Amateur Photographer Ch. 01

Photography is a hobby of mine. The advent of digital cameras - with no film expense you've got virtually carte blanche to experiment and learn the art of taking good pics - was what really got me into it. Over time my technique improved with experience and my increasing familiarity with the equipment. I'd been mainly shooting landscape stuff, atmospheric sunrise seaside shots, maybe an abandoned factory site that caught my eye on an overcast day, even wildlife, those sorts of thing. Over time I began to better understand how to use light and the various effects on the camera, and I was quite pleased with the results I was achieving.

And now, as things turned out, I had plenty of time on my hands to indulge this passion, in the wake of my recently failed relationship. It wasn't too bad, I had to admit it was kind of mutual, though not without some grief from my end. I certainly wasn't looking to get involved with anyone new just yet, and even the idea of a casual fling didn't have much appeal. Too much hard work; right now I just wasn't that interested in pursuing women all over the place in the name of a bit of harmless fun.

But I do like looking at them. I got to thinking, and over the weeks since Rebecca left I hatched a plan. Why not combine my photography and new found single status with the beauty of the female body in image form? It was something I had tried to encourage in my dear just-departed, but Rebecca was dead against the idea of even 'tasteful' nude shots on the grounds that she never knew who might see them in the future. Maybe there was a message for me in there as regards to what she saw as our future.

Anyway, as I said, I had time on my hands (and I needed something to keep my mind off the separation) and a reasonable disposable income to offer prospective models. That was my idea; I didn't want to slink around beaches like a spy, that's not my scene and it just didn't interest me. Besides, in this day and age of cell phone cameras people were getting caught doing that sort of caper. How embarrassing that would be. I wanted to get some tasteful, artistic and erotic images, but only with the full consent and cooperation of the subject.

My plan was to advertise for young women to pose for 'artistic portraits'. I wasn't putting it straight out there looking for nudes; this for me really was as much an exercise in photographic artistic expression as it was voyeurism - although if anyone wanted to get naked, so much the better. Nude or non nude really wasn't so much the issue; for me it was the sublime beauty of the female form captured in the lens: the right form, the right light and the right pose. In a word, art. In some circumstances a clothed female body can be equally erotic as a nude one: I can, for instance, think of few sights in the natural world more compelling than to observe a nicely toned female body clad in a one-piece swim suit gracefully moving through the water, swimming freestyle (especially from under the water). Plus, the idea of making this an outright nude pic thing, for someone in their late 30s, was straying uncomfortably close to 'dirty old man' territory. I didn't perceive myself as a dirty old man, and I didn't want any of the girls to presume that I was.

The other motivating factor here, of course, as I had to admit, had nothing to do with photography. This would be an interesting interaction with the opposite sex, on a quasi sexual basis, and on my terms. The mere fact that there may be girls out there willing to pose in a revealing bikini or underwear - or less - for the photographic pleasure of a complete stranger gave me a thrill. A sensual interaction with a good looking young without the normal complications which, right now, I was not interested in dealing with.

I placed my advert up in the notice board of the local university. I thought it as good a place as any to start. "Young women wanted to pose for amateur photographer. Generous rates, nudity not required." I left my email address as first contact.

I didn't rule out nudity. I set up a standard email response to any enquiry, stating my rates were $100 per hour shoot either in bikini or underwear, double for topless and triple for nude. I had no idea what the going rate for this sort of thing was, but I felt what I was offering was more than reasonable. Hell, with my burgeoning photographic skills, it was actually a good deal for any budding model wanting to put together a photo portfolio - they should be paying me!

The arrangement would be that I would retain the pic files, but would provide at least 12 prints, photoshopped for enhancement in required, of the girl's choice free of charge, along with a disk copy of the shoot files. As for the matter of anyone else seeing the shots, I would simply give my word that that would not happen: they would not end up on the internet. And I would be true to my word - I had no intention of doing anything of the sort. This was for me and me alone.

But I was beginning to think it wasn't such a great idea when I clicked on the very first reply. It was the university feminist action collective (or some such student organisation) berating me for attempting to exploit the sisters with the usual patriarchal tools of money and power etc etc. Best not to respond to that one, I thought.

Then, as the responses started trickling in, the matter of aesthetics reared its ugly head. More to the point, body shape, because the first applicant, Jenny, was not exactly what I had in mind: not particularly striking in the looks department, definitely over endowed in the weight department. I hope Jenny got something out of it, because the experience certainly didn't do a lot for me, even though the shots weren't too bad. And I'd just paid 100 bucks for the privilege... It was a start, and good practice, I guess, but next time I better get an idea of the girl's physique first, I told myself.

Sarah, the next respondent that caught my attention, seemed cute over the phone (I only offered my phone number to those that seemed genuine in their emails - I was still a bit spooked by the Femi-nazi brigade). She said she'd never done anything like this before but would like some professionally-done shots, and as a struggling student she could use the money. She would be prepared only to do clothed shots (underwear of bikini), for the agreed fee. We arranged for her to meet me at my 'studio' (which was my flat, of course) at 8pm the following Tuesday night.

The door bell rang at the appointed time. It was her. I took a quick swig of my glass of scotch and made for the door.

"Hi, you must be Sarah," I said. "I'm David, come in."

She mumbled a quiet hello, shuffled through the door and placed her bag down. She made a quick glance around the room, eyeing off the tripod, camera and white sheets covering the sofa and table that I had set up in my living room in preparation for the shoot. She had the demeanour of a nervous kitten.

And just like a kitten, she was cute, too. Straight, shoulder-length auburn hair, green eyes and a nicely tanned complexion. She was slim but also fairly tall, about five-eight in height. Her clothing was unflattering - she was wearing those daggy army-style pants and a loose university gym T-shirt - but she was obviously in much better shape than Jenny. Much better shape. Sarah was more what I had been hoping for.

I offered her a glass of wine and we sat down to talk about how we would proceed. She was undoubtedly nervous and, I had to admit, so was I. Finally I had the kind of subject I was looking for, and I was already feeling a sense of nervous excitement in anticipation of the shoot session with this good looking young girl. There was an uncomfortable pause for a moment as we both sat there, she avoiding eye contact with me as she shuffled her feet together on the carpet. I thought for a minute she was about to get cold feet and walk out.

"I do feel a bit funny about this," she said. "I heard some of the other girls talking about this ad on the notice board. I guess I was intrigued."

I tried to make her feel more comfortable.

"Well, this is only my second time!" I said (and it was true), trying to lighten things up. I stressed that this was primarily an artistic exercise for me, and told her a little about my motivations to try to alleviate any concerns she might have had about being inside the flat of some kind of perverted sexual predator.

There wasn't much more to say - she already knew the deal from our email exchanges. It was time to get started.

"OK, I'll just go into the kitchen and you can get changed," I said.

"Well, um, I'm wearing my undies underneath, so I don't have to get changed."

"OK, that's cool, just get ready then and we'll start with you sitting on that couch there."

I turned to the side to fiddle with the camera and adjust the tripod while she stripped off her shirt and baggies.

"Ok, ready," she said. She was sitting on the couch, almost bolt upright, legs together, arms outstretched and hands resting on her knees. She was wearing a plain black bra and panties. Now I could see what sort of figure she was hiding under those clothes. She was beautifully proportioned. She was a generous B-cup, her figure was trim and her stomach flat with strong muscle definition. Her arms and legs were nicely toned in the way that only a 20-year-old sporty woman can be. When she turned to place her clothes in her bag I could see she was wearing a g-string. Her arse was tight, perfectly shaped. If there was an ounce of fat on her, I could not see it. She was a magnificent looking young woman.

I checked the light meter against her olive skin tones so I could adjust the settings on the camera, standing close enough to get an eyeful of her beautifully tanned, firm young breasts straining against the simple black bra, no lace. I took some shots of her just sitting there like that, just for starters.

"You have a great body Sarah," I said. "Did you ever think about modeling as a profession?"

"No, not really," she smiled. "But thanks. I don't think you can get a degree in modeling! I just want to get through my course, then do the Bachelor of Education so I can become a school teacher. That's what's always interested me."

"Well, you'll be a very good looking teacher."

Her face blushed. She was going to be the object of many a young schoolboy fantasy, no doubt about it, and I was very excited indeed to be shooting her. I set her up in a variety of poses on the sheet-covered carpet.

"Lay there on your side, rest your head on your arm," I said. This shot contrasted her lovely curves against the flat surface of the white sheet. The effect was accentuated when I got her to bend her upper leg and move it up under her stomach, the lower leg outstretched. In these poses I shot her from the tripod looking down, then I got down low with the camera sitting on the carpet in front of her.

"Great. Now roll onto your stomach, point your toes, keep your legs on the ground but use your arms to lift your shoulders."

"Like a yoga pose?" she asked.

"Yeah. Now, press down hard with your lower legs and lift your head up. Look up at the ceiling."

She looked fantastic like this. Wearing a g-string, she looked almost naked from the waist down as the pose accentuated the flexing muscles in her legs and in her arse, her cheeks clenched tightly together, her strong lower back and arm muscles working hard. But her breasts, as much as her tightening arse, pointing straight ahead from her arched torso, were the focal points of these images.

Then I sat her on a chair, sitting in reverse, legs around each side and arms resting on the back of the chair.

"More yoga poses?" she said.

"Why not? Sounds like you know about chair twists - do a couple of chair twists for me."

She did as requested, her thigh muscles tensing powerfully, wonderfully as she pushed them into the floor to ground herself in the twist. I shot her in this pose from all sides, her bra-clad right breast pushing outwards as if straining for freedom as she twisted to the left. Her body was obviously very flexible, and the twist on her thin waist as she rotated for me highlighted the outward curve of her hips down to her arse and upper thighs anchored firmly on the seat of the chair. These shots were a study in the contrast between muscular strength and feminine lines.

From behind I shot the inside of her thighs clenching as she pushed down, continuing with the twist. Moving one of the spotlights I had set up to shine from behind her, with her head resting against the top of the chair now and her hair falling down around her eyes, it almost gave the impression that she had just come out of the shower.

"I never thought someone would be paying me to do yoga!" she laughed. Sarah is a great model, I though to myself. I was pleased with the shots I was getting, and also that she was obviously now feeling a lot more at ease. I think she was even enjoying herself.

"What was it you were expecting?" I asked as I took a brief pause to change camera cards.

"Well, I don't know. But I'm glad I didn't chicken out. I nearly did. I didn't tell you but I only found out about you from the some of the other girls at the college - everybody knows about it, and they were disgusted by your ad."

"Were they from the feminist union?"

"Yeah, how do you..."

"They've already been in contact. I don't think they like me very much!"

She laughed. "Yeah, I mean, I'm all for women getting a better go than we do, because there still isn't equality of the sexes today. But some of those girls are scary. When I heard them talking about some sleazebag photographer looking for girls to perve on, I actually didn't think they were wrong about it; like, I kind of agreed with them, but I just kept thinking about the ad, that someone would want to pay for this sort of thing, because I do like the way my body looks, and I just kept wondering what it would be like. And it wasn't like I'd have to be naked; you'd see this much of me at least at the beach. But I was worried a bit - I mean, I don't know you, and for all I knew you could have turned out to be well, you know..."

She trailed off. "Well, I'm glad you decided to try something new," I replied. "Your body is amazing, and I have some great portraits here - for us both."

I suggested she stand up so I could get some silhouette shots. I moved the spotlights around behind her to get some 'shadow' pics. These were going to look great in high-contrast black-and-white.

I posed her in different positions: arms outstretched above her head, arms folded across her breasts, her head tilted back, then all the way forward, hair covering her face. With her arms raised I got her to bend one knee and lift her leg up high, foot pointed downwards, as if she was about to leap into some acrobatic manoeuvre. God, what a body. In this position her thighs were spectacular: bronzed, toned, perfectly shaped, muscles tightening purposefully.

"Now stand there and face the spotlight. Legs together, hands on hips."

This vertically framed shot, from behind, showed off the narrow waist, the curves over her hips and the athletic definition of her legs to glorious effect, the light from the lamp piercing sharply through the triangulated gap between the very upper reaches of her inner thighs and her crotch. The light was so bright that it almost blurred the outline view of the underside of her g-string. I couldn't help also but think that this image also blurred the line between the artistic and the straight out erotic. As I focused on the view of her from behind, I felt a surge of blood rush to my cock. I thought to myself that no man could behold this sight and not think it sexy, nor not wonder how much better it would look without the undergarments.

As good as these shots were, though, I was starting to run out of ideas. But time had flown, so much fun I had been having, and now there was only 10 minutes of the agreed hour left. As it was, I had to admit to myself that I was pretty much done with the artistic; I had run out of ideas. Now I was just plain aroused. I decided to use the last 10 minutes trying something a bit sexier. To see if she would go further.

"OK, we're nearly finished," I announced. "Let's get some 'personality' shots. This is where your acting skills come in. Sit back on the couch, legs a bit apart, and look straight at me with a stern expression on your face."

"OK. Is this good?"

She flopped on the seat, legs spread as requested, dropped an elbow onto her knee and supported her head with the hand of that arm - a bit like Auguste Rodin's 'The Thinker' statue. Holding that stance, she looked up at me all cross before losing it and bursting into hysterical laughter. I'd been hoping for a kind of sultry expression.

"All right, very funny," I said. "Let's try this. We're nearly done. Stand up straight, then slouch on one leg and make like you're bored out of your mind. Yes, like that. Now slip one thumb inside the waist band of your undies and pretend you're about to slide them down."

She stopped. There was a quizzical look on her face, like she was slightly offended. But there was something in her expression that hinted that she really didn't mean it, that she was only feigning offence, because that was the proper response to such an improper request. Either way, I could tell she was relaxed enough and confident in my presence to be at least a little bolder in the remaining few minutes. I hadn't given her reason to feel threatened, exposed or exploited (well, that's was my view), and I was leaving it up to her as to how far she would go in this far more provocative pose than any of the earlier ones. I think we both realised it would be churlish of her to refuse this last shot.

"Come on, this will be the last one."

"OK, last one."

She assumed the position. She didn't so much slouch, but rather wrapped one foot around in front of the other, a movement which arched her left hip almost out to the side in way that made her look bored and even insolent but also rather lewd at the same time. She moved her left hand down to her hip and slipped her thumb inside the elastic.

"Like this?"

"Excellent. OK, look at me all sexy like, and flex your arm and wrist as though you're going to drop your knickers in front of me."

She was cooperating. She looked me in the eye and grasped the string tightly, pulling it right off her body until there was nearly an inch gap between her hand and her hip. So strongly was she tugging it, in fact, that you could see the material was being stretched tightly across her outer lips, the shape of which I could now clearly observe straining under the material. She looked so hot like this.

"Sarah, that's so sexy."

She grinned at me. She seemed encouraged. Forget art, my cock was hardening rapidly, my heart thumping in my chest. Her hand holding the material slid slowly lower on her hip. She was actually going to do it, she was pulling the string down over her hip. It was well below her hip bone now, her thumb around the g-string now resting on her upper outer thigh. The material, sliding down at an angle to one side, now exposed the beginnings of the top of her mound. I could see enough now to know she must be completely shaved. She held it there like that for an agonising 10 seconds or so. Then she pulled it down further. Using the short lens I was now on maximum zoom, clicking madly as I honed in on her pussy as it threatened gradually to reveal itself to my lens. Now I was rock hard.

"How's that?" she said, smiling mischievously. No doubt about it, in her own way she was enjoying this as much as I was. Clearly she could sense the effect she was having on me, that this was a sexual pose, it had nothing to do with 'art', and it seemed she was enjoying the power it gave her.