Up close and personal: FHM shooting - 2.

The FHM shoot is about to begin. Bridgett works on my face, brush moving slow, lips parted in concentration. She keeps the look soft, nothing heavy, just enough to catch the lights. My body feels ready, the lingerie already clinging to every curve and the black lace riding high over a plump, round ass that the photographer will want to frame from every angle. I step in front of the lens and the first shots crack off quick, the mood still easy, almost playful. Then the tone shifts. The camera moves closer, hungry for detail, and my body answers without thinking. I turn, arch, hold still while he studies the way my ass pushes back against the lace, the way the fabric barely covers me. The air warms. My skin prickles. Every click of the shutter makes me more aware of how little I’m wearing and how much he sees. The photographer gives quiet instructions and I follow, lowering a strap, lifting my chin, leaning forward so the line of my back leads straight to the swell of my hips. I feel exposed. I like it. The shoot never settles. Each frame pushes closer, each pose a little bolder, until the room itself feels tight with tension. I don’t know what the final images will show, but right now, with the camera inches from my skin and the heat pooling low in my belly, nothing feels relaxed at all.