A Tempting Model and an Awkward Boy
While photographing a friend in the school gym, tensions rise.
She leaned against the gym wall, posing like the women she lusted after in the pages of Vogue.
She was the epitome of teenage desire with golden hair, blue eyes, and a nose that wiggled when she laughed. If she hadn’t been a year older than me, I might have had the nerve to ask her out.
The camera, on the other hand, had no reservations.
When she asked if I’d take her picture, I agreed without pause, and while expectations were non-existent, fantasies ran rampant. She smiled with her eyes down for the first click of the shutter. In skin-tight jean shorts and a crop-top, she was better than any poster or Playboy.
“I want to do it serious,” she said, striking a pose and pursing her lips before breaking out in laughter. I captured her too late, her eyes nearly shut and her mouth open as she bent forward without a hint of embarrassment.
“No, I can do it, I swear.”
She tried again. This time she put one finger to her lips and a foot against the wall. When she tilted her head, I took the shot. But in the second before I clicked the button as the shutter opened and closed, she put her finger in her mouth and crossed her eyes.
Perfection.
“You look super hot,” I said, stepping closer. She blushed for a moment, and the shoulder of her top slipped down, exposing the length of her neck to the top of her arm. Nobody moved when I took the next shot.
“Should I take it off?” she asked.
I took a deep breath, stepped back as if assessing the situation like a professional and then nodded.
“You have a bra on, right?”
She said yes, I have another nod, and as I held the camera up to my eye, there she stood, half-naked and unashamed. Click, click, click mixed in with thump thump thump as my heart threatened to betray me. Her smile lingered, though, and every attempt at imitating the models she loved quickly turned to laughter, a stuck-out tongue, or a hand gesture that rarely made publication.
As she grew more and more relaxed, I grew bolder.
“Would you unbutton your jeans? Don’t take them off or anything; just undo them and pull down on both sides. It’ll look incredible.”
“I like you,” she said with a wink before she reached down. I caught her fingers on the denim and the brass button, and I held my breath as she peeled them open just enough to show off the black lace that lay beneath them.
This time, when she leaned back, her expression didn’t change. One hand lingered on the corner of her jeans while the other hung loosely at her side. She stared directly into the camera, and I swear I saw lust for the first time.
“What else?” she asked as I changed the roll of film. The question was an invitation, and it needed an answer. Which answer, I had no idea.
“Put your hand on your stomach, with your fingers just below the hem of your underwear,” I said.
I dreamed that I told her to take off the bra. Remove the jeans! Lick your lips and pinch a nipple-like in the magazines under my bed!
Caution held tightly, however, and I watched as she did as I asked. I couldn’t get her naked; that was out of the question. She’d never forgive me.
“Move it lower,” I said instead.
“You’re kind of kinky,” she said. “I like that. Is this better?”
She leaned against the wall, shut her eyes, and slipped her hand lower until I was unsure of everything. Did she have fingers inside herself? Was she moaning?
I took five pictures, terrified I’d miss it, and she barely moved. The muscles on her arm twitched, and her face tightened as I clicked and clicked again, my camera so close to her I struggled to focus.
“My face,” she sighed. “Get my face.”
I stepped back, and just as I raised the camera again, she brought her hand to mouth and sucked two fingers between her lips as I snapped shot after shot. She leaned forward, staring at me as she licked her fingers, and her bra separated from her body enough that I caught a glimpse of one hard nipple.
“What do you think? Will they be sexy? Maybe I’m less of a fancy model and more of a slutty one.”
“I don’t think that was slutty,” I mumbled as she buttoned her jeans. “But it was super hot. You’re a really good model. Better than anyone else I photographed.”
“You’re adorable. Let’s meet up when you have the photos developed, and we can go over them, okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll let you know. It shouldn’t take too long.”
“I can’t wait!” she said as she wiggled back into her shirt. I stood watching her, wondering if I had missed an opportunity for something more. She brushed her hair back and tied it up before touching up her lipstick.
We walked silently out of the gym, grateful that no one was still around, and she took my hand and squeezed it when we got to her car. I had a painful urge to kiss her, but the moment had long passed, and besides, what did I know about kissing?
“Hey, thanks again. And also? Thank you for not trying to fuck me. It meant a lot.”
“Yeah, totally, of course,” I said like it was the furthest thing from my mind.
As I watched her drive away, it occurred to me that maybe I had done everything right. Despite what my hormones told me, and despite what my friends would say, it was possible that out of all the choices I could have made that afternoon in the gym, I had made the right ones.
And maybe that was enough.