I’ve hit another 100: one hundred photos posted here on Fet, taken exclusively for Fet. If someone had told me four and a half months ago that I will reach this point, I would have laughed in their faces and tell them they were crazy. I -someone who hates being on pictures- am taking photos on purpose to post over the internet. But they aren’t just photos.
They are pieces of me. They are the shyness of the first takes when everything was hidden behind the shield of clothes. The short captions that just wanted to say hello to this corner of the world, slowly cracking the thickness of my skin to let everything that was restrained pour out.
They are bonds around my body that bring myself together while breaking me into a million parts at the same time. They mend, they heal, they free, they tighten, they speak, they show, they teach, they learn. They build me from the ground, the sides and the top simultaneously, adding one piece after another, creating a new picture with every fragment they put in place.
They are a story to be told. They are the tears, laughter, fears, victories, losses and wins of my life. The people I met, the ones that left, the ones I let go and the ones that are still here. They are my past living in the present and my present tiptoeing into the future. They are my “once upon a time” with happy endings, movie-worthy drama, retellings, cliffhangers, and open finales.
They are acceptance. The hard truths that hide behind the mirror every time my eyes meet my own reflection. The feelings that come with every picture, every mark, every squeeze of the rope, every orgasm, every pinch. The power of surrendering and learning that some impossibilities are within reach, waiting for me to grasp them. The fact that my beliefs can be turned upside down and what was wrong is now right, what was forgotten is reigniting my soul, and what was hidden is now pouring from my skin.
They are fear. The courage needed to embark on a journey that can lead to both: returning empty handed or with the gold at the end of the rainbow. The fright that comes with the idea of having to go back to the greyscale world now that all I see is red and shinning colors. The air leaving my lungs at the thought of not being able to share my pleasures, treasures, and failures.
They are what I want to become. The butterfly after metamorphosis undergoes, and the caterpillar leaves the protection of the cocoon. What is scratching its way to the surface, buried beneath the weight of all what I was expected to be. What deep inside my mind, my heart and my soul I already am. Submissive. Masochist. Beautiful. Free.
They aren’t just one hundred photos. They are pieces of me. They are bonds around my body. They are a story to be told. They are acceptance. They are fear. They are what I want to become. Submissive. Masochist. Beautiful. Free.