Ivette--at Haulover Beach, Miami Beach, Florida. Used to be my screen-saver for the longest time. As of 1/11/15, this is the only photo of mine I've printed in a moderately large size (about 3 1/2 feet by 12 inches) since switching to digital back in 2010.
What follows is the story of my meeting this beautiful young lady:
During my February of 2011 trip to Miami Beach, as I often do, I visited Haulover Beach, the northern most part of which is Florida's only official nude beach. As is usually the case, upon arriving there I left my Nikon in the trunk of my car as cameras are rather frowned upon by most everyone at Haulover--at least, unsolicited picture taking is. It's like a code, and most everyone is watchful. Thus, I'd never taken pictures of the clientele there. I've taken my camera along briefly to have a picture taken of myself, or of the high rises to the North, or of the sea, but I take care not to point it at the beach-goers. Mind you, I think this "code" is silly. If people are going to show up naked on a public beach, then they ought to be willing to stand up and be counted as an adherent of naturism. If there's nothing wrong with being naked out in the open, that why get apoplexy over the idea of someone snapping your picture? But there's no arguing with the prevailing mood, and getting into shouting matches--or worse, tug-of-wars with my camera--isn't my idea of a good time. So, I leave my picture taking of heavenly bodies to South Beach, where the hostility toward the photographer isn't nearly so extreme.
On this particular trip to Haulover, after settling in, I noticed (as if I could help it) a beautiful young woman standing at the ocean's edge practicing what I assumed was Tai Chi--though I actually had no real idea what Tai Chi looked like. But she was going through a whole series of slow-motion movements that looked at times a little like some kind of martial arts. She was topless, and wore tiny black bikini bottoms--or more like a cross between bikini bottoms and a thong--which matched her raven-black hair that was piled on the back of her head. She was of small frame, slender, but with a beautiful taper at the waist--gorgeous, essentially perfect buns and flawless skin. She faced the ocean the whole time so I could only see her back from my position--which was not fixed, incidentally as, like a magnet, she was drawing me to her. I was initially curious, but soon was utterly fascinated as this lovely woman slowly went through her paces. I had to wonder, was this entirely an exhibitionistic thing?--I certainly was not the only one on the beach who was captivated by her--or was it something done in spite of the those watching her?--perhaps some kind of meditative thing, or a communing with nature? Though these questions flashed through my mind, mostly, I just sat and pondered her beauty. I don't think I even had any specific sexual fantasies about her. More like, I just looked upon her with open mouthed wonder and appreciation, though I certainly ached to have a camera in my hands. Unfortunately, I hadn't joined the audience until the show had already started. I don't know how long it had gone on before I noticed her, but it was over all too quickly after arriving on the scene--perhaps five minutes. She dropped her hands to her side and stood motionless for a short time before slowly turning and walking not quite toward me, off to my left. This new aspect of this woman was as startling as the other, her small breasts befitting her slender body, and a face that was every bit as wonderful as her backside had been--dark eyes, a tiny nose and surprisingly round cheeks considering how slender she was. My eyes, like dozens of others, followed her as she found her place next to an apparent friend, and then sat gracefully down. Immediately, I thought about asking her if I could pretty please take pictures of her while she performed once again the movements that had so enraptured me. But I was sure that asking would only be a way of humiliating myself, at least in a small way, as she almost certainly would turn me down.
Wouldn't she?
I watched her intently, though newly cognizant of her eyes, I tried not to stare. She was so lovely it almost hurt to look at her, but still how could I help myself? The idea of her actually posing for me seemed to lie somewhere on the spectrum between far-fetched and ludicrous. Why would she consent to such a thing? Still, the idea of asking her persisted, and a battle between the "rational"--i.e., timid--me and the "irrational"--i.e., courageous--me raged on. I won't exaggerate, this battle wasn't a long one, but as it began I had little doubt that the me who knew his place would win out and I would let what scant opportunity there was to have her model for me pass . . . but two minutes later, somehow, I rose to my feet and found myself walking her way. Humiliation? I would survive after all. I stopped perhaps five feet in front of her, and she and her friend looked up at me, questioningly.
Somehow, I didn't stammer.
"Hello, Miss. I was watching you as you were communing with nature over there," motioning toward the spot where she had so recently stood, "and I thought you were strikingly beautiful. I wonder if you would mind posing for me--doing what you were doing? I'd be honored. I'm an amateur photographer you see." If my speech was lacking in sophistication or cleverness, at least it was coherent.
She was looking up at me with an expression that gave no hint of what her response would be, though I certainly feared the worst.
After perhaps three of the longer seconds I had experienced, she smiled a friendly smile and said, "Okay. Sure. Where is your camera?"
Narrowly avoiding swallowing my tongue, I replied, "It's out in my car. I'll run out and get it and be right back!"
"Okay," said she,"we'll be here."
I managed a smile and turned and hurried off, looking back once to ensure she was actually still there. I retrieved my shorts from where I had left them near the lifeguard tower, and as I left the beach area, slipped them on as nudity wasn't allowed off the beach. I walked/half ran over the path leading through the thick growth of sea grapes that protected passers-by from having their eyes despoiled by the sight of nude men and women, hurried past the bathroom, ran down the stairs to the tunnel (painted an almost fluorescent pinkish purple) that went underneath the A1A highway, over the short board walk that carried you across a bit of mangrove swamp, and out onto the parking lot. I quickly found my car, flung open the trunk, and grabbed my camera. I checked to make sure my battery was sufficiently charged and charged back toward the beach, retracing my steps. As I passed the bathroom, I ignored the urge to pee as I wished to waste absolutely no time getting back to my model. I sped past the sea grapes and quickly got out of my shorts, peering ahead to see if the young lady was still there, fearing that maybe this was all a joke and she would be hiding somewhere and watching to laugh uproariously at my disappointment.
But she was still there.
As I approached, she looked up and smiled, and rose to her feet--ever so much more gracefully than I ever could have.
"Okay." she pronounced--apparently a favorite word. "Now, you're not going to take any pictures of my face, right?" she asked, looking a bit concerned.
"Um, well, not if you don't want me to."
"Yes, I'd rather you not." She smiled slightly, and then turned and walked back toward the ocean. I followed, puppy like, in her wake. She stopped where the waves would just wash over her feet, and turned and asked, "Here?"
"That's great" I replied.
She then turned back to face the ocean and I backed away, having in my mind to take pictures with her beautiful body small against the backdrop of the huge sea and sky.
She began her posing, and I began my picture taking. Yes, I was disappointed that I was not going to be allowed to photograph her adorable face. That restriction would handcuff me considerably. Yet that disappointment was lost in the glare of what I COULD photograph. If I had had more time, I could have discovered many creative ways to capture her image frontally but still respecting her wishes, but free modeling doesn't last forever.
Several minutes into the session, she did something for which I am forever grateful. She undid her hair. So mesmerized was I with what she was presenting, it quite possibly never would have occurred to me to ask her to do this. But do it she did, letting down her luscious locks which fell more than halfway to her waist. After several more minutes, she turned to me questioningly, and I approached her with a couple of requests for further poses--one of which allowed me to capture a few images of a breast, and even a sliver of her face.
A few more minutes, and she was finished. Alas.
So enamored of her modeling potential, I offered to pay her for her further services. But unfortunately, she was not interested.
And so ended, 10 minutes after it started, my first session with a semi-nude model. It's hard to imagine me ever having a finer one--but hope lives eternal.
