Making Love to the Camera: How Erotic Play Helped Me Reclaim My Body

Photography Credit: JC Stark Photo

So much of my work—and my personal mission—is rooted in body positivity. Every day, I’m in the trenches with my clients, challenging the capitalist, patriarchal narratives that whisper (and sometimes scream) that our bodies aren’t enough. That thin is better. That aging is a curse. That softness is failure.

I know those voices intimately. And I fight them fiercely.

But I’d be lying if I said they never get to me.

Lately, I’ve been grappling with my own body image. Midlife has brought changes I didn’t exactly RSVP to—perimenopausal weight gain, shifting hormones, a softness that crept in during COVID and decided to stay for the long haul. And while I haven’t denied myself a treat in years (which I celebrate), I also haven’t been feeling entirely at home in my skin.

So when one of my photographer friends asked me to model this past weekend, I said yes with equal parts excitement and dread.

Now let me be clear: I’ve done modeling before. Some commercial work. A few paid gigs here and there. But that kind of modeling—the kind designed to sell something—has never really been for me. Too much focus on angles and aesthetics. Too much time in my head. Too many hours afterward picking apart every photo with a hypercritical eye, dissecting my belly or my chin or the way my arm looked mid-pose.

But when I work with photographers who are making art? That’s a different story.

The photographers I love to work with are the ones who see the world through a surrealist lens. Who aren’t afraid to drape me in silk and stage me in alleyways. Who say, “Let’s try something weird,” and mean it as the highest compliment. The ones who aren't just pointing a camera—they're co-creating a moment. A mood. A feeling.

With them, I’m not a model. I’m a muse. A co-conspirator. A vessel.

And what we create together—well, it feels like magic. Like kink. Like play.

Not kink in the “chains and floggers” sense (although maybe sometimes), but in the broader, truer sense: as a consensual power exchange, as freedom through role play, as a reclamation of pleasure on our own damn terms. Kink, at its core, is about consent and creativity. It's about crafting intentional roles and rituals that let us explore desire, power, vulnerability, and transformation. And when done well, it becomes deeply healing.

In these sessions, I get to play the muse, the vessel, the sacred flirt. My photographers become co-creators, witnesses, sometimes even erotic mirrors. There’s often no physical contact—but the energetic current between us? It hums.

Photography Credit: Rain Kessler Photography

When I’m in that space—when I’ve been given permission to take up space—I don’t pose. I drop in. I let myself be seen. I touch my own skin with reverence. I worship at the altar of my own body. I let my erotic energy rise, not for the viewer, but for myself. And in that fully embodied state, I make love to the camera the way I might with a sacred lover: eyes open, breath full, heart soft, pussy on fire.

And here’s what’s wild: when I look at those photos, I don’t tear myself apart.

Yes, I see the changes. I see my softness, my cellulite, the folds in my skin. But I also see my power. I see my pleasure. I see my aliveness.

I don’t just see what my body looks like. I remember what it felt like to be that turned on, that embodied, that free.

That’s what erotic photography has become for me—not vanity, but visibility. Not ego, but embodiment. A way to meet myself again and again, through the lens of love, art, and unapologetic sensuality.

And that? That is erotic gold.

There’s a kind of healing that happens when we let ourselves be witnessed—truly witnessed—in our erotic power. Not for approval. Not for consumption. But for connection. For art. For the thrill of saying, Here I am. Soft. Wild. Worthy.

So if you’ve been feeling disconnected from your body… if you’re waiting for the “right” moment to be seen… consider this your invitation:

You don’t have to be a model to make art. You don’t have to be thin to be worshipped. You don’t have to be young to be radiant.

You just have to be willing to feel yourself—in the truest, most unapologetic sense.

Find your kink. Your ritual. Your safe container for play.

Make love to your own reflection.

Let yourself be a masterpiece.

That’s the kind of body positivity I’m here for. That’s the kind of kink I’ll always say yes to.