Who was The Photographer? Ch. 01

Preamble:

A mature couple are reviewing the wife's young days naughty photos, taken way before they met. The husband is curious about who was the photographer.

This is a banter-style teasing, titillating story. The action is light. If you are looking for bruising, torrenting, howling action, this is not for you.

***

Julian enjoys these moments.

Crocuses. The gardener's harbinger of spring. Spangling the turf like hundreds of two-tone sweets thrown across the lawn. It is the flower that most lives up to the idea of a spring flower carpeting the grass with its bloom.

Julian is in his study. The window overlooks his quintessentially English garden. The trees, arching low and green. Enclosed and private, it has secret corners that transport him to another spacetime.

Julian is looking at the wildflowers in the vase on his desk. The honeysuckle, the forget-me-not, the iris, they have tumbled into their symmetry on their own without anyone arranging them.

Julian tilts back his chair a little, and surveys the photos, mementos, books and CDs on his shelf, as one might a life.

He eyes drift to the centre of the shelf. A picture of Julia. His other half who makes him whole. He plays her husband and her whole world. He thinks.

He refocuses back to viewing photos of his wife on his laptop computer. Mostly photos taken before they were married, now digitised into perpetuity. Wife on a thumb drive. He admires his wife's then youthful sensual beauty. A certain bliss sets in when he immerses in such aesthetic delights.

Julia is sixty today. An attractive woman. Her most striking features are her short brown hair, lightened with some silver streaks, though the roots hint at a darker natural colour. Penetrating brown eyes. High cheekbones. A few freckles beneath her eyes. A lovely English smile. These combine to compose a most appealing face.

There is a touch of maturity in her figure. Nicely rounded, but firm. Neither overweight nor skinny. She gives signs of taking care of herself, without being obsessive over it. Her breasts, if one discerns them from beneath a t-shirt, are on the small side. Pert high-hanging fruits of tear drops. Her t-shirt will also reveal that the freckles continue on her upper chest and arms. The dusting of freckles accentuates her cleavage.

Julia had a sultry look then, as now. A comforting timelessness. Straight hair to her shoulders. She was gazing away from the camera as if captivated by a distant object. The photos highlight her pouting sensuous lips.

Thinking of the sensuality before him, and desiring more, he instinctively navigates to another folder, "Sheer Delights".

A stash of twenty lingerie photos, dating back to her uni days. Those salad days.

Three of she on a sofa in a silk robe. Each subsequent picture is teasingly more revealing, until the tops of her breasts and cleavage are exposed. And southerly, until the robe hemline covers her crotch, tantalisingly only just so.

The rest shows her wearing an upper-thigh, sheer negligee, and high-waist bikini panty, perched precariously on fuck-me high-heels.

His favourite is she posing, sitting upright, on a high chair. Her body is angled away from the camera. Her head turned just a little, ascertaining the photographer, just as the photographer is studying she. The fullness of her bosom, and eruption of nipples are visible through the sheer material. She is staring at the lens with a mildly lusty and confident expression.

In her standing shots, it is not altogether clear if the pencil shading at the vee edge of her panty is shadow, or wayward luxuriance. Just when Julian is convinced that it is shadow, the follow-on photo challenges that notion. Delightfully annoying.

The final sub-series of five photos, features Julia in various poses in the same sheer negligee. The difference now is that it is not altogether clear from the artful compositions whether Julia is pantyless. Again, just when Julian is convinced that there is evidence of textile, the follow-on photo confounds that perception. Delightfully maddening. The charm is in the ambivalence.

Julian navigates to another folder, deeply inspired by its title, "Divine Revelations". It contains some explicit shots he took on their honeymoon. The shots range from teasing in lingerie, to full unfettered glory. She was totally uninhibited and would pose any way he requested. They both got carried away, as some of the shots show her in less than ladylike postures, asserting her womanhood. Four photos feature she pleasuring herself in different writhing contortions.

Concentrating on the pictures, Julian is unaware that Julia has entered the room.

"What's up?"

He laughs, self-deprecatingly, gazing down, "Nothing just yet. But, getting there."

Julia peering over, "Hmmm..."

"Revisiting some compelling memorabilia."

Julia sits down beside Julian. She emits a soft chuckle at the folder name. She takes over the mouse.

"I've clean forgotten how decadent we were. I really got hot posing for you that time."

She leans over a little. She gently kisses his cheek.

"I seem to recall someone else getting pretty hot and bothered too."

"We did have some hot sessions, didn't we?"

Navigating back to "Sheer Delights", to some of the lusty lingerie photos, he asks, "I really like these. So artfully, calibratedly pleasing and teasing. How did you feel then, posing in front of a photographer?"

"I really felt uninhibited. I had such a feeling of freedom. It was a turn on."

"Did you ever pose topless or nude?"

"The photographer who took those wanted me to. But, I didn't. I was only twenty then, in uni at the time. I felt a little self conscious about posing nude. Besides, the lingerie didn't hide much. You're the only one who has made me uninhibited enough to pose nude."

"Well, maybe you should have then. These pictures make you look sexy and hot."

Looking at a couple of the more explicit photos, she nods, "You're right. I did sizzle in these. I can pose some more for you, if you still have interest in my now august body."

Julian gazes down at his crotch.

He chuckles, "Pointed affirmation."

"Hmmm... Of the photos we are viewing, or of my offer to model?"

"The latter primarily, the former secondarily."

"Hmmm... You're a consummate diplomat, and an inveterate liar. And I love, love, love you for that."

Curiously, "You never did tell me who the photographer was?"

Julia looks away from Julian and from the laptop screen, to nothing in particular. There is a hush, not quite amounting to silence. A bird chirping on the window sill, then, managing a birdsong. A musical melody of wind chimes.

"This was way before we met. So, it shouldn't matter who the photographer was."

Julia is quiet. And then leaves behind a little trail of silence. This is quite uncharacteristic of his open and effervescent wife. Julian is now really piqued. But, he follows his prudent instincts and holds back. Maybe this question is for another day.

"Dear, I'm sorry I've made you uncomfortable with my probing. It really makes no diff who the photographer was because it'd be someone I don't know anyway. It was all so long ago."

Julian pivots back to the photos. Julia appears somewhat disinterested now. But, she does look a little relieved, but not unburdened, adjusting the little chafing millstone around her neck.

Sheepishly, "It was Jude."

"Sorry?"

"Jude"

"Do I, or should I, know him?"

"My bro..."

"Oh!"

Jude has been mostly out of the country because of work, and associated life entanglements. He has been widowed for ten years since his Chilean wife passed away. Julian has met his brother-in-law, like, three times over the years, and even then, superficially.

"You must be thinking that this is a little weird, a bro taking racy photos of his sis."

"A little unorthodox, yes. But, I'm sure that there were good reasons. Like maybe you wanted some naughty photos to capture your youth, and you didn't want to entrust this delicate enterprise to outsiders."

"Jude was pursuing his Masters of Fine Arts, MFA degree, which included Photography."

"I didn't know that."

"Dad bought Jude a high-end Nikon plaything for his birthday. The lad was excited with his new toy. He came over to my digs one night to chat and chill, as he did every now and again, with the new toy in tow. We had drinks, and lots of laughs. Jude was always good company. Witty, funny, yet sensitively philosophical, without being high-minded. Then, a suggestion of an innocent photo shoot. Just for a lark, you see, to test-drive his gizmo toy. The shoot took on a life of its own, Jude wanting to try this camera feature and that."

Julian instinctively navigates back to the start of the "Sheer Delights" folder and slide shows the photos, contemplating them as if he is viewing them for the first time.

Julia lightening up a little now, "Whoa! What's happening here?"

"Just re-imagining the photos..."

At mid-folder, Julia assesses that she has lost her husband to some inexplicable mystic force field. She runs her hand over his groin. A raging spire.

She teases, "Hmmm... This is a little unorthodox, don't you think?"

Julian growls in a strange animistic patois. Julia understands this linguistic form well. The escalating arc of wishes, wants, desires and needs.

She has that sensual genius to give the charm of novelty to her body each time he sees her nude. How precisely she does this, he will never know.

A flurry of activity. Julian pins Julia to the desk. Kisses her gently, passionately, then violently. Julia turns her back to him, camels her back.

Julian looks at the delicious inviting arc before him. All arranged according to the laws of pictorial sensual art. A sweep arc of torso. A minor arc of derrière, a woman's tail, curvy and a little longish.

He burrows between her arse orbs for a few delightful moments. Dry at first, now, gathering moistness. When wet, he enters and pistons her with demented vigour. A blur of velocity.

They take pleasure in this savagery, even as they steal fragment moments to look out of the window to the placid garden. Trauma and turmoil on their side of the cosmos, calm and peace on the other just yonder. A little bird on the window sill bears witness to this spectacle.

***

Julian wipes off the last of the fluids. The calm after the storm.

"I'm a little intrigued by your negligee and panty shots. Was that artful shadow play, or your thicket was peeking out?"

Hesitatingly, "Both"

"Huh?"

Squeamishly, "I started out in a state of nature. After a few shots, Jude noticed the rawness. He suggested that we do a little hirsute maintenance."

"We?"

"He helped me."

Julian twitches as he speculates about the nature and scope of the sibling collaboration. This detail does not escape Julia's notice. Julia reads her husband like a nursery rhyme book. She grazes her hand measuredly on his groin, lingers a little, but says nothing. She knows that Julian must be aching to know what transpired then. She decides not to say more. Less is more.

"The closing series of negligee shots... were you... errr... commando?"

Julia shudders a little. Not at the question, but the memory it awakens. She feels herself being drawn into the simmering mind play that her husband has stewed. She decides she will indulge a little, and contribute to the unfolding playscript.

Matter-of-factly, "I wasn't."

Lowering her voice, mysteriously, "And then I was."

"Huh?"

Conspiratorially, as if the walls have keen ears and are leaning in, "After a few shots, I slipped my panty off. Just for a lark. The buoyant alcohol and the joie de vivre of the moment, you see. Jude told me that he would angle the shots so that nothing could be seen."

Julia grazes her hand on Julian's groin, lingers longer this time, taking its measure, then flashes her husband a knowing smile.

Smirking, "We seem to have uncovered a magic button on your person."

Julian grazes his fingers on Julia's panty gusset. He quips, "Two magic buttons. Wired to the same spasming power source."

Julia decides to give a definitive push to the button. Or more aptly, buttons.

"Each time my pose was not quite in order, Jude would study me sagely, and then make this or that adjustment on my negligee... and on me, to render the image modest."

"On you?"

"Yes, arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

"Well, arrangements, placements, adjustments, presentations. The kind of little detail which seems pedantic to philistines like us, but shapes the artistic outcome significantly."

What Julia does not say is that in that playful shoot with her brother, she learned something new. She understood a certain way of looking at people that won them over. That intrigued them. That held them. That challenged them. That it was her brother who opened up this window of knowledge for her was unsettling and thrilling.

"Can you put on your negligee? My favourite one..."

"Oh, brother!"

Julia can't help muttering to herself, "The same one..."

"Yes, that one."

"I don't think you understand me..."

Julian realising, "What!"

Julia devilishly, "Yessss"

Julia gets clothed. Julian and Julia go through the drill again.

***

Later...

Julia testing, "So, you want me to model for you again?"

"I can shoot some, but it's a matter of quality. Look at the composition, detail and lighting in the lingerie shots. Compare that with my honeymoon shots."

"You've a good camera. And you like to take pictures."

"I know. But figure photography is different from outdoor photography. And boudoir photography is yet another universe."

"Why don't you read some books on the subject or take some classes?"

"I could, but I still need proper lighting and other equipment."

"Does that mean you would like me to pose for a professional photographer?"

"Anything worth doing, is worth doing right."

"Hmmm... How terribly original and inspiring! I'm not so sure about the "right" part though. You're very righteous with MY body."

Julia mulls a little more. She expresses a real concern.

"I don't know about this. I assume you would like me to pose topless or nude. Those were taken in a wild phase in uni. We're married now. I'm sixty for goodness sake!"

"I think it would be hot if you pose nude. Alot of married women have erotic photographs taken for their husbands. And for posterity."

Writhing a little, "Well, I don't know."

"Come on, Julia. I would love to see photos of you posing nude."

Julia reluctantly agrees to pose. She navigates the laptop to one of her masturbation shots. Laughingly, "But, no way I'm doing any of these."

"I'll find a suitable studio."

"I don't know..."

"Why?"

"I feel rather uneasy. There is no control over digital images. I don't want my private charms to enthrall or repulse the internet. We hear of so many horror stories these days."

"Is Jude still active in photography?"

"What?"

"He's family. Your photos will be safe."

"Are you out of your feverish mind? It's one thing to fantasise about past photo shoots, be titillated by the incidental taboo, and have some inspired fun. It's quite another to re-enact it."

"Jude's photography is good. Good eye. Evident in the lingerie series photos. With his MFA qualification since, and so many years of experience, it must be of a high professional standard now."

"Mad! Unhinged! And even if I agree, I'd be dead embarrassed to show Jude my old body. It would be awkward for Jude too. Jude and I would never regard each other the same again."

"Jude is an accomplished professional. He has photographed hundreds of models before. You'll be just one more in the bevy of beauties."

Julian is about to mention that Jude has photographed her before. But, he bites his lip.

"Hmmm... can't argue with that."

"You're sixty this year, and still looking hot as ever. This is a good time to capture you for posterity."

Julia, being the female of the species, has the last deterministic word on the matter: No.

***

Three months later.

Julian's eyes flicker open. He looks at his cellphone at his bedside. 4am. He is careful not to wake Julia. He need not have bothered. She is not in bed.

Perhaps she is in the washroom? But, the washroom is unlit.

Perhaps she is in the kitchen getting a drink? Three minutes pass.

Julian gets up. A faint light from the study. He investigates.

Julia is staring at the laptop screen. She is in her negligee. His favourite. The one from forty years ago, and still holding up. One foot planted flat on the floor. The other, flat on the chair. Not the most ladylike of postures. But then, there is nobody for she to be a lady to at this wee hour. Is that a flash of glisten? Is that a piquant vinaigrette whiff?

Julia taps the keyboard every now and again, then refocuses on the screen.

This is her private quality time. Quality as she defines it, which only she knows. She is entitled. As he is.

Julian slips back quietly to bed. He contemplates matters for awhile. He thinks this and that. A loud monologue chatter that struggles to find voice. He instinctively touches himself, lingers pleasantly, and then draws his hand quickly away as if he is caught out by the Thought Police lurking in the bedroom shadows.

He drops back to sleep, dreaming improbable dreams.

***

He is seated on his study chair. A woman is sitting on his lap, facing away from him.

He is thrusting her with strong deep purposeful strokes. In the midst of the passionate lovemaking, the woman turns to face him. Her turn heightens the grip and twist on his penis.

It is Julia. But, is it she? A twenties face, pasted on a mature mellowed body.

Julia's eyes drift down his body. She appears to recognise something.

"Jude!" she exclaims.

Julian wakes with a jolt. A figure in his dream has roused him from his sleep. He tries to reconstruct the dream. It is a gentle sort of haunting. What cannot be said must be dreamed.

***

A week later.

"I browsed Jude's company website. He has quite a photography practice going. I perused some of his works posted online. Impressive portfolio."

"Yes. He is passionate about his craft, and has made a good living from it."

"I don't want to be a dreadful bore. But, do you want to reconsider his photography services?"

"My, you're persistent. I don't think I'm going to get any peace until we get some closure to this matter."

"Shall we meet up with Jude, and explore our artistic possibilities?"

"Hmmm... Do I've a choice?"

"Of the artistic options? Why, yes!"

Julian is happy with the progress they have made. Julia is now treating the matter with a sort of fascinated repulsion.

***

Two weeks later.

"Jude is in town. I've arranged for us to have dinner with him on Friday, at La Chapelle, near his office."

"Oh! This is great!"

"Just so you know, I've made no mention about photography, let alone a photo shoot. Just a family social. It'll be good for you to get to know your bro-in-law better after all these years."

"Great! With family, it's never too late. I'll navigate the conversation to photography."

"Please go easy on this. You know, this is awkward for me. And I'm sure, for Jude too."

***

Jude is a six footer. Well-trimmed beard. Clean cut. Aquiline. He looks the part of the archetype roving intrepid photojournalist, comfortable in the method to the madness of the world. It is easy to imagine him ducking machine gun fire on a busy day in Rwanda, or ascertaining the finer cultural nuances of the Shan mountain people in Myanmar. Raw energy on a reliable bed of mellowed experience.

Jude compliments his sister on her enduring beauty as soon as he meets her. A gentleman with the muted demeanor of a mild cad. A beast with brains. She nervously runs her hand through her hair, and gives her brother an amused smile. They last met briefly some five years ago. He pecks her cheek, as if to sample puffed soufflé.