The heels clacked on the bare concrete of the third floor balcony in the last cheap motel in West Hollywood. I'd cracked the door and lay reading "The Art of Seduction" when she knocked. She came into the room, further amplifying the Fifties tawdriness with her fishnets, denim microskirt, bangle bracelets, and nylon bag of goodies.

"I look like a hooker," she said. I agreed, though in fact she looked more like a tranny hooker than a normal one; they'd left that fishnet costuming behind two decades ago. "I gotta pee."

The girl wanted content for a well-known softcore site. I'd shot a few strip sequences in my day and obliged her as she peeled article after article of stuff off that smokey olive torso, sometimes twice for the camera's sake. Forty frames later, enough for thirty "quality" images, we got down to the raison d'etre of the visit. She wanted to get naked, tied up and photographed, and being an obliging sort, I allowed that I'd make that happen.

We proceeded through the usual stuff, on to the more kinky stuff, then into the interesting stuff, the old Pentax recording the perversity und drang.

Then she whined that she was hungry so I fed her at the all-night diner and listened as she tried to tell her boyfriend on the phone why she had gone alone to the motel room of an old guy to do the above, then watched as she left (separately, to assure anyone that might know her there that she wasn't really "with" me), her fishnets back on, though now twisted, the heels clattering on the linoleum tile floor. Then I paid the bill and went back to the cheap motel room alone.

-Fran Bilder

Private Photographer