Obviously, I’m not a photographer. I’m far more comfortable with words than I am with images (and perhaps I’ll explain why some other time).
Since I was thinking about (and writing about) what I intended to do with J’s collar, I figured I should take some photos of it before I took it apart to make it into something that better suits it’s shifting symbolism.
While I’m not generally invested in photos I take, these were a giant disappointment. They were ridiculously boring — more flat and straight-forward than rich and resonant.
First, it’s disappointing that I can’t possibly communicate — in words or in images — how beautiful the boy is when he’s in it. The love, the obsession, and the hunger can’t be captured in a way that does justice to the feeling of seeing my boy wearing my collar.
Second, it’s disappointing that the photos are so… dull. They’re lifeless, bloodless, and chaste. You’d never know that collar was part of such fantastic, kinky stuff. Wearing it, J’s been forced to suck my cock, lick my pussy, jerk off into a glove, edge himself, and entertain me during dinner. He’s been tied, spanked, fucked, pegged, figged, hooded, needled, and recorded.
Since the photos didn’t evoke debauchery or portray intimacy, I did some Photoshop-fu and Instaglamorizing filter-fuckery in an attempt to make the photos more interesting.
As you can see, all I came up with was some 7th grade level emo art… but I like it, so I’m posting it.