Ballerina’s Holiday

Oh the weather… at times quite frightful… the ice, not so delightful. Baby, it’s cold outside!

Disrespectful as this wind got, the thought that some models stood in the dead of winter to do swimsuit editions made the worse of the days feel ever slightly better.

Belle was not please, but, she knew that her warm days would soon come. She’d have the chance to taunt and tease her friend. She loved messing with his head.

They were just friends, good friends at that. The kind that would never cross any boundaries. They’d never be anything more than just friends.

But the thoughts of what could be crossing his mind made Belle smile a devilish smile. She had never seen him be anything less than super professional. How she knew what he liked was just pure dumb luck.

Ok, not dumb luck, the man did love him some high heeling fantasies. Belle knew just how to sashay about in her heels to get all kinds of responses from all other men.

Her photographer was different. He was cool. He was calm. He was level headed. And he never broke a sweat under pressure. She loved the guy with that kind of fraternal love that was beyond words.

The last photo session they had, Belle watched as other men watched her dance for the camera. Many were hard. Not in the body builder version of hard. But hard as in they couldn’t hide their erections of excitement. Belle had that effect on guys.

But her photographer was not one to be affected by her whims and ways. He stayed the course and took amazing photos. He made her feel young (as young as she was, she sometimes did feel old). He made her feel alive. His measured words, always polite, ignited good vibes in her. He saw the best of her and the best in her.

No matter how deeply she dangled her shoes or how much she raised her skirt to give him access to a better view, the man did not show any wavering or signs of being tempted.

That was what made their friendship rock solid. She knew that she could trust him with her life. He was her guardian without even knowing it.

Many nights of long chats had saved her soul from the demons that haunted her. The voices in her head that raged war to claim her sanity, he found ways to cut through and bring peace and light.

He saw her as a person, as a complete being. He never responded to her brokenness. Belle needed his fortress to keep her safe from herself.

Never would she ever tell him of the time he had helped her adjust her stockings before a photo session and hoped that his hand had slipped a bit higher. She would have not minded. She would not have stopped him. She knew he’d never cross any lines.

The reassurance of his touch, the calm of his voice, the depth of his eyes. Quite frankly, all the good men were alway spoken for.