Who was The Photographer? Ch. 01

The dinner banter goes well. Julian and Jude warm up and connect famously from their first sip of sparkling rosé.

Jude talks a bit about his boy and teenhood. Although Julia is older than Jude by two years, she cannot remember a time when she has not looked up to him as her big bro. She was enthralled by Jude. He could quote Schopenhaeur and jumpstart cars to steal rides. Jude was a fantasy she could not act out herself. Julia would let life carry her along.

Julia smiles wistfully at the memory of her gangly bro brimming with fire and ambition, at a time when he had more questions than answers about the world. It was later that he realised, perhaps, that his quest was not to discover himself, but to lose himself to something greater. He wanted to make his life his art.

His dreams have lost some grandeur coming true. Nevertheless, his career accomplishments are quite spectacular. He cannot return, but can only look behind from where he came. It is a good view. That is what Julia thinks.

Jude regales them with perverse accounts of his work travel experiences. Tangles with glittering tinpot generals and their colourful paramours. Life-affirming experiences. Near death escapades. Shenanigans of many hues. Hefty towering moral dilemmas that had to be unpacked.

The conversation meanders to photography. Jude appears to be uncharacteristically subdued on the subject, but eventually warms up, when Julian shares his interest on landscape photography. Julia, not a camera buff, watches Jude open up on the subject with interest.

The conversation ranges to other photography realms. Figure photography is discussed. Perversely, it is Jude who raises the subject that Julia, at her milestone age of sixty, ought to have her beauty immortalised in pixels for posterity. This is a godsend for Julian. He nudges the conversation in that convenient direction. To open up the conversation, Julian alludes to capturing all dimensions of Julia's beauty.

Julia blushes. She emits the custom lamenting noises about her venerable body, thus implicitly establishing the photo shoot body of works scope.

It is then agreed that Jude will do the shoot in his studio, which has all the hi-tech gizmos, over a couple of sessions, to be arranged. Nothing is mentioned about the specifics of the project.

Julia excuses herself to go to the washroom.

Coincidentally, Julian's cellphone chimes. A call from work which he cannot dismiss. He excuses himself from Jude to go to a quiet nook of the restaurant to take the call. As he speaks, he notices that Jude has decided to use this opportunity to go to the washroom as well.

After awhile, Jude emerges from the Gents, just as Julia comes out from the Ladies. They talk for awhile at the quiet mini lobby in front of the washrooms. Julia's tentative body language betrays a little shyness. This is her first alone moment with her brother this evening.

As Julia bends over a little to pluck a tissue from the tissue box on the low coffee table, Julian watches Jude shift behind his sister. His hand slides over her buttock, giving it a playful squeeze. Julia turns to her brother in mild mortification, slaps his offending hand, and smiles. Apparently emboldened, Jude slides his other hand up her side and cups her right breast softly. Julia emits a soft laugh, and peers over his shoulder into the dining room. An effortlessly elusive smile. She backs away slowly, as if with a tinge of reluctance. They make their way back to the table, Jude a little way behind his sister, following her progress.

Julian emerges out of the nook, meanders a little way from it, and then makes his way to rejoin the table as if he has come in from the dining room entrance.

They have another hour of delightful banter. Alcohol is a great leveler. They are on a buoyant plane, just short of euphoric. All too soon, it is closing time.

Jude asks if they would like to check out his studio. It is just down the block, round the corner. They can continue their tipple at his mini bar there.

The studio is on the top floor of an 80-storey building, the tallest in the vicinity. The architectural style is a curious cross between classical Art Deco, and the kind of building structures that loom in noir sci-fi movies. Glass and steel. But, it has a kind of stark soul in its austerity. Julia gazes up the shard of building, a massive erection, and then at Jude.

Jude stares down the biometric scanner with an intensity that raises the lift to the eightieth floor. They are duly delivered to a small private lift lobby.

Pointing to the illuminated keypad on the door, Jude turns to his sis, "Your birthday."

"What?"

"Julia, type the date, DD-MM-YY, of your birthday."

Julia thinks this odd, but says nothing. She is the key to her brother's entry. Instinctively, she tries to recall Jude's birthday. But, she can only manage the year.

The studio is sparsely furnished. Large umbrella lights. An opulent rug. A modern design sofa and armchair set. A black back drop. The office, kitchenette, dressing room and washroom are across the small passageway.

The studio room opens up to a small private rooftop garden, with a swirl of 360 degree privacy.

Jude conducts a mini tour of the premises.

The rooftop garden allows him the option of outdoor shoots.

Imagine a small quintessential verdant English garden, in glorious bloom, transplanted and airdropped onto a rooftop. Three sides of vivid green. One side looking out to the clouds. A retractable skylight roof.

A green oasis in the city, where one can leave it all behind. A radical re-imagination of Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic "Secret Garden". Julia's favourite novel growing up. She had copied her favourite paragraphs from the book in purple ink in a pretty notebook. It gave her a feeling that all was good in the world.

Julia feels like she has been transported to a secret garden perched on one side of the mountain top. The sunny side. The starry side. She imagines what it might be like to loll and luxuriate here all day in this unlikely reality. Maybe a handsome prince may show up?

Julia is awakened from her pleasant stupor by a pop. Jude has uncorked a Krug from his stash of poisons. His hand glides the length of the bottle to its opening, once, then again, to clean off the trail of foam. He serves the bubbly.

Julia regards the flute of bubbly in her hands. She observes the furious flurry of bubbles from her brother's Krug. So much of it. Streaming. Persistent. Never ending. Just where do they all come from? Finally, she puts lips to bubbles. She imbibes.

Jude initiates, "Since we're comfortably cloistered here, why don't we discuss the photo shoot a bit."

Seeing Julia in deep blush, Julian leads the discussion.

"Well Jude, why don't we tell you our objectives, and then give you, the guru, the artistic license to execute the shoot in the best way know how. You're family. We've no concerns with privacy. The photos will remain within our trinity here."

Julia nods. Good answer. One which frees her from bearing the moral burden associated with nudity, and her being nude in front of her brother, even if it is for a noble aesthetic cause.

"Alright then, thanks for placing your trust in me. So, what are your objectives?"

Julian looks at Julia.

"Julian and I have discussed this before. Since Julian is a camera buff, I'll let him articulate it."

"Simply, we would like to capture Julia, in all her dimensions of beauty, as of sixty years old. A point-in-time milestone record."

Julian adding, "We can't return. We can only look behind from where we came. We would like that to be a good view."

Jude nodding, "Poetically put."

"Just so you know, we've some photos of Julia when she was in uni, and then, when we were newlyweds. The newlywed photos are a little raw, my photography skills are basic at best. We may compile a then-&-now comparative study photo portfolio, as a sort of life journey time series pictorial record."

Jude looks at Julia. Their eyes meet, then, Julia turns away.

"I'm going to be pointillist here, just to be sure. Nudes too?"

Julian turns to Julia.

Sheepishly, "Yes. Artistically rendered. Nothing lewd or lusty."

Jude reassuring, with a hint of mild annoyance, "I don't do lewd and lusty. That's not me."

There follows one of those pauses where people tacitly agree not to discuss something further.

Julian pleased, "We're clear then."

"In that case, since we're here now, can I do a preliminary assessment of Julia's form, so that I can conceptualise and plan the shoot. Calibrate the sensory fit."

Julia wonders what exactly is involved. But, she nods mechanically. Words like 'conceptualise' and 'plan' carry their own heft. And what on earth is sensory fit?

"Sis, it would be helpful if you could remove your dress."

Being a gentleman, Jude turns around, to give his sister a little privacy.

In an act of socially conditioned modesty, curiously, Julia turns her back to Jude's back. Julian has to suppress a chuckle at the earnest show of, literally, back-to-back modesty. The English compensate for their charming understatement with over-action.

She takes off her high-heel shoes, then removes her dress. She looks at Julian, pauses as if deciding something, and then slips on her high-heels again. Although it is the same pair, Julia feels that it now raises her total being - physical, sensual and mental - to another level. Julia has never felt more naked in her life, even though she is not.

Curiously, she feels the tightening taut tension of her bra and panty, which she did not just a moment ago. She has never felt her breasts this full before.

She peers down to her panty to check if her thatch is properly covered. It gives her pause. Leave a little of the edges wild is how she should live every now and again.

When Julia says she is ready, Jude turns and looks at his sister. A smile creases his face.

"Gorgeous! You've a body that would raise men's souls to joy."

Jude demonstrates his sincerity by ascertaining her for long minutes of time. Julian observes the brother observing his sister. Brother. Sister. Husband. Wife. Let the roles roll. A sublime circle game.

Jude the professional takes charge. He has her turn this way and that, complimenting her all the time.

He particularly likes his sister's legs. Sylphy, silken, unblemished, save for a faint shading of mole dots on the back of her right thigh, which lends character.

Julia has a bright but somewhat embarrassed smile on her face. It is not social custom for a brother to critique his sister's charms in the presence of her husband. But, this is in service of Art.

Jude studies her, surveys the lay of her form, then hesitates a little, "Can you do me one last favour?"

"Yes?"

He asks sheepishly, as only an English person can, "You couldn't remove your bra and panty, could you?"

Julia does not expect this. She freezes momentarily. Her brother is asking to see her, and steal her secrets.

Secrets. They grow. Never fade. Once he steals her secrets, she will always see her secrets in his eyes.

She rationalises that Jude will eventually see her anyway. And he does need to plan the shoot. He is a professional, not some point-and-shoot hipster artist.

Julia turns her back to Jude in tacit approval. Again, Jude turns around to give his sister some nominal privacy.

Julian helps her unfasten the back of her bra. His hands shiver a bit. He is complicit, in part, in this, even though he has actually done little. It gives him enormous satisfaction that his bro-in-law is so meticulous in his craft, and the shooting has not even begun yet.

Julia slides her panty down. She holds Julian to balance herself, as she lifts one high-heel clad foot, then the other, to shimmy out of her garment. She is now in her full glory.

"I'm alright now."

Julian suppresses a rising chuckle. She appears indeed all right alright, although he is not absolutely sure if what is transpiring is alright.

Jude turns around. He looks wild-eyed at his sister's breasts, the beautiful form of which nature makes no more. He studies his sister for prolonged minutes at a time, unpacking her constituent beauty, and then synthesising it on one woman again.

Julian observes all this. He feels weak. His muscles ache. But, these are not unpleasant sensations.

Julia is growing a little nervous. She instinctively tilts her casual hips for emphasis, to add a little colour to the imagery.

Again, he asks his sister to turn this way and that. His eyes linger on her thatch for awhile, as if agonising over a difficult artistic decision. But, he says nothing.

"Sis, I wish to test out some poses. Do you mind if I show you now some of the poses?"

A small nod.

Jude proceeds to have his sis sit down. She keeps her knees together, defensively, as he studies her pose. Is that shadow, or a tuft peeking out of her junction of coquettishly crossed legs?

Jude tells her she looks too rigid. He asks her to relax her legs a little. After a moment of hesitation, she complies. Her brother looks at her again.

"Relax every fibre of your being. Your legs are a good place to start."

Jude and Julian watch as Julia slides forward a little, and relaxes her legs, revealing more. A hint of raw petal edge nestles in the satin curls.

Jude regards her again. He is usually decisive on artistic matters. Is what he is seeing obfuscation or ornamental? People strive for clarity, but artists, ambivalence. Ambivalence breeds mystique. He will decide later.

Jude asks if he can touch her, to prep and prime her a little, to realise the presentation he has envisioned.

She nods shyly. She opens up a little more to allow her brother access. Jude makes small and delicate ministrations, telling her that this is the type of pose he has in mind.

A photographer catches the moment. Even in still figure photography, where there are none to find.

"Are you OK with this?"

She blushes, then nods.

Jude explains the artistic nuances of each pose. He comes into his art professor role with relish. Like so...

"You see here. This pose heightens the coyness quality. Insidious shadow play. A sneak peek of pubes. An impish hint of cleft. A feminine elfin demeanor. It visually under-delivers, but promises big, and hence delivers massively."

Jude is in his element now. There is theory and there is practice. There is form and there is substance.

He enlightens, "You must've heard of Marginal Utility in Economics. A kind of the Marginal Utility of Sensuality operates here. What does an incremental unit peek of revelation do to the beholder? Minds move in mysterious oblique ways."

This goes on for half an hour. Julian notices that Julia is getting more and more relaxed. Her movements fluid. Nature has flooded back to her. Her muscles and sinews sigh back to the places they had come from.

"Thanks Julia, I'm done. Sorry if I've been imposing. I've enough to craft a good shoot. Still a couple of aesthetic decisions to mull, but those can wait, and usually resolve with time. Let's enjoy the rest of the champagne."

Julia surprises Jude and Julian. She appears like she is going to her dress and lingerie pile, to dress up, but instead, bends over to pick up the champagne bottle from the low table, and potters about filling the three flutes. Although no apparent spillage, she runs her hand up the length of the bottle anyway, just to be sure.

She spends the rest of the time naked as if it is the custom thing for a wife and a sister to be naked with her clothed husband and brother, sipping champagne, bantering nineteen to the dozen. Julia cannot believe that she stayed nude. The men have made her feel so comfortable that she does not care that she is nude in front of them.

A little bit is too much at first. But, it soon grows to not nearly enough.

Julia lost her virginity when she was twenty. At sixty, she has a perverse feeling that she has regained it. She is aching to lose it again. This has been slow worming in her for awhile than she cares to admit.

***

Later.

"When is your photo shoot?"

"Tuesday next week. Then, another on Thursday the week after."

"Oh! I'll be on business travel then."

"But, those are the only dates when Jude is in town. He disappears into the wind."

"You go ahead then, dear. And tell me all about it later."

"You will be on your best behaviour, won't you?"

"Model behaviour. Just so you know, I'm the big sis."

To be continued. Maybe.