Letters from Heather — 2034 — Sitting for a Portrait

“Oh, he’s totally cool,” or “Yeah, he’s a great guy...” Those only carry so much traction. But in this case, with the radar I’ve developed, I can kinda sniff out the weirdos.

And besides. I’ve told myself over and over that I was gonna do it at some point, if it ever came up. For something with a reason, like some art book.

But he actually was a huge deal, and was working on a gallery project: in this case, “a contemplation on the complexities of the human form,” or something. That’s as much street cred as I’ll find, I suppose. And I did like his work, so. And besides... I’m mere weeks away from... 50. Who’d have thought I’d make it?

I suppose I didn’t know what to expect when our assistants set it up. I was a little nervous. My life is in my office, in front of a blinking cursor. And, I don’t exactly move around as freely as I used to. But everyone seemed to say it was going to be some easy, artsy portraiture.

He sent a ride, a van, thank goodness, and I was on my way to a large, open loft space, like from some movie. Thank goodness the building had an elevator... I can’t remember the last time I was able to “do” stairs.

He re-introduced himself, quiet and soft spoken, and asked me if I wanted anything. He looked, but didn’t stare, and led me to his hair and makeup person (my hair looked kickin’), before showing me to a large blue backdrop with a single chaise lounge.

“I was thinking of having you basically sit there,” he gestured to the lounge, “with your back as straight as possible.” He looked at me, and with complete curiosity, said, “Do you think your breasts will rest on the floor comfortably.”

I was kind of relieved. I hate trying to... make people feel better because they are uncomfortable with my body. Artists, dude. Tell it like it is.

“Yeah, I think so,” I said, gently waddling over to chaise to get a closer look. “I’ll know better if I... should I?” I gestured to my shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, whenever you’re ready,” he said, heading off to find a piece of gear. “By the way, that dress it’s very clever.”

“Thanks,” I chuckled, beginning to undo the zippers and fasteners that held this unique garment firmly in place. “It... makes me look a little more put together than a muumuu.”

Undoing the support bands, I pulled the dress off my front, unraveling the large, full coverage pouches that enveloped my breasts. I hoped my assistant reminded his team that I would need a place to get re-dressed for a half-hour...

Nude and slightly chilly in the quiet studio nook, I rested my arms on my sides and evaluated the chaise. Gently lowering my butt, and keeping my back straight, I slowly straddled and took a seat facing the camera, feeling Nat and Olga make contact with the floor to each side of me — obviously cement beneath the paper, which made me wince. I arched my back, relieved to have a little of the strain removed from my shoulders. Pulling myself backward slightly, I gently tugged them a little toward me, feeling the tickling of the paper on my flesh, enough so (I assumed) my nipples were pointed roughly the right way. I didn’t mind a little rearranging with help, but it takes explaining.

I was experimenting with where to place my legs, was trying to use my toe to even out a little crease that had formed on Olga, and shifted from left to right on the chaise, anchored in place a little by the girls.

The photographer walked back in, and raised his eyebrows. “Don’t move,” he said. “That’s great,” as he raised the camera to his eye.