Camille was inspiring. There was no false modesty in her, she knew who she was and she was free to be whatever she wanted to be. I was teaching her my art, but I was learning more from her. I was learning to be truly free.

When I was laying down in bed with my first girlfriend, after that afternoon of love, sex and the whip.. actually three different whips, I felt free. But yeas later, when I was in New York, I was full of fears, hang-ups, misconceptions and simply confusion. I would take years before I could truly overcome my prejudices and learn about who I was ... and that's why I was envious of Camille, at her young age, she was ahead of me... way ahead.

Stepping back, I could had a larger view of Camille, she had forgotten about me by now, engrossed in her suffering, her first passion play, her first day of torture. She could not be aware of her power over me, of the power of her body, the power of her mind. As the time passed she grew on me. The more I looked through the lens, the larger she became, the most fearful I became.

My greatest fear was to cheapen the experience, to turn it into an empty shell, pretty in the outside, but empty inside, voided of romance, with no passion to fill the universe or my heart.

I approached her again, to get a closer view of her body, her face, her blindfolded face. Her breathing had a bit of trembling, a moan was trying to cross her lips. I wished I could get into her mind to see what she was thinking, to get a glimpse of her true feelings. To see if inside of her there was a little of me. I had to be happy with being in the outside, guessing.

I was halfway there. I had more to go, I wasn't going to let her down, not yet. She had to go all the way to what I would decide would be the end of the session. I was pushing, yes, I was reaching beyond my original plan, and I had my reason, and in the process I was learning about me, about her and about what could be.

I was almost in a trance.

Still, this was not the first time I engaged in something like this, and I was sure it was not going to be the last, not with her, or anybody else. And this experience wasn't even too different from previous experiences, such as the one I had with Margot who was, actually, the first one that I put in front of the camera. A video camera, at least. Long before I had some experience with still photography.

This wasn't a unique experience. It was the first with Camille, sure, it was incredible, of course, but it was not different or more special. In fact, the work I did with Margot was far more intense because of what we did, so was the work with Marie, and even with Rossie, who, after our last experience, cried and felt terrible, so we never did it again.

What was different now is what I felt, how I felt and what I wanted. I wanted her, I didn't want to let her go ... ever. I was trapped.