By David Russell
By David Russell
The hero, Percival arranges a date through a contact mag. He and Darlene have a rapturous scenario, handled with superb finesse and supreme command of the wardrobe. He finds some hints of her complicated past. Before and after the encounter, he is eyed up and accosted by malicious-seeming men. The sense of an underlying hornet’s nest is scary, and immediately detracts from the euphoria, which does finally prevail.
I envisaged Darlene dressing before her mirror, adoring her own image, caressing her thighs as she drew up her stockings, loving her own image in the mirror, savouring her own fully charged magnetism. I imagined delicious dressing in preparation for delicious undressing – perhaps some feeling in her bones that I might be someone out of the ordinary, or even an additional bonus of doing it with another woman before my eyes.
I, in turn, practiced disrobing in front of my mirror, in subdued light, capturing all the alluring angles, savouring myself under the dream spell of her implicit eyes. I sensed the bleeps of telepathy in operation between us—laser-beamed gazes and breaths of rapture.
I spiced my sensations with my favourite videos. Katy Perry’s Thinking of You and Teenage Dream came to the fore, those graceful balletic of revelation, pulling on the stockings, pulling off the jeans, my hands all over that lithe, tanned form. I washed, ironed, and immersed myself into putting on and taking off all the items in my wardrobe. I even had some limbering up chats on the phone – some alluring voices there, even more magical for their anonymity and their covert location. Those blind rehearsals sharpened the visual and tactile imagination. Some aspects suit complete darkness, others suit subdued light. Maybe at some point, there will be a home video, capturing idyllic trysts indoors and outdoors, two lovers willing themselves into dream perfection…great art is often a substitute or reminder for experience. How much more fulfilling when it is an accompaniment or a backdrop