My father is my hero. So clichéd, right? But it's true! Let me paint you a picture of my dad: an avid outdoorsman of all seasons, a world traveler, a professional photographer, a phototography professor at a college and, on top of all of that, a pilot. Imagine the covers of those 1950's men's journals where the perfect specimen of the Y chromosome would be illustrated hanging out of a plane, fighting off a rabid bald eagle with one hand while snapping pictures with the other. That's my dad. Clichéd or not, my father is my hero.
We got to know each other over a drink, and we made out way down to the lake for cuddles under some blankets as the sky filled with colored bursts of fire and thunder. After months of getting closer despite being apart, our bodies were finally touching. It was quick, but it was sure - there was no doubt that our connection had turned into that most sought-after of feelings: love.
After writing that, I am a little lost for further words. In my opinion, never has there been a more romantic first meeting. I can hardly believe it happened.
I spent the next sex hours lugging my trailer around, dropping it into position and snapping pictures. It was peaceful, and a tad surreal to be meandering around a property looking for inspiration, as if I were Tim Burton all those years ago.