The wondrous Tales of Lara and creative photographer Dustin Hollywood tell a new story of a journey through quarantine and self existence in this exclusive new visual and written editorial out today!
“Existing is a journey unto itself in life, but doing it isolated, and against every fabric of human nature to embrace socially, it can be ethereal and transformative in either a positive or negative way. You explore new things about yourself, about what you want and need, about what you desire, even addictively crave, and that’s what this story is about.”
– Dustin Hollywood
The images transcend the separation and really window the photographer has into the world of the model. The story follows her as she reminisces in a world left behind and isolated. The viewer can only watch her pass the time as she longs for more. Together they create a written visual journey for their only virtual editorial shot during the quarantine!
{ PLEASE LISTEN TO MUSIC AS YOU SCROLL THROUGH VISUAL AND WRITTEN STORY FOR FULL EFFECT! }
‘WHAT’S CARDIAC ARREST ANYWAYS’ by TALES OF LARA
When you first meet him nothing seems particularly striking, another one for the road, you think. “I’ll take a shot of you, taste you a little,” you say. Out loud perhaps, to his face possibly, while taking a drag off your cigarette. “When the sun sets, I’ll go my way,” you think.
But his eyes twinkle, he lays his amor at your feet. You know he’s pretending but so are you and “why not play a little, baby.” But your heart is sneaky, needy, greedy. And when he leans into you, brushes your thigh, kisses you a little; it sends shivers down your spine.
Maybe it was the champagne, you reason, his necklace drooling over your nipples, the moon illuminating the empty streets. Maybe it was the skittles, another one bought you at the theater last week. But your heart’s craving, misbehaving. So it lets you deceive yourself, anything it takes to spark again. What’s cardiac arrest anyways.
He pushes you up against the wall, nibbles on you a little. At this point the moon’s just bragging, your pussy is begging. You bite his lip, “you taste like holidays,” you quip. Game on, he licks. Then he kneels down, you don’t know this yet but he holds the key to you, so he opens you, his fingers deep inside of you.
“Don’t cum yet,” he whispers. But he suspends time, your whole body moans for him, you shutter against all reason. You’re shook. He shook you baby, and this isn’t a game anymore. Reality is bend and you’re hanging on a thread. Between heaven and earth, or maybe it’s hell. But he’s relentless like purgatory. He drinks you in, you baptize him. Again and again he worships you, communion, until he walks on your water.
When you hold him in your mouth your lips drip, they whisper love words on his dick. “I like you,” they nearly slip. And then you sip, him, take him in, suck the soul out of him.
Both of you are set afire, you burn in a moment of everything and nothing. What you don’t know yet is that he likes to burn himself to the ground. Him and everything around him. But your heart doesn’t care. What’s cardiac arrest anyways.
