Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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The broken down black Camero he drove had turned Shelly on, but niw that he was at her ranch, she felt shy and stupid. Gary was the kind of guy all the girls in her class talked about: older, dangerous, fast. And his hands seemed to have a mind of their own when they’d met, flexing their way under her shirt and below the tight band of her panties which she’d bought for that night. She wanted to be seen, and by someone like Gary, but now he was there and everything seemed too real, as if a dream she’d has kept going once she’d opened her eyes. The headlights of the Camero made her cast her eyes down and though she’d been waiting half an hour for him to show up, Shelly was slow to open the gate to the driveway up to her parents’ house. They were in Florida right now, probably eating swordfish and sipping gimlets on The Keys. In the meantime she would be surrendering to Gary and his Camero, the headlights by which her weakness was transparent. The gate opened with a groan of its unoiled hinges, and Gary rolled in, unwelcome.


This photo is from an IGer named @just_jaylin who has been a great sport by sending me images to write to each time I send out a request for such. Finally, I got around to one of them! I love this shot. It’s a David Lynch movie waiting to happen and that partially is the vibe I tried to represent with this odd little take. Thank you, Jaylin!

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