“I have had a hard time posing naked for the first time. I was thinking “What would she think, what will she say?”. As a Jewish psychiatrist myself, I am obviously referring to my mother. How the hell was she invited to such a private moment ?
I was outed, 17 years ago, at seventeen by a forgotten love letter written by my first lover. We met during a summer trip, we had a summer fling and after we parted, he sent me a letter. I moved from my parents’ house the same year, to start my medical studies in College. And when I packed to leave my teenager room, I forgot to carry with the letter me. In this letter, he wrote about how we met, how our hands accidentally touched at a crosswalk, how we kissed in Notting Hill and how we fucked for the first time on a rooftop of London. It was just like a dream. But the dream turned into a nightmare as I was getting familiar with the concept of a Freudian slip or acte manqué. My parents found the letter, and read it entirely. When I found out about it, I felt devastated, weak, exposed and naked. My mother’s firsts words to me were : “YOU’RE A SLUT !”. And her first act was to slap me in the face. I remember hearing those words and feeling this slap as it was yesterday.
Thus, years later, as I was getting naked for the first time in front of a camera, knowing I’ll leave an image of me naked for posterity, I thought about this letter. I couldn’t help but wonder : “Am I a slut? Is that slutty? Was she right about me? What would she think of me?”
It was a sunny Sunday morning of Spring. The photographer was meeting me at my appartement, in Paris. I didn’t know how things were supposed to happen. I was nervous. Then he knocked at my door, and I saw a handsome Brazilian man, with dark hair, scruffy beard, and a large comforting smile. But, I still didn’t know what to do, or what was expected of me to do. And as I was undressing myself, I really didn’t know what I was supposed to do with my body. I was shaking, and my head was filled with these unstoppable thoughts. I felt like I wasn’t good enough, I asked myself : « Why am I even doing that? »
Then things started to get easier. The photo shoot wasn’t exactly a casual shoot as the photographer was also a bondage master. He started to unfold his ropes, and knotting them around me. I was kind of afraid about the bondage thing, as it was a first to me. But, as I was being tied up, I felt more and more liberated. My eyes were closed and blinded by the ropes. My body and my movements were restricted and guided by the bonds. My face, my arms, my chest, my legs, my cock, my balls…The tighter the ropes were, the freer my mind was. And also the harder I was. It was a feeling I’ve never experienced before. I felt myself letting go of everything. I wasn’t afraid, I wasn’t thinking about anything else. I wasn’t thinking. I was just being.
I was at peace with myself, with my body and with my mind. It was like a meditative state, close to Nirvana. And I could fully enjoy and feel every time the ropes were moving on my body, every time Fabio, the photographer, touched my skin to move the ropes. Every one of his touch felt like a deflagration. Every time I took a breath, I felt the ropes tightening on my chest, squeezing me. I could feel my blood flowing through my veins, pumping through my body. And it felt good.
I couldn’t care about anything else, about my insecurities, about my body being too fat or not muscular enough. I completely forgot about the camera and I couldn’t care about my mother’s judgment anymore. I finally found the way to enjoy the beauty of this moment and to get out my head. I let myself get carried away and it turned out I had a lot of fun doing this shoot. I think we both had fun this day. “