Remedy

Warning being that this is definitely PG-13 rated. And I'm more just ranting, so you know.

My anniversary is coming up, as is my partner's birthday, which is always a good excuse to kill two birds with one stone. Because we're spending this one apart (very far apart), and because I'm usually very self-conscious, I decided that this time I would take a bunch of sexy pictures for him. I'd never done that before; well, some not so modest pictures, yes, but sexy, no. Sounds easy, right? Not at all.

First, I decided what I needed: a tripod for my camera, some sexy lingerie, and a decent place to pose. On a stroke of good luck, I got the entire house to myself for the weekend (not that I normally don't have it, but my mother has a nasty habit of dropping in unexpectedly and often at the worst times. Don't get me wrong, I love her, but she's nosy and overprotective), because everyone who has that nasty habit is out of town.

Thus, I went off into the big wide world of the mall (half an hour away) by myself. First, I stopped at a clothing store, because I knew they had the lingerie, and, pluses of all pluses, I had a gift card there, which meant that cheapy me didn't really have to pay.

For some random reason, everyone and their female cousin was in that store today. Normally, it's pretty empty. I am self-conscious (social anxiety), and that flared up again, so I wander around pretending to be interested in jeans. I snag a shirt, hurry over and pick out a pretty camisole, and ask for a fitting room (they keep them locked). Both items fit, but neither look good.

Herein comes problem number one. I didn't bother to try on the next set of underwear that I picked up; it was pretty, it was the same size as the last one, and I was too embarrassed to ask for a fitting room again, especially holding just that.

I go to the register, avoid the cashier that's known me since I was fourteen (and thus would be awkward to buy from), and search in my purse for the gift card. The cashier who I wound up with tells me she has a set just like it, and I blink, not knowing what to say because she's at least forty years older than me; I don't really want to know what her sex life is like. Five minutes later, I'm still searching for the gift card, and I murmur something about my purse eating everything; she laughs and says her does too. Eventually though, I find it, and I ask her where the nearest Radio Shack is, because despite the fact that the mall is about the size of my former school, I can't find it. She gives me directions, I nod, and leave.

Problem number two: I can't find Radio Shack. I must have walked around the entire mall three times, wondering where on earth the store could be before I finally found it.

Inside, I find an appropriate tripod (needlessly assisted by a random cashier who wants the sale for his quota). I go up and while it's being rung up, I look around for my credit card. For the second time, I say something about my purse's eating habits. He doesn't laugh.

Problem number three: I don't have my credit card. The last time I used it, I didn't have my purse with me, so it was put in my coat. My coat is at my house, half an hour away. I don't have enough cash with me to pay for it either.

So I tell him what's wrong and ask if I can come back in an hour. He agrees, then decides to spend the next twenty minutes showing me how to work the tripod, even though I all ready know. I try to look polite, but I'm worried about my card. Finally, he lets me go, and I race home to find it.

Problem number four: My credit card is not in my coat, nor is it in my purse. I dump both completely, making a huge mess on the table, but I can't find it. In the process, however, I discover that I did indeed have enough to pay cash, but it was so scattered about that I never would have found it.

My credit card eventually decides to make an appearance on my nightstand, where, of course, it did tons of good. Brilliant move on my part.

I rush back there and buy the tripod, blushing all the while. On the way out, I decide screw it and buy some fishnet stockings to go with my outfit.

I get home and after tending to the animals, I put everything on.

Remember problem number one? Well, here's how it shows up. The top I bought is meant to be connected to a garter belt or at least garters, neither of which I have. In fact, I don't even know what either of those things look like. I decide that my partner probably won't know either, and I'll pretend the dangly things are supposed to be decorative.

Problem number five also concerns the outfit. In my rush, I didn't realize that stockings have sizes. Had I been thinking it probably would have been obvious, but that's asking too much of me sometimes. I picked up a size small, which according to the package means that it only fits girls who are 5' 8" or shorter. I'm 5' 9". And quite frankly, if it fits girls who are 5' 8", I have no idea how, because those things were at least three inches too short for me.

So I cut them at just above the knees, because they looked good there, and there wasn't a size issue. Except that brought problem number six, which was that there was no longer anything holding them up, because the elastic was at the very top. I took two extra strips of fishnet and tied them around the top to keep them up.

So, now dressed for the occasion, I put the camera on the tripod. Or, more accurately, attempted to put the camera on the tripod. Yep, problem number seven: the camera wouldn't stay on it, despite being screwed in. If I so much as tapped the tripod, the camera would topple off. I took a few pictures through the miracles of balancing.

Later, I decided to solve problems numbers six and seven. Seven was solved by a copious amount of duct tape. Six, however, was not so easy. I took my sewing kit and sewed the extra elastic onto the tops of the stockings so that they'd stay up. It should have worked, and it did for one, but the other simply wouldn't stay. I come up with what I consider the perfect plan: a discreet safety pin. Which I promptly stab myself with.

Now, mind you, I've cut for years without a single gasp of pain. However, I stab myself with a safety pin, and I hop around swearing. Typical me.

The safety pin idea works for short periods of time, but the stitches keep coming undone. By this point though, I don't care.

Blah. I make these things more difficult than I probably should.

toccoto

Awesome. Your partner better appreciate it!
now you know you worked for for the gift! Feel good!

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Malone

That's hilarious. A for effort. I'm sure the pictures will work great for him too. Probably want to play it smooth and not mention all the mishaps behind them until later. They might not have the same effect when he's...looking at them.
I've had girls wear the garter belts with all the straps, and while sexy as hell, they're definitely hard to work with. I actually had one kind of snap off one time and flick me in an uncomfortable place (I was wearing it myself for fun that time, though, no girls). I have a terrible memory about sexy lingerie. One time in college, I took a ton of adderall and was working on a story I had to write for the next day's class, and my girlfriend had taken some too so she was energetic and horny and got all dressed up in black garters and stockings and kept calling for me to come downstairs and see her. I was too geeked up and into my work that I didn't go down for almost an hour, and then I told her I was too busy to have sex right now. She got sooooo pissed off.

Feel free to share the pictures. I'll tell you which ones to keep. I think I should add a winking icon here, but I hate those things.

Remedy

I'm sure he will appreciate it, and yeah, I definitely have worked for it. Of course, the latter part tends to show, which isn't the best thing; in 99% of the pictures, I look pissed off and/or tired, which is not the best thing. Fortunately, 1% are decent. I don't think today's will be much better; I'll just looked worried (he told me early this morning that he's going to join the army).

Malone, I told him about the credit card thing, but I didn't mention what it was in connection to; I picked up a few household items I needed too, so I let him think that I was at the grocery store when that happened. I'm not planning on mentioning the rest, at least for twenty years or so. I figured it would kinda kill it as well.

Your story makes me laugh. I can see my partner doing the same thing (actually, I probably would too).

Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll hold off. The winking icons are fairly creepy; I tend to need to use something when I'm joking (it's hard to tell otherwise), but I try to avoid them.

Since you know more about this than I do, and I don't really feel like going into a store and asking, can the straps be connected to just a garter, or does there need to be more to it?

Intel

Just leave an a 12 minute clip of you playing with yourself on his laptop. He'll be content.

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JoannaMac

I really enjoyed reading this. It's quite well written and definitely made me smile. I know this is just you telling us about an experience, but because it sucked me in, I now have expectations of the story. I was a bit disappointed with the ending, you just cut it off without telling us enough about what you actually felt like posing for the photos, especially since you're obviously a self-conscious girl. I want more!

Why are you so self-conscious? Why have you got social anxiety?

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If you aint got nuffink, you can't lose it!

Intel

Mac you can't ask why a person has social anxiety. It just happens to some people. And you can't choose not to feel that way.

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JoannaMac

Yeah, I just did a bit of reading about it after your post. I thought events in a persons life could be a contributing factor, but it seems that SAD sufferers have a genetic predisposition towards it, sometimes developing it from as early as seven months old..............

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Remedy

Intel - been there, done that; not twelve minutes (more like two), but just the same.

JoannaMac - thank you. Endings have always been my failing. Either I have a smashing ending and no beginning, or just no ending period. I was so frustrated with the camera and the stockings by that point that I didn't really feel much besides that. Looking over the pictures later, there was usually something I liked about each - the way the light caught my hair, the way my eyes looked, the way my body looked, ect - but I only liked one picture completely. The rest had problems.

As for the social anxiety question, yeah, Intel's right. There's no more of a reason for that than anything else I have (for the record, I have social anxiety disorder, Asperger's syndrome (which is on the autism spectrum), adjustment disorder with anxiety and schizophrenia; I'm a nice mixture of insanity), but it was more in action yesterday because I haven't been taking my medication, which I really should.

Foxee

Remedy, you've got a flair for humor. I could relate with a lot of the social anxiety (not severe in my case but I have to be in a certain mindset not to be anxious and awkward in public) and the bit about the safety pin is really funny.

I was really glad that it wasn't all about the awkwardness of taking the actual pictures...the lead up to that with the frantic trip to the mall was really good.

Bummer of an experience but a fun piece of writing. Yes, I wouldn't tell him about everything you went through for the pics but eventually tell him (or let him read this) because he'll appreciate them (and you) all the more.

One good picture! That's success! Professional photographers take tons of them to get one good one.

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By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity. Another man's, I mean. ~Mark Twain

JoannaMac

Well I'm glad you actually liked the pictures. I kinda thought that because of your self-consciousness (which I automatically linked to self-esteem), you might look at all the pictures and find them unsatisfactory.

I've done some modeling in my time (my avatar there is actually me), and there were photos of myself that were obviously supposed to be sexy, and I felt embarrassed and slightly ridiculous just looking at them. In fact I think I threw them away, even though they were professional shots. Any sexy photos my husband has taken of me, I erase immediately because I can't stand looking at them.

It's nice to hear that you found something you liked in each of the photos

Geez, there's a lot going on in your head isn't there? My dad's convinced he's got Asperger's Syndrome. He heard a radio program about it once, went away and did some reading on the subject, and has self-diagnosed himself.

He writes about things from an 'Asperger's point of view' and has even been interviewed twice on radio talking about about what it's like living with Asperger's.

I've told him to go and see a professional and that just because he thinks he's got it, doesn't make it so. He won't go though. Dad does have some kind of social disorder, but my mother (who works with some kids who have Asberger's) isn't at all convinced, and just thinks Dad's being a wanker.

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If you aint got nuffink, you can't lose it!

Remedy

Thanks, Foxee. I try to make my bad experiences funny, but it doesn't always work.

Generally speaking, I do hate most of them, yeah. This was the first time in a long time that I didn't want to trash all of them. I can't stand looking at my pictures either, at least usually; actually, I can't stand looking at most pictures, for whatever reason.

I didn't realize that your avatar was you; 'tis cool.

Meaning no offense, but talking about being an aspie without an official diagnosis is the quickest way to tick off all the other aspies. (I probably shouldn't be preaching on such, considering I was self diagnosed for awhile; I got the official diagnosis later. Unfortunately though, I've always understood why everyone hates it so much.) There's so many people who claim to be on the spectrum that it makes it hard to tell who's really there, and there's some who are self diagnosed who will claim that they're officially diagnosed. Then there are the bunch that have specifically been told by professionals that they do not have AS, but they simply won't believe them - 'I know more about AS than they do!' is the common excuse. It's actually rather unfortunate for those who do have it, because a lot of the time, people who really should be classified as borderline personality disorder claim to be AS instead, when there's quite a big difference in traits. (I'm not saying that your father is BPD, of course; it's just the most common one, for whatever reason.)

If your mother works with kids on the spectrum, she'd probably have the best idea for such.

I guess being on the autism spectrum is more acceptable than being psychotic; no one ever wants to have a psychotic diagnosis. I have more fun talking about the schizophrenia than the AS, really.

JoannaMac

Thanks. I'm painted as a green dragon from top to toe. It took about eight hours, and the hat weighed a tonne.

I know exactly what you mean. I listened to Dad's radio interviews and cringed with embarrassment. The program he was speaking on is well respected and I'm surprised they didn't ask any questions about how he was first diagnosed. Can you imagine what would have happened if they had?!

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If you aint got nuffink, you can't lose it!

Remedy

Goodness. I thought that the picture had been photoshopped with the color and the huge hat; that hat is huge. You must have a lot of patience, to do that for eight hours.

More than likely, they went over some of the questions before recording to see what his answers were; hosts don't like to be surprised. Finding out that he was never diagnosed would hurt his credibility as a source, so they wouldn't ask him about that. If he was on the same one again, they probably thought he was a good catch the first time, regardless of whether or not he actually had it.

It is a common question though, especially for the older ones. Asperger's wasn't in the DSM until the 1990s, if I remember correctly.

Foxee

That is a cool photo, Joanna, I had no idea.

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By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity. Another man's, I mean. ~Mark Twain