, politics, sexual, Sexy, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 2, 2013 by cliffmichaels

..

According to the Kinsey Report
Ev’ry average man you know
Much prefers to play his favorite sport
When the temperature is low,
But when the thermometer goes ‘way up
And the weather is sizzling hot,
Mister Adam
For his madam.
Is not,
‘Cause it’s too, too 
Too darn hot,
It’s too darn hot,
It’s too darn hot.

Too Darn Hot, by Cole Porter, from Kiss Me Kate

.bikini

I caught Al Gore on the Daily Show last week. I’ve had a soft spot for Gore ever since I shook his hand during his last senate campaign back in the day. He would have been President in 2001 if he had only run an honest campaign – if he hadn’t treated Clinton, and his successful policies like radioactive shit and had paid no attention to the “experts” trying to rebrand him every other week. On the other hand, I think his loss allowed him to become an actual human being.

Anyway, he was talking on the show about global warming. I agreed with everything he said. Its staggeringly stupid we, as a nation, treat climate change as just below the lack of Washington parking as a problem. One political party pretends climate change is a hoax, the other barely mentions it.

bikini2

The less developed countries, particularly India and China, ignore the issue, too, in their frantic effort to modernize. Think Beijing smog and add  another million plus cars then add another million plus in India (oh, yes, add about another couple of thousand coal fired power plants). When the West’s industries came of age in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries no country did – or even thought to do – anything about climate change. When America barely preaches on the subject of climate how can we expect China, India, Indonesia, Vietnam, and the dozen other nations clawing themselves up the economic ladder with dirty carbon based fuels.

Not that it really matters.

It’s too damn late to do anything about the climate. Think about this: suppose we could wave a magic wand and reduce carbon emissions to 1985 levels and kept them there for a decade or so. 1985 levels would not reverse global warming, it would only slow it down a bit. Indeed, if we could eliminate all carbon emissions global warming would continue for decades.

bikini3

Perhaps in another decade or so there will be such a catastrophic climate event world leaders will finally realize the seriousness of the problem. But what will they do? More to the point, will they be willing to drastically reduce emissions? By that time will serious cuts do any good? I suspect every industrial nation will demand the others go first (or falsely claim they are cooperating).

I’m a pessimist. If we discovered a huge asteroid hurtling toward earth with the potential to destroy all life on our planet, I have no doubt world leaders would quickly coalesce around a massive effort to solve the problem, no matter the cost.

On the other hand, its not beyond the possible that the GOP would decry the vast astronomical conspiracy to further th UN’s goal of  world domination…

But with climate change, the evidence will accrue so slowly that it will be long past way too late by the time the world gets even semi-serious…

bikini4

All photos by Mario Mercea, and subject to this creative commons license

Read all of VISIONS

LIBERAL LAMENT (with bountiful blue boobs)

Posted in erotic, fashion, fetish, FLICKR, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, pinup, sexual, Sexy, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 7, 2012 by cliffmichaels

..

There has been much written lately about the growing income inequality in this country. The attitude of many, particularly on the right, is so what? 

The so what is political; it is the need for a cohesive populace loyal to America. The better off people are the more likely they are to feel connected to American ideals and government. The poor, the resentful, the believers the political and economic systems are irrevocably rigged against them, are likely to shed their willingness to support this country and its government. Add enough people to these groups and you have a dangerous mix of anger and resentment in too many people, people ripe for any radical political movement promising to topple the corrupt elements of American political and economic elites.

We are not a ethnic nation; we are unified by ideals and not by blood. When life drains of hope and we lose our faith in American exceptionalism – our American Dream – we have nothing to fall back on. We aren’t  French, or German, or Italian; our history of national identity is relatively short and the war that forged  our true identity was not with some other ethnic or religious group but with ourselves.

The political right trumpets “free markets”. Whatever the markets’ economic efficiencies, they can also divide us along economic lines, lines that many see as arbitrary and drawn as much by the luck of birth and chance as by enterprise and  industriousness. Mitt Romny, whatever his business acumen, prospered thanks in large part because of his family, its wealth and the advantages and opportunities they afforded him. If he had been born black, poor, his rise obstructed by poor education, the fractures of family, and inner city violence, he chances of success would have been tiny.

We are a nation of three hundred million people, not of corporations. Our national goals should seek much more than economic efficiencies. The general welfare must embrace the welfare of all of us. If it does not, if we do not act together to bind up the nation’s wounds, we may find our Americanism so diluted in so many of us we may cease to be a nation at all.

Gratuitous Boobs

Image by BillyWarhol, remixed by me, both original and remix subject to this creative commons license 

SHOCKING SET BY BILLY!

FLICKR GROUP: Big Natural Tits

Read all of VISIONS

Flagrante Delicto!

Posted in erotic, FLICKR, memoir, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, sexual, Sexy, tennessee, Uncategorized, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2012 by cliffmichaels

..

I didn’t decide to go to law school until I was a senior in college. Up till then my career plans were as vague as a foggy mountain winter dawn. I realized I had to do something, you know, to make an actual living. I didn’t know much of practical use at 21, but I had a pretty strong hunch a liberal arts degree wasn’t going to get me a good job, especially in the weak economy of 1970.

By the end of the summer of that year I did have a wife –  a wife who worked and, even better yet, a wife who was willing to continue working if I decided to forgo regular, full-time employment to continue going to school. This good fortune, however, was counter balanced by the shocking unwillingness of my parents to continue supporting me in the modest circumstances to which I had become accustomed. Something about good money after bad, they claimed.

I had a part time job, too. I worked a three hour late night shift at United Parcel Service. Virtually the entire nightshift crew was college students. The work wasn’t horribly hard and, for that time, it paid a decent wage. It also helped that in those bygone days tuition at the University of Tennessee was quite modest for instate students and I would not be forced into debt as students are today.

So, with a working wife, a part time job, no real debts, and not needing much ready cash to continue my education, I decided to try law school in the spring. I wasn’t worried about getting in; 1971 was well before everyone, all his siblings, most of his first cousins, (and many of his second) was besieging every law school in America and clamoring for admission. I aced the LSAT, then wasted a month or so before school started.

The first quarter I took the curriculum seriously. I studied hard, spending hours and hours in the law library (we had something called books back then). Despite working part time late at night and having early morning classes, at the end of those first three months I had one of the highest GPA’s in the class. I felt so proud of myself! Wow, I thought, I must be really good at this stuff!

Of course, once I realized law courses weren’t all that hard (no math, after all), my dedication to study soon atrophied, as did my GPA. I didn’t care. I knew I was still good at this stuff. I mean, when was the last time you asked your lawyer, doctor, accountant, or plumber what her GPA was in school?

Looking back, my legal career now seems as if it was inevitable – like Custer’s Last Stand, the sinking of the Titanic or the explosion of the Hindenburg (only without all the press attention). Now, after thirty-eight years fiddling third violin in the back row of the frequently dischordant legal orchestra, I am now  resigned to never becoming the soloist out front.

But, by God, I’m still good at it…

I’ve only recently realized I was, at birth, fated to practice law – it was inevitable! The signs were all there. And those signs continued to appear over the next twenty-one year! If I had only paid attention to them I’d be a high income plumber today!

First, I was late to my own birth. I hung around in that cozy uterus for as long as I could. Now I don’t know a lawyer who isn’t late, at least to court. When I was in my early days of practice, there was a Knoxville lawyer I admired, Joe Levitt, who was known, particularly by judges he practiced before, as the late Mr. Levitt. He had a habit of arriving to the courtroom an hour or two after his case was called, wearing a brown rumpled suit and carrying his battered brief case in one hand and a half eaten sandwich in the other.  Sadly, now that appellation is literally true. Of course, if I had been really late for my grand entry to this world, say weeks instead of days, I’d be a judge by now.

After I was born I whined and complained to both my parents. Not understanding the justice of my demands, they seemed callous judges. I thereafter learned to talk and by two I could say habeas corpus, caveat emptor, ipso facto, and coitus interruptus. It was only years into my law practice, however, I learned, and truly understood, the phrase vigilantibus non dormientibus aequitas subvenit. 

 In another obvious sign, when I was about ten or so I developed an absolute aversion to any kind of physical labor. That year my Pater familias wanted me to cut the grassIn the summmer heat! This was long before we had either a self-propelled or ride on mower. We had a stubborn push mower and a large, moderately hilly yard. It took almost an hour to do the entire job; when I was done I felt like Lawrence of Arabia deep in Wadi Rum, but not as well dressed.

I honed my verbal skills to convince Dad to excuse me from my agrostological chore. It was easy. He was an engineer and knew only three things: water flows downhill, you can’t push a rope, and you get paid twice a month. Of course, I was aided in my brief by the the mere existence of my youngest brother Pat, now old enough to assume my duties. I assured him cutting the grass would be a promotion for him, several steps up from emptying the trash. But he balked. Luckily for me, his only skill at argument to counter my suggestion to Dad he replace me was his ability to stomp his foot, shake his head and moan, “Jeez, Dad, its not fair”, a modus operandi our parents had long before learned to ignore.

Perhaps the surest sign of my future vocation came in 1962, when I was fourteen. The summer before beginning high school,  I engaged in my first serious debate. The venue was our neighbors’ front yard one late summer afternoon; my adversary was Donna, their pretty fourteen year old red headed daughter. Our audience was a handful of other neighborhood children. The subject of our debate, chosen by me, was female genital anatomy.  Although I had no sisters, after having avidly studied my parents’ 1945 plain black jacketed marriage manual and its copious, if sadly schematic, black and white anatomical drawings, I felt fully prepared and confidently argued to this girl she was clearly wrong about what lay between her own two legs. My arguments were cogent, logical, and, if I do say so myself, elegant in both composition and presentation – yet shockingly proved futile. Declaring me guilty of argumentum ad ignoratiam, she remained unyielding in the face of my attempts to seduce her with my tongue to the truth.  Still, anyone who watched our great debate would have surely concluded by the last light of the day I was destined to excel at the law.

My only regret other than my inability to convince Donna of the theoretical soundness of my position was my failure to demand she allow me to fully discover her demonstrable proof she claimed supported her position before starting the debate (it was nearly another fours years before similar discovery came to hand for close and frequent study and my juvenile erratum were at last revealed to me).

Of course, if I had actually convinced Donna what she saw in her hand mirror when she examined her nether regions was wrong, I would not only be a lawyer today, but a very, very, very rich one as well…

..

Dear reader, should you think ill of my tales, or doubt their veracity, I urge you to recall this Latin phrase:

Dubia in meliorem partem interpretari debent

FLICKR tag search Lawyer

FLICKR GROUP Law Schools
As for me

Quo senior, eo immortalitati propinquior

For photo credits, click an image. All images, and my remixes, subject to this creative commons license

Read all of VISIONS

Weird Nude #141592653589793238

Posted in erotic, fashion, fetish, FLICKR, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, sexual, Sexy, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 5, 2012 by cliffmichaels

..

Photo by Camil Tulcan, subject to this creative commons license

Camil’s sets NUDES and PORTRAITS

The Art Of Fetish, Sexy, Goth, Weird And Freaks!

Read all of VISIONS

Love’s Illusions

Posted in art, erotic, fashion, fetish, FLICKR, lingerie, photographers, PHOTOGRAPHY, sexual, Sexy, women with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 28, 2012 by cliffmichaels

..

I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know love at all…

..

Her name is Liz and, as you can see, she’s beautiful, classically beautiful, a bit like movie stars Ingrid Bergman or Grace Kelly. When I met her I thought she was quite pretty. Then my camera loved her: her skin, her large, intelligent brown eyes, her long sweep of raven black hair, her sweetly full lips, her delicate, tanned shoulders, and her lean and lovely legs. When I first saw the virgin images on the monitor after our shoot I was overwhelmed. The pretty teenaged girl I had photographed had become a classic beauty on my computer screen.

As you can tell from the set, I spent a lot of  time lovingly processing the images. As is my wont, I used photoshop quite a bit. She didn’t like her freckles so in most of the shots I removed them, smoothed her skin, slightly enlarged her eyes  (in a few images), gave her eyeliner in a few shots. In the above photo I made her dress blue, gave her blue lipstick and made her brown eyes blue.

Working with her photographs, enlarging her face to fill the screen, zooming into those eyes, those elegant shoulders (and, um, her nicely tanned legs), I fell just a little bit in love with her, smitten with her enthralling beauty, particularly as I enhanced and modified it. Dazzled by the combination of her natural loveliness and my artful augmentation of it, Liz became an object of my desire.

They say beauty is merely skin deep. I suppose so; but most of us don’t have the ability to find someone’s spleen or large intestines alluring. “Hey, guys, catch the bodacious rack of kidneys in that babe!” 

Of course, the shallow and mindless view of beauty, and of sexiness, is most pronounced in the male of our species. I am no exception. When I first spy a startlingly attractive woman I react instantly with a mindless jolt of visceral desire.  For the brief time I am in her presence I’m entranced by her physical beauty, her sexiness, or both. Once she’s out of my sight she’s quickly forgotten. I suffer from no prolonged unrequited longing. (but see this post)

But when I spend hour upon hour upon hour gazing intently at a digital representation of my model’s face and body, and after more hours spent playing photoshop Higgins to my finely pixelated Eliza, her shimmering surface beauty seeps deep beneath my skin and I soon find myself embarrassed by a surging adolescent crush on my fair lady.

My first model, and still my favorite, was the Fabulous Redheaded Angela. Even before pointing my Nikon D50 at her I thought she was sexy. Once I spent hours and hours playing with her photos I found myself wanting her. A lot. Like a seething herd of poisonous snakes, dangerous fantasies slithered through my Hypothalamus. My saving antivenom was derived from chaste passage of time and my growing recognition of  her devotion to her too many children and her religious faith, her frantic frustrations with the family’s chronic lack of money and her often precarious health. The more human she became, the more I understood her messy, ordinary life, the less I lusted for her. Her digital avatar was enough.

When now my crush on the current feminine apple of my camera’s unblinking eye reaches an uncomfortably warm level – when I’m tempted to do more than look – I force myself to get a hold of myself, sober up, get real,  and remember my delightful images display nothing real. Alluring they may be, yes, beautiful, too, perhaps. But Real? No way! Emphatically not! I firmly tell myself once again the women charming me in my photoshopped images are no more real than a blessing of unicorns. Given the deliberate photoshopping I do to enhance my models’ beauty or sexiness, I must confess my images are not only unreal but they are often outright visual lies. White lies, perhaps; but I must not trust these depictions of flawless seductresses. They’re just pretty pictures and nothing more: light and shadows signifying nothing. I get downright stern with myself – “no more of this silly nonsense!” Sometimes I even stomp my foot.

But these strident lectures I deliver to myself in my best stentorian mental voice are frequently less convincing than I would like. It’s so very hard to disbelieve your eyes and so easy not to. I know The first photo of Liz above is false, a sweet flimflam; but in it she looks so beautiful to me, so innocent, so classy, so aristocratic, so sweetly serene. When I look at the image I forget what I know and I just want to drown myself in her big, blue lagoon eyes or softly embrace her delicate, tanned  shoulders. I yearn to hold her. I can almost smell her perfume, see her eyes looking into mine, almost feel the cool softness of her black tresses against my cheek. I can nearly hear her soft, girlish whispers, imagine the softness of  her caress, the passion in her kiss, the yearning of her flesh. My dream of having her, possessing this gloriously beautiful woman in my picture on my computer screen, grows alarmingly vivid.

But of course she isn’t real; the girl in my photos is merely a product of artfully placed light and shadow, proper angles and poses, and my photoshop skills. Those blissfully big, blue eyes? They aren’t real. I enlarged them. They were actually dark brown and were half surrounded by an unattractive swarm of yellowish red freckles smeared high across her left cheek and the left side of her otherwise patrician noise; the photoshop healing brush quickly wiped it away. Her eyebrows were jarringly thick and dark, almost mannish; I lightened and thinned them. I brightened shadows on her face and dimmed harsh light across her forehead. I warmed the color of her skin. I abolished a few zits and embryonic wrinkles. On the other hand, her shoulders are as lovely as they appear. In motion Liz seemed stick thin and more than a little coltish. Caught in the right pose and frozen in time and good light by my camera, however, she became both graceful and pleasingly ample.

Of course I know she isn’t just beautiful skin and elegant bones. She has major, and frightening,  health problems. She’s grappling with serious issues in her young life. Of course I know that. She probably has lots of worries – lots of things she needs or urgently wants to do. She’s only eighteen, after all. Life can be so threatening at that age. I remember how awful I felt so much of the time at that age. I bet she still gets acne. Of course I know it isn’t her shimmering surface, however beguiling I find  it – or make it – that matters to her; for her it’s the crazy whirlwind of what lies beneath.

 And of course I know she doesn’t dream of me, an old man who took some pretty pictures of her one Wednesday afternoon in July. Of course I know that. Whatever her unimaginable dreams may be, they have nothing to do with me. I am barely a bit player in her life. After all, she has no falsely alluring photographs of me. 

I know you cannot have a meaningful relationship with a digital photograph. I know you cannot have sex with photoshopped image. Of course I know that. Of course, too, I know the other side, the real side, of these women I photograph. Of course I know the truth: they are all, in fact, complicated, three dimensional, real people with complicated, three dimensional real and jumbled lives. I also know the women of my dreams rarely if ever inhabit the same wobbly world I call home. I am an adult and I know the score. It’s the lyrics I can’t abide.

But sometimes it isn’t easy to remember what I know (as I grow older it gets harder and harder to remember even those things I desire to recall). An unpalatable truth is easy to forget.  Some of the time – maybe even most of the time – I forget some really important stuff.

When I do forget the peril of believing in photographic fantasy, when I am worn out by all that complicated truth, then once again all my unblemished beauties, who exist in my artful photographic fables and nowhere else, become simply all too lovable and alive.

FLICKR GROUPS

Portrait  Beauty Women of Natural BeautyAestheteBeautiful WomenGlamour MagazineGreat Modeling PosesErotic Photo Manipulations Fantasy Females

Read all of VISIONS