The Photographer

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It hurt like hell when she rammed me from behind with that supermarket shopping cart. I was bending over, trying to get the last can of soup from the bottom shelf of the display. I almost took a header into a mountain of cans when she ran into me.

At first she was embarrassed and then there was a slight lilt of amusement in her voice when she said, “Oh, please excuse me.”

“That’s quite all right.” Now it was a little funny to me too. I assessed my attacker. Perhaps my age, mid to late ’40s s, but very attractive. Clear, smooth skin, expressive, hazel eyes, light brown, almost blond hair, if she had any extra pounds they were in just exactly the right places. At 11 a.m. in the morning she looked like she had just come from the gym, wearing stretchy, form fitting leotards, a baggy sweatshirt and athletic shoes.

There was a twinkle in her eye and a laugh in her voice as she walked away and said, “I hope that the next time I bump into you it will be under better circumstances .”

I stood there like a clod, mouth open, a can of soup in each hand and blocked from following her by my shopping cart turned the wrong way. In a wink she was gone. “Oh, well,” I thought, “the story of my life, another missed opportunity.”

I continued shopping and was trying to find a ripe cantaloupe when a voice, lilting with amusement said “I’m glad that it’s not me that you are squeezing like that.” It was her again. “Do you think you could find a ripe one for me?”

“If it were you, I wouldn’t squeeze at all, I would just caress.” She smiled but didn’t reply so I offered her the choice melon, the one I picked for myself. “Try this one.”

“Thank you very much,” and whisk, she was gone again, this time leaving me with a melon in each hand, a growing lump in my pants and the ever present shopping cart in front of me, blocking my way.

I finally tracked her down in front of the dairy case. “Hey, I noticed that you are shopping for one, so how about compensating me for my damage by having lunch with me?”

“Oh, thank you very much, I love to but I must get home for a phone call.”

I think my disappointment was showing when I said, “Sure, maybe next time.”

I was in the checkout line when she rammed me again, only this time a little easier and most certainly on purpose. “Say, I have an idea. Pick up something at the deli, come by my house and I will fix us lunch.”

“Sounds good! What about wine?”

“I love red wine with everything! It makes me lose my inhibitions,” she giggled. She gave me her address and said “put your food away and come by. See you soon.”

I went back to the deli counter and bought some nice looking smoked salmon and two servings of everything they had pre-prepared. As an afterthought I added two bottles of a nice California Merlot. I dashed back to my apartment, put my groceries away, had a quick shower and a shave, and set out to find her place.

It was an older, two story, Florida style house with a huge verandah, in a part of town where the buildings were slowly being converted into professional offices. illegal bahis Hers was no different. In the neat, manicured, front yard, the size of a football field, there was a sign proclaiming “HARRIET MAE, PHOTOGRAPHER.” A smaller sign indicated there was parking in the rear and directed me down the driveway.

I parked in one of the assigned spots, gathered up my deli treasurers and was standing at the rear of the house wondering where to go, when the back door opened and there she stood.

It was obvious that she had used the few minutes delay in my arrival to freshen up too. Gone were the tight pants, baggy blouse and athletic shoes. Her short brown hair had been brushed and was held in place by pink ribbon. White tennis shoes, white shorts and a sleeveless white blouse with pink floral designs completed the picture.

The back door led directly into a huge kitchen. She invited me in, took the two big bags of food and remarked, “My, you went all out. I guess that you saw my name on the sign in the front yard. What do I call you, the provider?”

“Well, that’s not bad, I kind of like that but you can call me Ed Ward, since that’s my real name.”

She unpacked the stuff while I fished out the wine, opened one bottle with the corkscrew she dug out of a drawer and poured some into the glasses from the cupboard. I was hovering around, generally making a pest of my self when she said “Take your wine and sit down at the table while I get this ready.”

That wasn’t at all what I had in mind. I was very close behind her, inhaling the fragrance of her delicate French perfume when she turned around quickly and said, “What in the world are you doing?”

“You smell a lot better than that smoked salmon.”

“Well, I am not going to let this food go to waste.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and tried to mollify me by saying, “We’ll eat first and then see what happens.”

I tried to put my arms around her but she just ducked under my elbow and started putting the food on the table. “Sit down, enjoy your lunch, and pour me a glass of wine. If you’re good I’ll take your picture later.”

I sat down and ate but there was something else I would much have rather been doing. I wondered if she knew what I was thinking and if she did, what she thought about it. Once I got into it though, the food was pretty good, but nowhere near as good as what I had in mind.

I was still sitting at the table when she began to clear the dishes away. I was about to take a sip of wine when her nose touched my ear. It sent chills up and down my spine. “Mmm, you smell pretty good too, a lot better than the smoked salmon.

I got up, turned around and took her in my arms. She was soft and yielding, the curves of her body melting into mine. Her full lips were as sweet as the wine we were drinking but much more intoxicating. I knew by the way she was pushing against me that she could tell I was aroused.

She pushed me away and looked me straight in the eye and between short breaths gasped, “I think it’s time I took your picture.”

“I was sure hoping for a lot more illegal bahis siteleri than that.”

“Well, we’ll see,” she giggled. “I always take a man’s picture before I get into bed with him.”

“Lead the way, you can take my picture and,” I added as an afterthought, “as often as you like.”

She took me by the hand and led me through the house, up the stairs and to what I thought was a bedroom. I was surprised when she opened the door to find that it was a large, intimate, completely furnished, studio with a small balcony. “Now, lets see how smart you are without your clothes. Take everything off.”

“There is one thing I have on that won’t come off that easy.’

“Oh, I am sure that I can get rid of it, but not right now. I really mean it, I want to take your picture. Now take off your clothes! Everything! Now!” Boy, she was bossy.

I did what she wanted but felt self conscious standing there nude while she was still fully clothed. “What about you?” I asked while trying to hide the overt indication of my interest in her.

“Are you sure that it won’t bother you if I strip too?”

“Not at all,” I lied. Besides even if I got more aroused she couldn’t tell it. You can only get so hard. I felt very self-conscious having my sexual interest so obvious. It was difficult trying to hide it while I watched her disrobe. I marveled that, completely nude, her attributes were even nicer then I had anticipated. She was probably just average in every department, but average meant that everything was in perfect proportion to everything else. She wore her nudeness like a badge of honor while she went about setting up the camera. There was no self-consciousness at all on her part.

The telephone on the wall rang. “That may be my call,” she threw this information over her shoulder as she went to answer it. “You just cool it, this may take a few minutes.”

You can’t believe how frustrating it is to be a poised, ready for sexual activity and have a beautiful woman, completely nude, a few feet away, completely oblivious to your needs. She was chatting away with some unseen stranger at the other end of a telephone line. I had to do something about this.

I slipped up behind her and kissed her on the neck, my hands snaking around her body and underneath her arms. I could feel her shiver as she tilted her head to bare more of her shoulder for my attention. A little of my tongue on the soft skin of her neck and she melted backwards into my arms, my hands encountering two mounds of the softest flesh you can imagine. I kissed again and could feel her teats harden under the gentle caress of my fingers. The areolas around the nipples were wrinkled with anticipation.

“I’ll — I’ll have to call you back,” She stammered into the phone and without waiting for a reply, hung up. She turned around and put her arms around my neck. Just before she kissed me she said, “You had better make this worth while.”

Leading me by the hand like a child, she took me into the adjoining bedroom, grabbing a camera as we passed by a table. “I hope you don’t mind, canlı bahis siteleri but I want to take a picture of your penis.”

I’ve had lots of things done to me over the years, but nothing this erotic. At first I was embarrassed, but when she began to arrange it for the best camera angle, I began to enjoy it. Her warm hands were as light as feathers, pushing, prodding and arranging. When everything was just so, she grabbed the camera and started snapping pictures from different sides. She stopped, smiled, and said, “I was going to apply a little makeup to the end to show some moisture but I see that’s not necessary.”

She was right, but with a little more arranging there would have been more “moisture” than she wanted. “I think I have enough,” She said as she sat on the bed along side of me.

I pulled her up on my lap, trying not to impale her with the obstruction growing there. We kissed again and when our tongues met, it was like an electric charge ran through me. An erotic moment or two passed before we broke apart. Now, her arousal became evident. My hand found that she was every bit as moist as I was, if not more. It was her turn to be self-conscious, as her face became red. She moved off my lap and stood by the side of the bed. She laughed at my feeble attempt to cover myself with my hands.

“It’s not much use to try to hide it, I’ve already seen it, in fact I have captured it forever on film.” She pushed my hand away and replaced it with hers. She knelt down and was staring at it as she gently caressed it, her face moving, almost imperceptibly toward it. All at once she bent down and kissed it on the knob. I couldn’t take any more, I picked her up, placed her flat on the bed and positioned myself between her legs.

Slowly, I pushed my way into heaven. I didn’t want to withdraw but found that the feeling of enchantment reoccurred each time I reentered into her. Her arms were around my neck and she was breathing soft, contented, sighs in my ear. I began to pick up the pace and she admonished me to, “Slow down, take it easy and make it last.” I tried but it would have been a lot easier to stem the ocean’s tide than the tide of passion that was rising in me. Fortunately, she was experiencing the same exhilaration that I was, and in just a few seconds she whispered, “Oh God, now!” Her voice began to rise in crescendo until, with each stroke, she was almost screaming, “NOW! OH GOD, NOW! NOW! NOW!”

I assumed that she meant that it was all right to pick up the speed, so I did. She was pushing against me as hard as I was trying to push into her. At the very moment her body went stiff, I reached the pinnacle of my exhilaration. When I was sure that she had climaxed I stopped and could feel the semen from my body erupt into her, spurt after spurt. It left me weak but I was gentleman enough that I didn’t collapse on top of her. Weakly I rolled onto the bed beside her and tried to catch my breath.

She nuzzled her mouth into my ear and said, “Thank you for lunch. It was well worth it. I hope that dinner and breakfast are just as good.”

They were.

Written by E J Sheeran. Copyright (c) 11-22-2000 by E. J. Sheeran. All rights reserved. This work, in part, or whole, is not to be distributed, reproduced, transmitted or posted, in any manner, without the express written permission of the author.

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