Posted by: angelnorman | December 14, 2009

ringing in 30 the right way

I am a lady. I don’t care what anyone says. I try very hard to be ladylike at the very least. Because of such, I try to do nothing vulgar, except for the occasional dirty word. I will do nothing tasteless or tacky. I try to live by Ron Burgundy’s timeless advice and stay classy. What? I do!

Yesterday, though, I did a photo shoot while only wearing my undies. I was provocative, but moreso, I was (mostly) nude. I KNOW. I even surprised myself.

Those of you who know me know I’m pretty much an open book about things of an intimate nature. Yes, there are intimate details I prefer to keep private, but I don’t have a problem talking about sex, in a tasteful manner of course. To me, it’s just part of life, especially a part of married life. It isn’t taboo, and it isn’t “dirty”. It’s natural, and when shared between a husband and wife, it is beautiful. Because of this, I had for my thirtieth birthday, a party of an adult nature. The party was with a little company called Passions & Pleasures, and while some of their products are not at all ladylike to discuss (and would make me blush to even type about), I will tell you that I really enjoy knowing my consultant and having these parties because she believes the same way I do. It’s all just a part of life. No need to be embarrassed with Terrie Fly. No need to worry or feel uncomfortable looking at things that add a little spice to your love life.

At my party, I sold about $480-something worth of product to my friends and family. Terrie told me beforehand that if I were to hit the $500 mark, I would win a free photo shoot with someone doing my hair and makeup and the whole nine yards. Well, I didn’t think much about it because that’s not something I usually do. I don’t have my picture made often, unless I ask Mike to take a picture for scrapbooking purposes, i.e. when I’m interacting with Nick on the playground or something. The only time my picture is made, it’s usually with Mike or Nick. It’s never just me. So I thought nothing about it when I didn’t hit the $500 mark. In fact, I had downright forgotten.

On my way home that night, I received a call from Mrs. Fly. She told me that she was just going to invite me to the Flash Dance photo shoot anyways, since I was only a few bucks off. In the weeks following, I went back and forth about it. It wasn’t something that interested me. I had no idea whatsoever to expect. Even when she called and talked me into it, I was still very skeptical of going somewhere, getting all whored up (well.) and having someone take a picture of me. “Wear whatever you want!” Terrie had told me. I asked what she was wearing. “Jeans, a blazer, tank top underneath.”

Reluctantly, I went wearing jeans, a brown undershirt, a green sweater over top. Really, what I wanted to do was stay home and nap. But Terrie had gone to a lot of trouble to move my scheduled shoot to 3 pm as opposed to its original time slot: 6:20 pm. (It conflicted with other plans I could not change; more on that later.) So I felt like I at least owed Terrie a few minutes. I was the first non-consultant to arrive. I was given my choice of drink (wine, sodas, water) and almost immediately my hair was styled and teased. My face was caked with makeup. Just when Terrie would think she had put enough eye shadow on me, her boss and the photographer would take a look and say, “Darker.”

I looked a little bit like a clown. With awesomely volumized hair.

“What are you wearing?” Terrie asked me.

“This,” I said, pointing down at myself.

“No you’re not,” she answered, and made me put on her x-large emerald green blazer (which I couldn’t button very easily).

Already, I was feeling a little silly.

Then I met the photographer, Alan, who was a great (let me repeat: GREAT) guy and all around gentlemen and we discussed what I wanted the pictures for. “I’d like to give my pictures to my husband for Christmas, but I’ve never done any of this, so I don’t know how to pose and such,” I said awkwardly. Now at some point, I must have lost all inhibitions (I swear I only drank diet coke), because when he told me that he thought I should do some sexy poses and the like and when Terrie not only agreed with him but started making me take off my undershirt and wear a feathery boa, I was like, “Um… okay.”. I’m really unaware of how I went from my sweater-covered self to removing my bra and pushing myself together for more cleavage, but somehow, I did just that.

He wasn’t at all creepy, like I was expecting a photographer of his style to be. And surprisingly, I wasn’t being posed in a raunchy way. It was just simple shots of me draped in boas and furs, covering myself appropriately. All the while I was so self-conscious of my hairy legs, my cellulite-laden thighs, my rolls on my abdomen… but he reassured me that everything would be photo-shopped accordingly and for some reason, that helped me open right up.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” Alan joked with me.

“Positive,” I stammered as I struck the next incredibly provocative pose.

While I was still mostly dressed, people were coming around the backdrop and looking at me, remarking at how photogenic I was, how great I looked, or how natural I seemed to be. I was really feeling it. You could even say that I was working it.

Before I knew what had happened, I was done, having taken about 12-15 different shots including some where I winked at the camera and acted like I was being bashful. He cycled through the shots on his camera. “That would look great in black and white,” he’d say. I would nod. I couldn’t believe that the pictures like that were actually… gorgeous. My makeup didn’t look as clown-like as I thought. And while there were rolls-a-plenty exposed, none that looked too disgusting. Here I was thinking all along that I was looking ridiculous despite what everyone was saying, but these pictures were somewhat mesmerizing.

Then I realized why.

It was me. I was looking at me. Not the me that is forced, but the me that I see when I look into the mirror. The me that I feel when I dress up pretty for my husband. The me that I am inside. I could see that part of me in the pictures. It was the most intimate thing I had ever done for myself. I felt so beautiful. More beautiful than I have in a long time. I don’t even have the pics to show anyone yet. I won’t get the disc until later this week. But I think my husband is going to love them. While I may cringe at the almost-nude shots, I know for a fact that my headshots will look amazing. And he’ll like those other ones, too. *wink*

I don’t care how big I am. Inside, I feel great… I feel worthy of looking beautiful and getting sexified… I feel attractive.

And that is, by far, the best 30th birthday present EVER.



  1. you are gorgeous woman!!! Inside and out

  2. Good for you! I know when I did mine last year for Kenny, it was the same way. Very empowering and just all around makes you feel beautiful the way you are. I hope it’s your best gift ever for Michael. Glad you had a ton of fun!!!! I bet they look great.

  3. thank you ladies!

  4. Y’all have both done these pictures?!?! I want to see them!

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