“The female body is a work of art. The male body is utilitarian, it’s for getting’ around, like a Jeep.”- Elaine Benes

I sat at a yellow Formica kitchen table discussing my upcoming boudoir photography shoot with this friendly husband-and-wife photography team. I hoped they weren’t planning to sell the pictures they were about to take of me to the soft porn industry.

They were almost too nice, like the neighbors who groomed Mia Farrow in “Rosemary’s Baby.” This couple said soothing creepy (croothing?) things to me like, “We want you to be comfortable,” and “Let’s just have some fun,” and “We won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

I’m done teasing. They were fantastic. They did make me comfortable, we did have fun, and of course I did everything they asked. Because if you say no to a photographer who is trying to make you look beautiful as you’re posing in babydoll nighties, garter belts and black lace thongs, then walls go up.

The trick to a boudoir photo session is to leave your inhibitions at the door. Trust your photographer. If he tells you to stick your ass out, even if it feels awkward, stick it out. If he tells you to lick your lips, lick ‘em (try not to laugh, you’ll regret it). If he tells you to look at the camera and think of someone hot as hell, do it. If he tells you to shut your eyes and fantasize about something delicious and sweet, you will be amazed at the photo you get.

Music is important, too. When your photographer asks you what music you prefer, don’t say, “Whatever is fine.” Whatever is not fine. What music makes you feel young, sexy and desirable? Ask for it. How you feel as you move to it will come out in the photos. I requested Ariana Grande, Janelle Monae, Khalid, Justin Bieber, Annie Lennox, Meghan Trainor, fun music that gets me jazzed.

Boudoir isn’t about how you look, or even the images. It’s about how you feel.

I hate to be a cliché. I know women my age do crazy stuff like sky-diving, sushi classes and pilgrimages to Machu Picchu, but what can I say? We don’t want to get old(er) and have regrets. So while men are out buying really small dogs and even bigger motorcycles and working on their golf games, we’re out buying lingerie, learning pickleball and jetting off to Europe. And maybe I am a cliché- I can live with that. Doing a boudoir photo shoot was always on my bucket list, and now I’ve done it.

I didn’t just want to do it. I had to do it.

I’ve always loved the idea of boudoir. I have tons of lingerie. Boudoir is all about lace and white silk and plunging décolletage. Black teddies and garters and gray silk robes and high heels and fish-net stockings. Boudoir photography is all about dimly-lit bedrooms, gauzy curtained four-post beds, cashmere throws, clean cotton sheets, and white shag rugs.

Erotic photography, when done correctly, is an aesthetic creation.

I once wrote an op-ed for The Philadelphia Inquirer about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition, and how much I look forward every year to seeing what supermodel has made the coveted cover. I was truly shocked at the hate mail I received from some feminist groups- it was scathing. But what can I say? I love looking at beautiful supermodels in exotic locales, and my point in the op-ed was simply that women who claim the February issue is sexist should look at it for what it is.

Art.

(Yo feminists, I bet some of those gorgeous girls are smart, too. Whip-smart. Maybe smarter than you, even. Would it make you feel better if they were holding their SAT grades in the photos? Copies of their scholarships and college diplomas? I’ll leave it at that).

Professional photo shoots are staged creations, computer-enhanced hallucinations. The models are beautiful, but computers are used to make these women look other-worldly. Ever hear of filters? Before you yell at me, here’s a link to supermodel Cameron Russell’s TED talk about it:

https://www.ted.com/speakers/cameron_russell

So finally, after decades of flipping through magazines and social media, I finally thought, “I wonder what would I look like all dolled up like this?” I made the appointment. I bought some outfits. I showed up. And it went great.

Admittedly I was a little too Baby Jane for my taste. I looked like a child pageant star who had at the age of 54 suddenly decided to re-enter the Little Miss Sunshine pageant. Heavy makeup, thick lashes, big hair- way over the top. But that was the point of the shoot, and once I saw the pictures, I understood the decision. “Trust me,” she had said, as she glued the fake eyelashes onto my lids. “We’re creating a fantasy here.”

Indeed. All-in-all it was a great day, and I’m very proud of the photos. Then I stuck them at the bottom of my lingerie drawer. With my lingerie.

I could have done without the ass shots, if I’m forced to be honest. They were a little jarring. Hey, are you a woman my age and feeling full of yourself? Feeling fit and confident? Yes? Need a reality check? I have the solution. Put on a black leather thong, face your ass to a camera, and look back over your shoulder. Do this in a garishly lit bedroom as the camera flash accentuates every single detail of your derriere.

Now get those pictures developed. Don’t look at them yet. Grab a bottle of chilled Grey Goose and a shot glass. Take a shot. Now take another. Consider very seriously taking another. Now look at the pictures and feel your high-fallutin’ opinion of yourself hit the ground the way a kettlebell hits concrete when thrown from a second-story window.

But don’t look away. Keep looking. That’s you, in all of your beautiful, perfect, female splendor. And if anyone doesn’t like the way your ass looks, instruct him to look away. Because you love how it looks. It has held you in good stead for almost half a century.

I’m planning another boudoir shoot soon for professional reasons, with a different company. This one will be sophisticated and natural. Sepia, beige, gray tones. Minimal makeup. Smooth soft hair. Black robe. Bare feet. White crisp collared shirt. Cotton underwear, clean tan skin.

And no ass shots.