tagErotic CouplingsJulia, My Camera, and Me

Julia, My Camera, and Me

bynick whistler©

Julia was a sight to behold. She had long, black hair, deep hazel eyes, and a pert, pretty face that perfectly complemented her gracefully curved body. It was, alas, a body that, as of my senior year in high school, I'd only seen buried beneath impenetrable mounds of fabric. Not that she dressed conservatively in any way—quite the opposite, in fact—but on a girl like Julia any amount of clothing seems like too much.

By now you've probably surmised that I was attracted to Julia. To say that, however, would be a monstrous understatement. I wanted, I desired, I pined for Julia. I wanted her with all the force a horny eighteen year-old's sex drive can summon. Every moment I could, I spent with her; every glimpse I could get, I got, and savored until the next—a flash of her panties seen climbing the stairs behind her, or a hint of cleavage when she bent over to pick a tater-tot from her plate. Not that I was obsessive. No, not at all. My relationship with Julia was, at least on the surface, nothing more than a very good but very platonic friendship, one that I didn't want to compromise by being too candid with my feelings. Whenever I thought a dirty thought about her, I'd try to think of something else, like battle scenes from the crusades or star-cruisers plying the spaceways in the distant future. I tried to tell myself it was wrong. But any straight man in my situation would have felt the same—and I think Julia would have made even a few gay men have second thoughts.

Julia, in short, required an unbearable quantity of self-control to be around. And by the end of four years of friendship, my supplies were running low.

School was out. Ex-seniors poured out of the classrooms into the bright California sun, Julia and I among them. Now there was time to focus on more important things, like cars, the beach, movies, friends, and, most importantly, members of the opposite sex, all to be packed into a few short months before we split off to colleges in the fall. At that time I was dating Chrissy, a nice enough girl (both in and out of bed), but a little bland. In retrospect, I think, I went with her more to distract myself from Julia rather than because of any virtues of her own. And, for a while, the strategy worked: in the day I'd build up some tension with Julia, and at night I'd release it with Chrissy. But this wholly satisfactory arrangement was ruined when, about two weeks after graduation Julia invited me to stay with her for a couple days at her family's beach house up the coast—without Chrissy.

Obviously I accepted. I couldn't say no to Julia. She had a way of charming me into anything without lifting a finger. Maybe it was her sense of humor or the way she smiled that made me helpless. It felt silly being a strong (if not terribly buff), tall, reasonably handsome man so easily reduced to near-idiocy by a woman, even a woman as splendidly endowed as Julia. But, of course, I never tried to resist. Who would?

Anyway, in a day or two I was in the backseat of a car with Julia and her parents (Mark and Lindsey, for the record) heading north.

"What'd you bring?" asked Julia.

"Not too much. Just some clothes and a toothbrush, I think. Oh, and a digital camera."

"That could be fun."

"Yeah. I just got it. It's pretty cool."

"There's not much to take pictures of. Except the beach, of course, but you might as well get a postcard unless you're a really good photographer. I'm sure you're not, of course."

"Of course. I'm not much good at anything."

"Whatever. It'll be fun just to be there."

We kept talking all through the drive. Julia made a few comments about clubbing baby seals. She had a surprisingly dark sense of deadpan humor that often caught people off guard; sometimes she bordered on cruelty, but was always playful and very, very ironic. Her deadly accurate sense of irony was one of the things that attracted me most, in fact. Ah, but don't think it was only her body I liked—I'm not all that shallow, my dear reader!

My name, I should probably add, is Nick.

Mark and Lindsey's beach house was not as secluded as I would have liked. Packed on either side were other houses stretching for several miles, nearly all of them, I noticed, larger than theirs. The house was a single story, and looked to be dismayingly small. But once I stepped inside and saw the view through the plate-glass windows of the living room I felt an immense surge of contentment. The beach was wide and immaculately white, sloping gradually down to a curving shoreline before disappearing under the crystalline blue of the ocean. I soaked up the sight. Moments like that always make me feel a little more grateful to be alive.

Lindsey soon interrupted my reverie, however.

"Nick? You're room's right over here," she chirped.

I walked over, a little sullen. But the room was nice enough—large, with a big window on the far side, a nice big bed, a closet (closed) and a dresser. The sheets on the bed were pink and furry-looking, while the lamp on the end-table beside it had a frilly lampshade adorned with pink tassels. I got the feeling that the room hadn't been intended for male occupancy.

"This is Julia's room," said Lindsey. "Julia said it'd be okay for you to sleep here tonight. Is that okay?"

"Sure," I said, trying to sort out the implications of this development in my head.

"Because otherwise you'd have to sleep in the living room, and that gets pretty cold and noisy from the freeway and the trains at night. I think you'll like this better. Does that sound all right?"

Lindsey had a habit of asking approval for everything, often again and again. Charming in very small doses.

"Yeah, that sounds good." I threw my backpack (containing clothes, a toothbrush, and a camera) on the floor of the room.

"Great. Dinner's going to be at about seven, but until then you and Julia can hang out at the beach, or whatever you want to do. Okay?"

"Yeah, I'll just change into my trunks," I said.

I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, then quickly undressed. Since this is the first occasion in this tale of mine that it's come up—no pun intended, of course—I might mention that my penis is slightly above average in size (or so I'm told), hanging like a little stalactite from a mound of dark brown curls the same color as the (much less curly) hair on my head. I'm not inordinately attached to my dick the way so many men seem to be, but it's served me well over the years and I am therefore grateful for it.

I slipped my trunks on and went out into the living-room. Julia was already in her bathing suit, an eye-poppingly skimpy red bikini that gave me a better view of her body than I'd ever been privileged to see before. Julia was such a sublime creature that it seems disrespectful to describe her in anything but the most exalted of terms. But no words, no matter how fine, could match her beauty, and trying to use them would only make me sound ridiculous. So, for lack of any alternative, I'll use the (admittedly crude) diction that's already available for the task:

Her ass (oh, so vulgar!) was round and plump, almost spilling out the narrow confines of the thong that failed to cover more than a miniscule strip of skin. It was her ass that drew my eyes first, since it was both the most unfamiliar and the most delectable sight to be seen. But soon I was almost equally enticed by the long, smooth skin of her legs as they tapered to her feet, and then by the perfect contours of her just-exactly-right torso. And then her tits—perfectly round and firm and just large enough without spilling over into vulgar excess. Even her face, the face I knew better than my own, seemed to take on a new radiance to equal the glory of her body. This sounds extravagant, I know, and perhaps to a disinterested observe she might not have appeared quite so stunning, but at that time in my life I was very deeply intoxicated with the still-fresh phenomenon of sexuality, especially as it pertained to Julia. It was with great effort that I kept my cock from springing up to meet her.

"Ready to go to the beach?" she asked.

"Yeah. Let's go." I was surprised by my own nonchalance.

"Hey, take your camera."

"It might get sandy."

"Just be careful not to drop it."

I ducked back into my room to fish the camera from my pack and returned to the living room. Julia and I practically skipped to the beach, towels in hand. Mark and Lindsey stayed at the house, doing whatever it was they did. Julia at the beach was Julia as she was everywhere: bright, smiling, and charming through and through. (To be fair, she wasn't always like this. Like anyone else, Julia could get depressed, and it was the saddest sight in the world to see someone so wonderful in such an awful mood.) The sun made her lightly toasted skin shimmer gold; her black hair shone bright. We lay our backs on our towels. There was a good number of other people lounging on the sand or swimming in the water, but we found a place a pretty good distance from everyone else.

"Take some pictures of me," she said.

I turned the camera on.

"You'll have to pose," I said.

"Like this?"

Julia propped herself up on her elbows, pushing her tits out into the air. She threw her head back, closed her eyes to mere slits, and parted her lips slightly, in imitation of a fashion model. My mind was aware all of it was a ridiculous parody, but that made little difference to the less refined portions of my body. Watching her I felt my cock stir in my shorts.

"Perfect," I said.

I framed her up in the viewfinder and snapped a picture.

"Lemme see, lemme see," she said.

I handed her the camera. When I bought it I was sure to get a model with a large, high quality viewing screen. Julia laugher when she saw the photo.

"Hey, maybe I should be a model," she said.

"You could be, if you wanted."

"No, I'm too fat." She pinched her stomach.

"You're such a liar."

"Shut up."

"Shut up yourself."

She smiled.

"Take another picture."

"How do you want it?"

She thought for a second.

"Here. How about this?"

She rolled over onto her stomach and bent her legs, arching her back and pushing her ass up at an appealing angle. She looked into the camera.

"Okay," I said.

I took the picture. Almost instantly she sat up and leaned over my arm to see it.

"It's too bright," she said.

I shaded the screen with my hand. We peeked underneath together, our cheeks touching. Considering my near-total lack of skill as a photographer, the picture was surprisingly good. But it may just have been that Julia was a naturally photogenic subject.

"This is fun," she said. "I wish I had a camera."

"No. You'd just screw it up."

"You're such an asshole," she said with a smirk. "Here, give it to me."

I didn't give her the camera so much as she grabbed it out of my hand.

"Now it's your turn to pose," she said.

I didn't really know what to do, so I made a silly face.

"No, no, no, like the way I did. Sexy."

I straightened my face into a serious expression that I thought might suggest brooding intensity. I let my body fall into counterpoise like Greek statue.

"Good, excellent." She snapped a picture. "Yes, yes, that's it!"

I was shifting into one pose after another as she snapped picture after picture, each more outrageous than the last. When she finished we looked through the pictures. We kept breaking out in laughter after each new one appeared on the screen. They weren't exactly dignified to say the least—in fact, there was probably nobody in the world except Julia I would have felt comfortable seeing them.

When we'd finished our little fashion shoot Julia and I went swimming, then returned to our towels on the beach for a little more sun before dinner, and finally, after a very pleasurable afternoon on the beach, returned to the house. We took turns in the shower to rinse off the salt water. Lindsey was cooking dinner, while Mark (a slightly scrawny middle-aged man with a mustache) read a book in a deckchair out in the front. Dinner was good but had an odd feel to it. I'd eaten with Julia's family many times before, but before I'd always interact about equally with Mark and Lindsey as well as Julia. Now I hardly spoke to them at all. Julia and I split into our own secret little group, bound by a sense of intimacy I'd never felt with her before. After dinner we all played a game of Scrabble—not terribly exciting, but marked by that same strange sense of intimacy that I'd noticed at dinner.

A few hours later Mark put a sleeping bag out for me in Julia's room and bid us goodnight. I was wearing boxers and a t-shirt to bed. It was late by then, probably after midnight. When we could no longer hear Mark's footsteps we knew it was safe to talk. Julia sat up in her bed and pushed the covers off. She reached out to turn on the light.

"Are you having fun here?" she asked.

"Yeah, I like it. It's nice."

"Do you, uh. . . like my pajamas?"

I could tell this was a last-minute improvisation on her part. She obviously had something else in mind. But in fact I did like her pajamas: they were pink, with some kind of little cartoon character embroidered every few inches across the fabric. They seemed a little juvenile, considering her character, but that only made them more appealing. How many thousands of men's fantasies, after all, revolve around teenage girls in pink pajamas?

"Yeah, I like them a lot," I said.

"They're okay." She paused for a second. "Hey, can you get that camera out?"

"Sure," I said, and reached for my backpack.

I had a feeling that was what she wanted. She smiled as I turned it on.

"Take some pictures of me, up here" she said. I climbed onto the bed.

"What kind of pictures?"

"Whatever. Just keep taking them."

I immediately snapped a picture of her lying on the bed in her pajamas. Without missing a beat she started to pose. I kept taking pictures, leaning over her.

"This is fun," I said.

"Uh-huh."

She was clearly getting more and more into posing. As she did, her poses steadily became more and more salacious. She pulled her pajamas away from parts of her body to reveal skin—her stomach, her legs, the top of her ass. She bent and twisted, throwing part of her body into focus. And then, without warning, she pulled her shirt up over her left breast. My heart jumped. Her pink nipple, in the center of a light brown circle of skin, floated at the apex of her perfect tit. I dropped the hand holding camera from in front of my eye. My cock started to twitch.

"What?" she said nervously. "Take a picture. Just for fun, you know?"

She was breathing heavily, making the nipple bob up and down in the frame. As I framed the shot the smile fell from her face. I snapped the photo. As soon as I did she seemed to relax, as if some great worry had just lifted from her mind. She smiled again.

"How does it look?" she asked.

"Like you always look. Beautiful."

"Oh c'mon. . ."

"Gorgeous, then."

"Please. . ."

"No, I'm serious. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

She seemed greatly pleased by this but said nothing in direct response. Instead, evidently, she was already thinking about the next step.

"Can you do a full nude photo?" she asked.

"Sure."

She undid the buttons of her pajama top.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said. She paused; a moment later she undid the next button. "But I'm glad I am. I'm just curious, you know? It's fun."

"It's fun for me, too."

Actually, "fun" was probably the wrong word. My greatest fantasy was becoming reality: for that, I think, some stronger word is required; a word, probably, that has yet to enter the English language.

Julia pulled her shirt off. If one tit was good, it didn't even come close to matching the full set. I was conscious of staring at her breasts but couldn't bear to tear myself away. That is, at least, until she slipped off the pajama bottoms. For the first time I got a completely unimpeded view of her ass in all its glory, as round and luscious as a peach. Without even the skimpy fabric of a bikini to conceal it, Julia's body seemed to flow from head to foot in an intricate geometry of gentle curves. She sat with her legs folded underneath her and threw her arms out in the pose I recognized as Marilyn Monroe's from the centerfold of the first Playboy. I might be a little biased, of course, but right then I thought Julia was giving Marilyn a pretty good run for her money. I took the picture.

"How was that?" she asked.

"Wonderful."

"How about this?"

She lay back on the bed. She bent her left leg—the side farthest from me—into a triangle, keeping her right leg straight, while she cradled her left breast in her left hand as the right lay at her side. Between her legs I could see a dainty patch of black fuzz. I took the picture—she was positively seductive, with her smooth skin resting on the fuzzy pink covers. She posed again, sitting up on the bed with her breasts pressed against her folded legs. I took the picture. Each time I took a picture she leaned over me to see it in the screen and smiled. By now my cock was erect, straining against the fabric of my boxers.

"Take a picture of my pussy," she said softly.

She laid down on the bed and spread her legs. I crouched between them with the camera ready. Her pussy, beneath the tufts of black hair, was small and bright pink, the folds delicate and almost lacy—and, I noticed, already wet. She drew the lips of her pussy apart slightly with her fingers.

"This is so exciting," she said.

I pressed the button on the camera, digitally preserving the wonderful sight. I was able to keep my hand steady enough to capture a good image. But she'd already obliterated the last remnants of my self-control. As soon as I'd got the photo I dropped the camera on the bed and fell onto her naked body. My lips found hers. We kissed furiously. I struggled to pull off my shirt, parting from her full, hot lips only long enough to get it over my head. My hands raced across her body. I wanted to feel every inch of her, every bit of that smooth, soft skin I'd been waiting for so long.

Her hands went to my waist. With her fingers she found the contours of my cock through the boxers and grabbed hold of it. When we finally stopped kissing she pushed me onto my back on the bed and leaned over me.

"We've got to get these off," she said.

She looped her thumbs under the waistband on my boxers and pulled them down. She had a little trouble getting them down—understandably so, I suppose, considering the size and hardness of my erection. A final tug set my cock free, bobbing back and forth a second before pointing straight up at the ceiling.

"I didn't know you had such a nice prick," Julia said.

"I'm glad you approve," I replied.

She grabbed the camera off the bed and took a few pictures.

"Wait, there's something I want to try," she said.

Julia handed the camera to me.

"I've never given anyone a blowjob before," she said.

"Huh. I've never had anyone give me one."

I smiled. I could still hardly believe this was happening.

"Okay. . . Let's try this out. . ." Julia said.

She bent over my cock with her mouth open. Her right hand was clasped around the base of the shaft. Tentatively, she lowered herself down. Her pink lips brushed against the swollen head. After kissing the tip for a minute, she opened her lips wide and pushed herself down.

"Oooohhh. . ." I moaned.

The warmth of her mouth enveloped me, seeming to spread from the tip of my cock through my entire body. She pushed about two inches into her mouth but then seemed to struggle a bit. It wouldn't go any deeper. Suddenly she rose, leaving the end of my cock glistening wet.

"Damn!" she exclaimed. "I didn't realize it was so big!"

"Are you gonna try again?" I asked hopefully. She glanced up at my face.

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