SamanthaJoneX

She had passed by the window dozens of times, always in a hurry, always with a perfect excuse not to stop.. But this Friday, while the city was vibrating with its nightly agitation, something made it stop. Maybe it was the soft reflection of the light on the mannequin, maybe the impulse of someone who knows he needs a little change in his life. or maybe it was just the desire to feel master of her actions. The black ensemble lay in the window like a secret about to be revealed: delicate lace, suggestive transparencies, metallic details that attracted the eye. It didn't look like clothes; it looked like an affirmation. She entered almost mechanically. The saleswoman looked at her with a heard smile, like someone who recognizes a person about to make a bold decision..

« How can I help you? "What?" he asked. She simply pointed to the outfit. « I would like to try it. »

In the fitting room, the silence was different. An intimate silence, as if this small space was waiting for this moment. She undressed slowly, not out of shyness, but because she felt that every movement was part of an unknown ritual.. As she slid her stockings down her legs, a shiver ran through her, a shiver that depended on no one else.. It was his. Only his own. When she looked in the mirror, she was surprised. It was not only the lace, nor the lines that accentuated her silhouette; it was her posture. The way she raised her chin. The way her lips stretched into a smile she hadn't seen in a long time. A confident, playful, bright smile. « It fits you perfectly,” murmured the saleswoman from outside.. And for the first time in months, she nodded wholeheartedly.                                                                                    

She left the store, the bag in her hand, enjoying the lightness of the fabric. and the particular weight of the decision it had just taken. It was not a simple purchase: it was a reminder. That she could still be surprised. That she could still reinvent her nights. Back home, she lit only one lamp. The soft warm light illuminated the room as she opened the bag and caressed the lace again.. She dressed slowly, as if she wanted every second to be etched into her skin. And when she saw herself in the mirror again, this time in her own bedroom, she felt a different spark: the desire to play with her reflection, to move, to explore this version of herself that had just awakened..

The soft light of the studio enveloped me as soon as I walked through the door. I am always amazed to see how this light ignores me even before the photographer notices me, as if it knew exactly how to highlight me to caress my curves with a delicacy that I sometimes forget to possess. Today's session would be different: I would not show my face, only my details, my lines, my secrets engraved on my skin. I settled slowly, feeling the dark fabric of my outfit embracing my body. I didn't choose it by chance; I love the way it highlights my tattoos, the way the shadow glides on my silhouette as if it was learning to love it.. The photographer didn't say a word, and I was grateful. Some sessions are told by silence.

  As I leaned forward slightly, I felt the light gently caress my shoulders. The floral tattoo that runs from my collarbone to my shoulder seemed to wake up. Sometimes I feel like it has a life of its own, that it breathes with me. I heard the first click of the camera and I knew it was immortalizing precisely that: the story that my ink tells not with words, but with lines..

I slipped my hands along my waist, embracing the curve that has always seemed to me the most feminine. I wore my favorite rings, thin and sparkling, matching the softness of my clear nails. I like the way my hands express themselves when they move slowly, like in a secret choreography. I placed them on the fabric of my dress, feeling the slight tension they created under my touch.. Another click. Another whisper captured. I turned slightly, revealing my back. The gold chain I wear fell delicately between my shoulder blades, and for a moment, I felt my skin radiate. I knew the camera was recording it: the cold metal against my heat, the perfect contrast. A slight shudder ran down my spine, soft, almost mischievous. I raised one leg, showing the lace at the bottom of my outfit. A small tattoo, hidden near my hip, appeared timidly. I never show it completely. I like to keep a secret, even when I'm watched. The camera captured it as if it understood that I was entrusting it with an intimate part of myself.

I continued to move slowly, savoring the way the light cast shadows on my thighs, emphasized my hips, and turned every angle into a subtle invitation. It was not provocation; it was a dance. A silent dialogue between my curves and the lens. When it was over, I stood still for a few more seconds, breathing the last gleams of this soft light on my skin.. I felt free, strong, almost ethereal. I knew that I was not entirely present in these photos. but my essence was: those details that are not always visible, but that speak louder than any direct look.

The session was over, but this feeling lingered within me: a reminder that my curves, tattoos, and accessories speak for me. Even when I choose not to show my face.

Another day in the photo studio. As soon as I crossed the door, the dim light and the soft echo of my steps enveloped me, as if the place had recognized me.. It's always the case here: my skin shivers, my breathing slows down, and everything seems more intimate, more mine. I sat in front of the lighted mirror, and while the photographer adjusted the light, I remembered the day we chose the outfit I would wear for one of my most evocative shoots.. That day, we entered the small fitting room together. He was carrying a black box that he had brought "especially for me," he told me with a half-smile.. When he opened it, I found a bra and panties of a deep black, with delicate transparencies that seemed designed to play with the light. At that moment, something in me reacted, mixing nervousness and curiosity. It was not just a garment. it was an affirmation.                                                                                            

« I think this outfit says more about you than you think,” he says, holding the bra to the light..

His comment made me laugh, but it also made me imagine the effect it would have on my skin, how my tattoos would discreetly guess under the transparent fabric, how my curves would be sublimated without exaggeration.. I approached him and I touched the edge of the bra with my fingertips; the fabric was soft, almost cool, as if it was waiting for the heat of my body to wake up.. I walked into the fitting room and calmly put it on. I remember my hands shaking for a moment when I fastened the straps. The mirror in front of me reflected an image that I did not see every day: a natural blend of strength and sensuality. The hummingbird tattoo on my chest seemed to float under the fabric, while the rose was barely suggested. I smiled inside, feeling how this outfit changed my gait, my breathing. When I came out, he watched me without haste. It was not a prying glance; it was a professional reaction, but also one of admiration, like that of someone contemplating a work of art that he knows perfect.

« That's it," she finally said in a confident tone. « It's this outfit that will make you shine. »

The photographer approached and told me where to sit. The light was perfect, soft, caressing every curve without revealing everything. I sat down, took a deep breath and, as always, let my body express itself..

Sometimes, people ask me why I chose to get a tattoo in this particular place.

I smile, like now, because the truth is that each tattoo was born from a moment that not only marked my skin. but also shaped my emotions. The first was the hummingbird, the one that adorns my chest, barely visible under my clothes. I remember walking into the tattoo studio on a warm afternoon; I was wearing a light top and felt like I was about to do something important.. The tattoo artist asked me to lie down and I felt the fabric slide gently, revealing my skin. The fresh air caressed my chest even before his hands landed on it, and I still remember that feeling: the contrast between the cold and the impatience..

 When the needle began to draw the first lines, I closed my eyes. Not because of the pain, but because of the vibrating sensation that was going through me. It was as if every stroke of the needle awakened something, as if the hummingbird was also drawn in me. I am fascinated by what it represents: movement, life, the desire to move forward without fear. Every time I see it under my black clothes, I feel it beating in unison with me.

The second was the rose. I wanted it very close to me, so that its red petals accompany the little hummingbird. This session was different: more intimate, more personal. Sitting on the chair, my back straight, I let the light of the studio caress the top of my chest. I was wearing a black bustier dress – similar to the one in the photo – and I had slightly lowered the fabric. I felt the artist's gaze focusing on this small space, so close, so vulnerable. This combination always seemed to me. sensuelle. As he traced the contours of the rose, the ink seemed to spread over my skin like a sigh. The feeling was more intense than the first time. I breathed slowly, conscious of the touch of the dress against my ribs with each breath.. The rose, with its curves and shadows, has finally become a reminder of the beauty that sometimes comes from pain, of the strength that lies in delicacy.

Then came the tattoos on my thighs. I chose a pattern on each leg because I like the way they marry my curves, which they come to life when I cross or spread my legs during photo shoots. The one on my right thigh – the one you can guess under the short fabric – was a completely different experience.. Sitting there while they tattooed it on me, every vibration went through my whole leg, slowly, deeply, intensely. Sometimes, when I feel like in the picture – with my black glasses, red lips and this attitude of softness and strength – I feel like my tattoos speak for me.. These are stories engraved with ink, of course. but they are also caresses imprisoned in my skin, memories that live where I want to look. And that's the truth: I didn't just get tattooed art. I got myself tattooed with emotions.