Loading...I don’t know why I did it. Okay, that’s a lie, do I know, at least I think I do. First of all, it’s fun to be seen as a sex symbol. Not as a porn star, hell no. I’m not a slut. Okay, maybe a wanna-be slut, but I’m a good girl. I didn’t go to a Catholic school, but I was raised Catholic and I still believe most of it, okay?
But being a little naughty feels good sometimes and being a little extra naughty… well sometimes that feels even better. Shit, wait a second, let me back up a bit, okay?
First off, I’m not a super-model. I’ve never entered a beauty pageant. Hell, to be honest? I don’t even like the kind of girls who would. I’m not stuck on myself. I hate to say I’m plain. What girl wants to describe herself as being plain? Average? I don’t know maybe. You decide. I’m five foot, six inches, and weigh maybe 110 pounds. I have small breasts, but I do have them. I’m a b-cup, nothing more. I think I have nipples, but I don’t know. I’m told I have nice nipples. They’re pronounced. Sometimes, some guys think I’m excited when I’m not because they tend to show. I guess that’s because I don’t wear a lot of bras. Why should I? Like I said, I’m only a b-cup, you know? And I’m skinny. Not like anorexic skinny, just thin. Finding pants that fit is always a problem for me because I don’t have an ass. My jeans are always falling off of me. Anyway, I think I’m average. I’ve had guys try to convince me that I was pretty, but you know how guys are. They’ll say anything to get into your pants.
I guess that’s why I liked posing for Greg. First of all, he’s a nice guy. He’s a bit wimpy for my tastes, but he’s good with a camera and he did have the guts to ask me to pose for him. I knew he wanted me to pose nude and I didn’t care. Why not? It wasn’t as if anyone was ever going to see the pictures. Well, no one important. It was for his photography class, the same class I had taken last semester. I knew how hard it was to find a model and he was a friend, so whatever, you know? And here’s the thing, it was sort of fun posing naked. Maybe because I knew it was sort of wrong or dangerous or something, but it still felt good. And no, perverts, Greg did not try anything with me. He was professional, I guess and his pictures turned out really good. Like I said, I don’t think I’m pretty, but in his pictures? I thought I looked good, really good. So, when he asked me to do it again, I did it. I did it a couple of times. Maybe he just enjoyed seeing me naked, but I didn’t care. It was fun, a lot of fun. So I did it, okay?
Anyway, he was really good with his camera and how he manipulated the prints and Greg started getting a reputation for being a real artist. Something like a year passed and that’s when he asked me two things: one, if I would pose again for him (because he needed material for his first show) and two, if I would be willing to pose with another model, another female model. I asked if he had someone in mind, he said he did, and he showed me the pictures he had shot of her.
The pictures were black and white, but Gloria was beautiful and I could see why he wanted us to pose together. She was built like me; long, lean and with small breasts. We weren’t going to pass as twins or anything stupid like that, but our body types favored each other and I could see the potential attraction to shooting her and me together. I’m a blonde, where Gloria had jet black hair (at least she did in the pictures I saw), and maybe it could be interesting from an artistic point of view.
I made it real clear to Greg that I wasn’t going to do any lesbian crap. I don’t roll that way. Sure, I’ve had my fantasies a few times. What girl doesn’t wonder sometimes what it might be like? But I never acted on it, even when I thought maybe I could. Anyway, Greg was really cool about it. He assured me that wasn’t what he was after. He talked about how he was focused on the light and shadows and playing with how our bodies were similar and different at the same time. He had turned into such an artist in that last year since I had posed for him. I was sold on the idea, even after he told me, “If it matters, I think Gloria does go both ways. I don’t really know, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything.” That added a wrinkle I wasn’t expecting, but Greg and I talked about it and he promised Gloria wasn’t interested in a hook-up, just in making pretty pictures, so, cool, right?
Let me tell you, the weirdest part about doing a nude photo shoot isn’t when you’re posing and having your picture taken. And for the record, anyone who thinks modeling is easy has never done it, but that’s later. The weirdest part about doing a nude photo shoot happens half an hour before the first pose is struck. See, clothes leave funny marks on skin; bras and panties leave lines and your skin needs time to relax before the shoot starts. So, you have to get naked. All the way naked. Then you hang around and wait for the lines to ease. That’s like half an hour of hanging out, naked, and chatting as if nothing weird is going on even though you’re standing around naked.
I thought Gloria was cute. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I was checking her out, but she was right there, right in front of me, as naked as me, so yeah, I was looking. I liked her black hair and I don’t know, her body was tight. Her tits were on the small sized, like mine. Like I said, I could see why Greg wanted to shoot the two of us together. Ying and Yang, Light and Dark, all that sort of crap. The three of us joked and laughed while we waited and by the time we stepped on the set, I felt good about her. Some people are easy to like on the first try and Gloria was one of those kinds of people. Per Greg’s request, we were both shaved. It wasn’t a big deal to me, because I like to keep my muffin shaved. I doubt it was a deal for Gloria.
Greg worked faster than the last time I posed for him. Gone were his hesitations about the poses he wanted to capture. He was direct, firm, and demanding with his instructions. His “warm-up” shots had lost his demure coaxing. “First, side-by-side,” he said, positioning us against a gray, neutral backdrop. The lights were warm on my skin. His camera triggered flashes like lightening without a storm. We stood next to each other, facing away from each other, towards each other, and then side-by-side with our back to the camera. “Now bend over,” he instructed. “Spread your legs apart. Good, but wider. Bend over farther. Back straight. Yes, like that. Good, now hold it.”
I couldn’t see where Greg was. Behind us, that’s all I knew. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, but when I saw the photos later, I realized it didn’t matter what we did with arms and hands. Greg had captured us from behind, bent over and we looked like the letter M made from nothing more than two pairs of legs and asses. Our bodies were so similar! When I saw the picture later, I wasn’t sure how much I liked it. You could see everything, my butt and my puss. I don’t know; it wasn’t sexy or like a medical picture, but the image felt graphic and raw.
Next, Greg had us sitting side-by-side with our knees bent, our legs open and our hands down to our sides. He told us not to smile, just stare straight ahead as if he didn’t exist. It was another shot that made it into his show and it was weird like the other one. Again, you could see us, everything about us. You could see our shaved pussies, our bare breasts and everything else. The blank expressions on our faces gave the final picture an odd feeling. On one hand, here were two naked women exposed to the camera without modesty. On the other hand, there was nothing sexual about it, we were just sitting there.
When the pictures were being taken (and Greg takes like ten versions of every picture), I remember feeling exposed to him. I guess I was, but it felt weird because it was like the fifth pose of the afternoon. There I was, sitting on my ass, legs apart, while this guy took pictures of me. I felt like a prop or a rag doll, an anatomically correct rag doll.
There were more pictures taken along the same lines. In one picture, we were kneeling next to each other with our asses pointed towards the camera. Greg wanted us to arch our backs and we looked as if we were anticipating an insertion from an unseen lover. It was a wanton, erotic pose that lost its sexuality by looking so posed while remaining explicit in a way that would encourage a blush for a sensitive viewer. Pictures of us laying flat on our backs, legs spread apart and after you look past our exposed pussies, you saw the bulges of our hip bones, the swell of our breasts and our noses sticking up between them. Greg had laid on the floor to take that last picture and the final shot was in your face.
I guess I’m being unfair, I don’t know. It’s not like I knew what he was shooting during the shoot, you know? I mean, I sort of did. I could guess what was showing when he told us to lay on our backs and spread our legs. I knew I was showing off everything but I didn’t know how much of it showed until I saw the final pictures he chose.
Sometimes, when a photographer asks you to hold a certain pose for a long time, your body ends up developing new lines, sort of like panty lines. But Greg kept us moving, changing positions often enough that it wasn’t a deal. The tarp he used as a background was laid out on carpeting, so there was some cushion beneath our knees. Greg works fast, too. Between the hot lights, the warm room and the constant moving around, a shimmer developed on our bodies. “You’re making us sweat,” Gloria pointed out.
“I know,” Greg said, flashing a confident smile. “Now face each other, close. No, closer. I want your nipples to line up.” It was the first time one of the few differences between our bodies showed up. While Gloria and I could trade bras, that didn’t mean our breasts were exactly the same. First, her nipples were bigger than mine, a bit fatter than mine. Second, her nipples weren’t in the same spot on her breasts as mine. She had to bend her knees a bit to get our nipples to line up. We arched our backs, holding our arms behind us like wings. Looking between us, I watched our nipples line up and I saw a bead of sweat running down the middle of Gloria’s chest. Little beads of sweat threatened to do the same on my chest, too.
Greg’s final picture showed the curve of two beautiful breasts, one belonging to me and the other belonging to Gloria. The flat tips of our nipples were barely touching. The final photograph emphasized the tiny differences between her nipple and mine. The photograph begged its viewer to notice the differences in size, length, and shape of our nipples. It’s a beautiful picture, but getting that shot took a lot of patience. The smallest wiggle from either of us would press our nipples together. I remember feeling our nipples softly rubbing up and down, brushing against each other. My nipple got hard and so did Gloria’s. At the time, I didn’t believe Greg cared if our nipples got hard or not. Thinking back on it now, I’m not so sure. Greg was too methodical. Had I once told him how much I like it when my nipples got hard? It felt so good. Maybe there was a reason why it took Greg two dozen shots before he was convinced he had the shot he wanted?
“Great,” he said at last, holding his big camera over his shoulder while he looked at me. “I’d like a picture of an open mouth about to engulf a nipple. You don’t have to touch, but it’s going to look as if you’re about to touch, okay?” I thought about it a moment. Greg had promised this wasn’t a sex shoot and he wasn’t asking us to have sex or even simulate sex. Sure, it would be suggestive, but we weren’t going to touch. Did I want to get that close to another woman’s nipple with my mouth? Did I want her to be that close to my nipple with her mouth?
“Can I do the almost licking?” I asked, thinking it gave me control I wasn’t feeling. My head was swirling. My body felt on fire from more than the heat in the room. I was convinced I saw another fire burning inside Gloria’s eyes. Was this exciting her, too? Was it me or the photo shoot or just my imagination? How close was I willing to get to another woman’s hard nipple? It still felt like the safer choice.
“You can go first,” he said, working first on getting us in the right positions. We stood facing each other, hands behind our backs. Gloria arched her chest towards me and I bent at the waist. Greg was right, we weren’t going to touch, but it would look as if we were going to do it. I opened my mouth and allowed the tip of my tongue to hang over my bottom lip. I pressed as close as I dared to Gloria’s hard nipple, but it wasn’t close enough for Greg and his camera.
“Closer,” he urged until her nipple was technically inside my mouth. I wasn’t touching it, but I know it extended past my lips. Like I said before, I have nice nipples, but Gloria’s were longer and fatter. In the final picture, I wondered if it would show that my nipples were hard, too. It did and it was a better picture because of it.
Again, Greg took a couple dozen different pictures. The first ones he took from afar, capturing our entire bodies. The last dozen were close-up pictures of just her nipple and my mouth. It didn’t matter which shots he was taking for me, the long or the close ones. Either way, I was experiencing the same thing. I was right next to Gloria’s body. I could feel the heat of her body against my nose and face. I knew I was breathing on her nipple. I could smell whatever soap she had used that morning. She smelled sweet, like flowers. Once, she wiggled and her nipple touched my tongue. I don’t think it was intentional, but her nipple bumped against my tongue. I knew it and she knew it. “Sorry,” she mumbled. I didn’t risk talking but I caught myself hoping it would happen again. Damn it, Greg! Did you have any idea how much you were torturing me that afternoon?
We traded positions. It was my turn to stand upright, hands behind my back, chest jutting out towards this beautiful, dark haired woman. My nipples were hard. I could lie and say it was from bending over and the blood rushing to them, but that’s not the truth. It got worse. When we traded places, it was my turn to feel Gloria’s breath warm and wet against my breast. It didn’t matter if she breathed through her mouth or nose, I could still feel it. I kept wishing Greg would hurry up and finish his shots before something more happened. When I wiggled, even just a little bit, Gloria’s lips or tongue would touch my nipple. It happened twice. I apologized both times and fought the urge to accidentally wiggle again.
“Great stuff,” Greg said, swapping out one memory card for another in his camera. “And that’s as sexy as we’re going to get, okay?” I smiled, relieved, but that relief was misplaced. The remainder of the poses for that afternoon weren’t meant to be sexual. I saw the show. I saw the pictures. Greg had taken shots of two women in repose, lounging next to and against each other. The pictures were romantic at times, but never crossed the line into being erotic. The first pictures, where we were bent over, showing everything; those pictures were more erotic than the final groupings, but that’s not how it felt during the shoot.
One of the pictures showed up sitting back to back, leaning against each other. I’m examining a fingernail, which gives the highly posed photograph a sense of candidness that didn’t exist the day the picture was shot. But in the final picture, I look as if I’m waiting for the photographer to do something and I’m chillin’ out while I’m waiting.
Here’s what got to me, pressing my naked body against Gloria and feeling her body pressed against me. Her skin was so soft and pure. There’s a shot of her crouched on her knees, bent over, and I’m lying on top of her, with my face away from the camera. I was so close to her. My breasts were flat against her warm back and if either one of us squirmed, our bodies slipped against each other in such a sexy way. I was so close to her, her toes were between my legs and I can still remember how it felt to feel her toes close to my pussy. None of that sexiness shows in the final shot. Hell, the shot is so fucking tame, it could hang anywhere. You can’t see anything, just two naked women in an interesting position.
There’s another shot that was in the show that I think just looks weird. It’s me, sitting on my ass, facing the camera with my legs straight out in front of me. Meanwhile, Gloria is laying perpendicular to me, flat as a board, as if she’s doing that planking thing that was popular on the Internet for a while. Anyway, in the picture, her face is right in my lap, facedown. What the picture can’t show was how I felt when we were posing for the picture. I was excited. I don’t mean “fuck me now!” excited, but I was wet down there, you know? I tried to ignore how I was feeling, working hard to keep my back straight and my expression neutral for Greg, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Gloria knew. Could she smell me? Could she smell that I was excited?
I know she did, because after Greg finished his shots, Gloria whispered to me, “You smell good.” She smiled. I didn’t know if she was teasing or complimenting me or hitting on me.
“Okay, let’s trade positions,” Greg announced. It’s not a picture that made it into the show, but it’s one we posed for and I found out what Gloria had experienced.
She was wet, too. With my face buried between the seam of her thighs, I could smell her sex. She was wet, like me. Needy, I guess. I had to fight so hard against licking her. I don’t know why I wanted to do it. I don’t know if I wanted to taste her or prank her. I didn’t do it, but something changed after that pose. I felt the shift inside of me. I became curious in a way I had never experienced.
That’s when I started seeing Gloria in a different way. I couldn’t stop myself. My eyes roamed her body, looking for suggestions that this platonic photo shoot was something more to her. I noticed how puffy her labia had become. Had it been puffy like that before? Had mine? I don’t know, I really don’t. I had gone into this photo shoot with the best of intentions. I wasn’t interested in being with another woman. She was a prop, nothing more, right? But that changed and after it did, that’s when I noticed how she was looking at me. Every now and then, I would catch her staring at me with a longing look in her eyes, as if she wanted to do so much more to me. I caught her biting her bottom lip as she stared between my legs during another one of Greg’s wacky poses.
When we had to trade places, I’ll admit I looked closely at her sex. I had never thought much about pussy. I never spent time with a mirror between my legs, looking at mine. I had seen enough porn to know how a pussy looks, you know? I didn’t think a woman’s sex was especially pretty or gross or anything because I had never thought about it in the first place. But posed with her pussy so close to my eyes, what else was there to see? And what I saw looked good to me. It was a woman, the very essence of a woman, the core of our gender. I saw the life spring where we all begin, but more importantly, the point of pleasure that created each of us. Gloria’s pussy looked beautiful to me. I wanted to kiss her. Not her lips (well, okay, I did want to kiss her lips, too, but that wasn’t what I was looking at). I wanted to kiss her pussy. I wanted to kiss it for what it was, a pussy, a labia, vagina, or any number of crass, coarser names that are used to describe it. I wanted to rake my tongue against her and explore every fold and texture of her inner and outer lips. I wanted to see if she tasted as she smelled. I wanted to make her orgasm. I wanted to see if I could do it. I wanted to possess her, all of her, in the most intimate ways possible.
“Okay, I think we’re good,” Greg said, wrapping up our time together, but he paused before stepping away from the set. Again, his eyes were on me as he asked for something that could be over the line. “Maybe we can do one more? Can I get a picture of you kissing, the two of you? You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but I think it might be a nice ending.”
“I’ll do it,” I said, my voice feeling weak.
“Me too,” Gloria said and I reminded that I wasn’t alone in having limits.
With our permission given, we followed Greg’s instructions. We stood how he wanted to pose us, pressing our lips together, and he seemed delighted when my tongue crossed the threshold of my lips and Gloria’s. I know that’s how I felt when he asked Gloria if she was willing to do the same thing back to me.
Greg turned off lights and tended to his equipment while we dressed. We stood behind a privacy partition Greg had set-up, which I always thought was a funny thing. We knew we were going to be naked from the moment we arrived, so why the privacy partition? It felt quaint.
Behind that partition, Gloria and I were quiet. I wanted to look at her, watch her dress, but I kept to myself. Greg had been looking at his raw shots loading on his computer. “Some great shots in here,” he called to us, breaking the silence that felt awkward.
“Hey, you want to get a cup of coffee or something?” I asked Gloria.
“I have coffee at my place. I mean good coffee. I’m sort of a coffee nerd.”
I smiled. It was funny how she was tripping over herself. I had caught the invitation and how she was trying to cover it up. She was still topless. I don’t remember if I was. I think I had my bra and panties on. Doesn’t matter. I was still smiling as she gave me a panicked look, as if she had said something too forward. I leaned in, kissing her lips again. It wasn’t a long kiss, just a touch of our lips, no tongues. “Still want to go to your place?”
“Or yours,” she said and she kissed me back.
We said our good-byes to Greg and I followed Gloria’s little Prius. I remember being nervous, wondering what I was doing. Inside Greg’s studio had been magic. Back in the bright, mundane world of real life and real traffic, that magic faded fast. What was I doing? Did I really want to have sex with this other woman? I hardly knew her. What did we have in common besides being models for Greg?
Gloria’s apartment was a single room efficiency. Her bed doubled as her couch. It was made and loaded with throw pillows. There was a desk with a computer, a small TV, and an extra chair. Her kitchen was part of the main room, though it did have a combination counter/table that kept it separated from the rest of the small space. Her small room felt warm and inviting. Most of her counter was taken up with coffee brewing equipment. “It’s cheaper than those coffee shops,” she said, sounding self conscious as she brewed us each a perfect cup. It was hours before I found out if she knew what she was doing.
I was there, with her, in her space. We had just been intimate in such a non-intimate way. It felt foolish for me to become shy. I knew why I was there, even if I didn’t understand it. I slipped up behind her, pressing myself against her back. My hands moved around her. I cupped her breasts. Gloria hadn’t bothered with a bra. “I’ve never done this before,” I whispered in her ear.
Her answer confused me. “Good,” she said, spinning in my arms and kissing me. Again, our tongues touched. Like dancers on a dance floor, she stepped me backwards towards her bed. “Get naked,” she said, tugging at my clothes. When I took over for her, she got naked, too. It took just moments before we were again as naked as we had been for Greg’s camera. Gloria knelt over me while I was leaning backwards against the mountain of pillows on her bed. She was straddling one of my legs. Her hand cupped one of my breasts and regardless of how much we had touched during the photo shoot, her caress felt so intimate. She guided one of my hands to one of her breasts. “I’m yours,” she said, kissing my lips again. “You can’t hurt me.”
I don’t know why her words empowered me, but it did. I felt unleashed, as if I had just been given a prize. The first thing I did was follow where my hand was touching. I kissed her nipple, drawing the long, fat nub between my lips and lashing at it with my tongue. I felt how hard her nipple was. I tasted her flesh. I marveled at the familiar and foreign sense of having her nipple inside my mouth. My mouth and tongue recognized it for what it was. This was another woman’s nipple. This was my nipple. This was all women’s nipples and I wanted it.
We shifted and moved on her bed, tossing away pillows as needed to make space for arms, legs, and torsos. We moved without instructions or gaffs, in a natural flow until I was kissing down her body, past nipples I wanted to know better. But I had another urgency inside of me; I wanted to taste her. I wanted my mouth to know her, to know her very essence. I remember slipping half off her bed. I was half on the floor and half on her bed with my head between her legs. Gloria was open and exposed to me.
She was wet and in need, a sensation my body knew and my eyes recognized. I touched her, watching my thumb as it slipped between her lips, touching her, feeling her heat and feeling the wetness all women know so well. I recognized the bump of her clitoris, knowing what it was and what it meant. I knew that’s where my tongue belonged and that’s what I did. I kissed her womanhood. I tasted her. I explored her sex and relished in every moment of it. I did it until I felt her body go tense beneath my touch and felt the waves of her orgasm passing through her. It was an orgasm I had created in her body and I felt accomplished in a way I had never experienced with a man.
With a man, orgasms just seem to happen, whether you want them to happen or not. Guys just seem to be able to do it. Maybe it feels better or different for a man, depending on whether I’m using my mouth, hand, or pussy. I don’t know. I guess they like it better one way or another, but it’s not as if it’s hard to make a guy get off. As a woman, I know what it’s like to experience that slow climb to climax. I know how it feels to be dangling on the very edge of pleasure, hoping and trusting the person you’re with will be able to help you over the edge.
When I gave Gloria that first orgasm I felt as if I had done something good, something magical. I felt as if I had been blessed to be part of something special. I know it wasn’t just me or her, but the combination of us, together, unique and special. Better yet, it was a gift Gloria was eager to return.
We kissed with a passion I had never known. As sweet as that kiss felt, I wanted more. I needed more. And I think Gloria did, too. We traded places, as we had done all afternoon and it was her tongue’s turn to delight me. I was an easy audience for her. Seeing her pretty face between my legs tugged at my libido. It confused, excited me, and brought me to new heights of pleasure.
The give and take of our lovemaking lasted for hours before we stopped to laugh about abandoned cups of coffee sitting on her counter.
The first time Gloria and I presented ourselves as a couple to the world at large was at the opening of Greg’s show. We clung to each other, so much in love. People fawned over our pictures and Greg’s skill with a camera. I felt wrong being with her. I’m Catholic, remember? I still feel wrong, as wrong as I feel when I know people are looking at pictures of me naked. But I’ve reached a point where being wrong feels most right.