The Ass Watcher
Two Points of view
There are several points of view through which world can be observed. Some may be legitimate, views you don’t have to be ashamed of,others definetely illegal, to keep absolutely hidden. Despite my obsessive passion for the female back, I’ve always thought that my point of view as a priest was immaculate. And just imagine that when I was a teenager, I dreamed that one day I would become a photographer since my strong interest in photography. Soon, however, I realized that I was actually only attracted by women’s back and the camera was only a means to picture it. Maybe I could have become one of those photographers who is around on the sets of hard-core movies but I was not interested in photographing hard-core actresses’ ass. I loved to portray on the other hand, in secret, that of normal girls, those you meet in the street everyday. Of course, that could not become a real job, therefore at 20 years, to please my parents,who were faithfull observers of the Catholic religion, I decided to take the vows. By making this choice I hoped, over time, I would recover from my disease and that filthy I would dedicate myself only to serve God but I did not. Like a gentle worm it continued to tickle my mind especially now that that kind of picture was increasingly difficult to make. For a long time I tormented myself to find a solution until finally I came to this conclusion: If I could no longer take those pictures myself, maybe I could find someone else to do it for me. I had to put an ad somewhere but certainly not on a newspaper.
I’ve always maintained, without conviction, my point of view. Or,rather I’ve probably never had a fixed idea,given the fact that I change it very often. I’m unemployed, I am not rich and yet I never had any desire to do a shit in my life. Never an incentive to improve my situation. After my disastrous school results I enroled without any enthusiasm to a degree in philosophy, I thought it the least worst option and in fact I never finished. For this reason, my parents, reached their limit of endurance, for my deep-rooted apathy or loser, depending on your point of view, just to stay in theme, I was told to go and find a job straightway or I would be turned out of the house. Not wanting a normal job, almost as a joke, I decided to respond by mail to the wacky proclamation, written in ink, found on the wall of a pub toilet. “Ass Photographer Wanted. No time wasters. Big reward. For info: email@example.com “. I wrote that,although I had never own a camera and had rarely taken pictures, I was still interested in the job. I thought I would have never been responded and instead I was.
From the tone of the email I liked that guy, especially for his candid admission that he had never made photos. Hard to find honest people today. Seeing him live, however, I have exactly the opposite impression. Emaciated, hollow-eyed typical abuser of drugs, wearing a rumpled jacket and the same scarf you usually see on the Palestinians. He says it’s called keffiyeh when I ask him what it is. I bet he’s one of those troublemakers who go to events to throw stones at police and appoint the Lord’s name in vain. And he’s suspicious, in a way snobbish. I can understand him, after all I’m not offering a job at the bank but it is still a well paid job.
– 10 euros for each photographed ass! 10 asses, 100-Euri- I said, to do some effect on him.
In fact,I awake an impression but not enough because he keeps asking me what kind of photo should he take, whether they should be nude photos.I Answer no.
– I’d just like you take photos, if possible without being discovered, normal girls’buttocks you meet in the street.
Pulling out my camera from my jacket I handed it to him.
– You will take photos with this! I will pay you when you decide to stop and return the camera. In the meantime you will send the pictures to the email that you know .
First day of shots
I have accepted, undecided I confess, but I accepted. After all, I must do something to earn a living and not find myself out in the street. Sure it makes me smile to think how I could explain that to my folks, without making them get a heart attack, the kind of work I do. The Ass photographer. I dress up as a tourist and because I do not know exactly what a tourist wears, I flatter myself to look like one of them just because I’m wearing a camera around my neck, then I go downtown. Here, after a while, I realize that it would be better to remove the flash to avoid attracting too much attention. A buxom blonde girl, in fact,caught me while I’m immortalizing his lower back on my camera .To make it desist from her adamant intention about controlling the camera and to make sure that it has actually shot, I have to resort to some kind of magic. Fortunately, she gets tired and she fixes me there, staring at me with contempt and pity. I continue the rest of the day taking pictures, but giving up using the flash. In the evening the memory card accounts 30 photos.With endless patience I attach them on one at a time and email them.
Second day of shooting
He answered the next morning. Rebuking, rebuking me for not having used the flash. The pictures are almost all dark,he wrote, and then useless. Useless for what? I wonder. To have a wank? However, even this work is not for me, yet another demonstration of the fact that the work in general is not for me. I decided, however,to try once more. In a place where there is abundant light. I tend for the park. I’ve always hated sports, whatever it is, even more the one practiced on a Sunday morning by occasional runners. Overweight characters in the grip of guilt for their reckless eating habits of the week, they fool themselves trying to find relief, they pretend to run in the park on that only day a week. Unfortunately I need a place where there is plenty of light to avoid using the flash. I dress up like a runner on this Sunday morning. An atypical runner equipped with a camera, who sits on a bench on either side of the trail for runners. Is there a word like seater to define who sits? At a good pace and risking a sunstroke, I start taking pictures of women’ s bottoms running. I decide to stop when a German shepherd dog pounced on me, almost tearing, annoyed by the noise of the shot. In the evening the memory card accounts 25 photos. I send the usual email, attach photos and wait for his answer.
Third and final day of shooting
I don’t have to dress like a whore to go among them for shooting. From the tone of his email response, it looks like this will be my last day at work and that I will be fired, which happens very often when I decide to go to work. However it’s not that I care much when it happens to regular jobs, it’s out of the question. For my last day of shooting, I decide to make it less risky in choosing my buttocks: the whoretour. It will not be normal women’s bottoms but the one is as good as the other. Wandering all night in the places where I can find them and snap Shooting like a madman, using the flash and thus making some run away and annoy others.At dawn 200 photos on the memory card. 2000 euros, I think. My payment for this crap job. I email to let him know about the big loot he is going to receive, to make his mouth watering and to give him time to collect the money he owes me. At lunch time I read his answer and the meeting place.
There are several points of view through which one can observe the world, some may be uncomfortable, points from which we can’t see well, others are seen so well through that you are even being able to read people’s hearts. From the altar of the church, for example, when making office, I have the opportunity to have a very privileged view of the world. At a time when I recite the sermon, I am always fascinated by the faces of the faithful. I see them hanging from my lips. I feel I could tell them any lie and I believe on their word. I gave the appointment to that boy right here, and he arrives exactly when I’m about to finish celebrating the sacred mass. I see him advancing, hesitantly toward the crowded pews, where the loyal parishioners sit, the ones that never fail.He really did not expect this. Who knows what he will think of me? A priest with a habit of making indecent photos. Maybe he believes to shame myself in front of everyone? But in the temple of God, who knows if his word is worth more than mine? I look at him, he looks at me, he startled like one who is really impressed. I keep for a moment in silence, then, as if reciting a new episode of the gospel,I began to speak.
– In the temple of God, today has came to see us a thief. Last week, as you know, someone broke into the sacristy, among other things stealing my precious camera. But our Lord is so merciful to convince those who steal, to repent immediately after.
Everybody looks at me,they are aware of the theft and my passion for photography. Of course,they ignore what are my favourite subjects to be photographed. They begin to scrutinize each other trying to figure out who I am referring to. It doesn’t take long their eyes focus on the last arrived. Emaciated, hollow-eyed typical abuser of drugs, wearing a rumpled jacket and a scarf Palestinians usually wear. He will probably be one of those troublemakers who go to events and throw stones at police and appoint the Lord’s name in vain.
– Do not be scared son,come.I know you have come to return the camera.