The Training of Camille - Session 2

Camille was moving slowly, agonizing, seducing, performing a slow dance of fictitious death while preparing to erupt as a volcano over me. I was young again, a teenager trapped in a hormonal voragine. No longer fearing time, or death, or rejection. I was ready to jump and take the apple hanging from the tree.

My heart was beating faster, which in these altitudes, 4000 meters above sea level, can be trying. Camille was dancing on her place, yes, but so was I. I was dancing around her, over her, under her, like a cock after a hen. She couldn't see me but she could feel me, she could hear me breathing, she could hear my heart palpitating, my legs shacking.

Camille, in her suffering, was probably having a lot of fun imagining me paining for her. She couldn't see me but she could see my soul falling on its knees before her. I felt I should put the camera on its tripod, call it a day.. but no... I had to explore just a bit more.