I don’t take many pictures, but I love them. So much so, that I have only ever posted one single picture that was not of myself. It’s not that I’m so vain, it’s just that I happen to have had a lot of pictures taken by a professional photographer.

Now that I’m spending much more time by myself (well, not entirely by myself), I’m getting into photo editing. I started with the basics of Lightroom and am working my way into Photoshop. Needless to say, it’s amazing what either package can do.

What I find equally amazing is how people respond to pictures, wanting them to be true, forgetting that what they see is not real. Most people on social media are sex starved. Creating an illusion they can latch on to, an image that is almost irresistible.

I love to mess with people’s minds. I’m like a drug. Nobody really knows me, but everyone can fill in their favorite personality. You want me to be sexy? I can do that. Smart, witty? Sure, why not. A mindless slut, an elegant companion, a trusted friend?

Photos have been forced on me when I was still working. Posing, while others are standing in line to have their pictures taken. Some of the clothes weren’t even mine. That’s all changed now.

My pictures belong to me, they may have been taken by someone else, but I get to pick the ones I want. I get to manipulate them, create the images that I want. They’re real, as real as anything is that is viewed through a lens and a brain.

This picture exploded on my twitter account in the last 24 hours. At least by my modest standards. It doesn’t show any skin, not tits, no seductive smile, no sexual acts, nothing that could possibly have anything to do with sex. And yet, it is all about sex.

She’s a warrior. A rebel. Pink hair, standing tall. Her pose is firm, her body wrapped in armor. Not any armor. The kind super heros wished they could fit into.

And this warrior is looking over a field of flowers. She’s inside a modest country house. Window open, she is at peace. Rays of sunlight reflecting off her second skin.

The contrast makes no sense. This is not the picture of a peaceful balance. To the contrary. Something is about to happen. There is suspense, tension. Why is she dressed that way if it is her house? Where is she anyway, and why is she so confidently standing near a low window.

The mind goes into overdrive. This is a scene that shouldn’t be real. This is a dream, one full of danger, sex, and power. She is fierce and oozes sex from every part of her body. There is nothing accidental about the way she’s dressed. Everything is in its place. Meticulously, like a general before the battle. Shoulder straps tight, buckled through the third notch on either side. There are no imperfections.

Her legs are wide-open with her pussy well protected. Her tight corset is definitely not from a historic romance novel. It’s futuristic; it’s part of her power. She’s not real, she’s from some other place or time.

There is no telling whether she’s good or evil, dominant or submissive. Though the contrasts in the image make it far more likely that she is a bit of both. Sex with her would be dangerous, and exciting. Sex would be beyond anything mortals get to experience.

She’s more than we are. She dominates, teases, seeks calm before the battle. There are no weapons on her armor. She’s vulnerable, but who would dare make the first move. Like a video game, her weapons are hidden. One wrong move could be deadly.

Looking at her makes you feel alive. You want to be her, be like her, or be with her. You want to know who she is, where she’s from, and what she came to find. You have so many questions, it’s torture seeing her just stand there with her back to you.

God, if you could just see her from below the window. Maybe it would shed light on who she is. You keep looking. She’s not turning around. You want to see her, but it’s just an image, a mirage, a figment of your imagination.

While you’re watching, you touch yourself. What it must feel like being her. Laced tightly into a corset, straps pulled through her crotch, her skin more perfect than any natural skin can ever be. What would it be like to have her touch you? Submit to her strength, to a woman who is different. The kind of powerful woman who can whisper a single word in your ear and bring you to ecstasy.

Only you know how this scene ends, but it must move on. Something has to happen, fast. You feel for her, you want her to devour you. Just once, feel what it’s like to have someone like her touch you, eat you, rip the last bit of energy out of your body as you come in a surreal orgasm of fear and desire.

Tell me I’m wrong, if you dare.

Masturbation Monday