Garden Photos

Fiona's adventures after her divorce, inevitably got me thinking about the spring before I graduated from college.

I met Jane the previous winter. She was a regular customer in a camera store where I worked and shortly after we had talked a few times, she settled into a regular routine, never visiting except on afternoons when she knew I would be alone in the shop, always lingering for idle conversations on those predictably slow days.

And, yes, it was obvious from the beginning that she was flirting. If there were any doubts about that, she soon dispelled them by coming into the store en route to her tennis lesson dressed in a tight outfit that displayed fine firm legs and a petite but full figure. Often her aroused nipples pressed through whatever top she was barely wearing.

Her story was more or less known around town. She was married to a philandering orthopedic surgeon when she finally had endured enough to divorce him. She exited the marriage with a pile of cash, a Jaguar, and an extravagant house near the edge of town.

"I will be needing a portrait for the garden tour program," Jane said casually one Saturday afternoon. "Didn't you tell me that you moonlighted with that sort of thing?"

Indeed, I had.

"Would you have time this Sunday afternoon to come to my house and take a few shots?"

I would.

"Good. Four o'clock tomorrow. The sun should be right."

Yes, it would be.

"Four o'clock then!" She smiled somewhat ambiguously and swiveled out of the shop's front door. When she was safely down the street, I went to the window and stole a last glimpse of her tight bottom and long legs pivoting into her car.

One of the secrets we shared was a slide she had left for printing a month or so earlier. When she dropped it off, Jane remarked that Eastman Kodak had processed the slide and she hoped that they would now make a print of it. Without looking at the slide or knowing its subject, I predicted that they would, but the reference was provocative. When I had a discreet moment after she left, I looked at the photo, as I am certain she had invited me to do.

It was Jane, standing nude on a Caribbean beach, glistening head to toe with droplets of water from the surf. Her nipples were hard and jutted toward the camera. They were framed in tan lines from the smallest of bikinis. She stood, arms akimbo, legs topped by neatly trimmed pubic hair, the first intimate grooming of which I was ever aware. She smiled a smile that I can still see in my mind's eye. Unabashed. Vital.

That image drove me crazy for weeks. Although I was certain that she had wanted me to see it, she never mentioned the picture again, not even asking to pick up the finished print. Still, I was confused about the implications of her Sunday invitation and was badly bothered for the rest of the day.

By that point in my life, I had fucked my share of college girls and spent a memorable night with a forty-something tourist who claimed to need instruction with a camera I had sold her that afternoon, except that she ended up instructing me about stimulant fueled acrobatic sex.

Jane felt different. To begin with, she treated me as if I were her equal. Our conversations were rarely about trivial things, and she seemed genuinely interested in what I thought. Looking back all of these years, I think she was the first woman who made love to me with her brain.

The other riveting thing about her was a mature confidence with which she wore her sexuality. There was no college girl tease about her. She knew that she was desirable and wore it like a mantle.

Still, I had not yet developed a sexual confidence myself. My first serious girlfriend and I had hurried to bed a few years earlier, our couplings driven by hunger and curiosity more than anything. Since then, I had become adept at spotting girls who volunteered "Yes" with their smile. Later, my self-assurance would signal to woman what was going to happen with the simplest nod of their assent but that was still down the road.

There was nothing casual, however, about Jane. And she seemed to be the one giving signals. Or was she?

After locking up that afternoon, I went to the finished photo orders and looked again at the picture, feeling my cock stiffen and my stomach churn. Impulsively, I took the photo home with me. At dinner, I could think of nothing else, my erection never subsiding. In those days a hard penis begging for release had the power to block out any rational thoughts of anything else. Before long I was home, stripped out of my clothes and on my bed with Jane's picture in my hand, which is to say, my free hand.

I came massively that night with jets of semen arching toward the ceiling. It was something that I had to take care of if I had any hope of sleeping that night or of dealing with what felt like a complicated situation the next day. I stroked my cock, losing control so that I could maintain control on Sunday.

I never felt a repeat of that need until more than twenty years later, the night that I nearly fucked Fiona for the first time. We weren't ready yet, but she had already fucked me with her brain as we groped each other on a stool in her kitchen. I ended up at home in the predawn hours pumping my hand and spilling semen over the spot on the bed where I would slide my penis into her for the first time a week later. It took me years to realize the parallel.

The next day was a muddle. I slept late, then gathered my photo kit, carefully preparing two cameras, each with a slightly different lens suitable for portraits. Everything finally assembled and tested, I looked again at Jane's beach picture, almost certain that I had misread her. I was even slightly relieved by the thought. Still, there was the photo. And her oblique remark. And the tennis dresses. And the two of us alone that afternoon. In the middle of a decade when all of the sexual barriers came down.

I tried to concentrate on my cameras.

When she met me at her front door a few hours later, I thought her demeanor confirmed that I had misread her. Pleasant enough, but she was almost business-like. She wore a breathtaking tailored sheath dress that sculpted her breasts, squeezing them into a neckline that showed just enough underneath the de rigeuer strand of pearls. Here, on her turf, she seemed demure and controlled even though that dress and her calves, finely sculpted by low heels, screamed sexuality. I noticed that she was not wearing stockings.

"Come out by the swimming pool," she said flatly, leading me through the house. "This picture is for the Garden Week house tour program. The flowers there should make a nice background and I think you will like the light." She spoke without emotion.

"This is a last hurrah for me. I have resisted these house tours for years but now that I am going back to Durham I finally agreed. I leave next week to start getting ready for some summer classes."

"Durham? You haven't mentioned that."

"Yes," she replied over her shoulder. "I have kept that quiet. I am going back to Duke to finish my degree. That was the second mistake I made in order to marry my first mistake."

She turned and faced me, somewhat icily. "He was a medical student. And we were -- in love." She hissed the final two words. "It turned out that he only loved himself and his toys."

Jane selected a patio chair, positioned it in front of a spectacular bed of tulips and perched casually on its arm. "How is this?"

It was fine. The low sun made her hair glow and bathed her shoulders in the soft light of the afternoon.

We worked through a series of poses quickly, but I knew that the first photos were best, so there was not much work to accomplish. I directed her gently, but she was physically confident and needed little encouragement from me to hold her head at just the right angle or to position her figure for maximum effect.

"You are a dancer," I said at one point, eliciting a happy and surprised smile. Click. Perfect.

"How on earth did you know?"

"It's obvious. Besides, you told me."

Jane considered her reply. "That's what I like about you," she said finally. "You listen to me."

The quickly fading afternoon sun and Jane's poise made quick work of the photos. In a few minutes, I announced, "We're done, I think."

"Good. I will need you to pick the best shots and deliver them to the garden tour people next week."

"Yes, of course. Don't you want to take a look though?"

"No time. My house is already sold, fully furnished with bad memories. The important things are already in storage. All I have left is a few clothes to pack. I trust your judgment."

The photo business now concluded, she seemed to soften.

"Are you ready for a drink? I have a pitcher of Mojitos in the kitchen."

I wasn't particularly certain what a Mojito was, but the invitation was a fine one and soon Jane was back with two icy glasses.

Kicking off her shoes, she settled on a chaise lounge, facing me with her legs tucked under her. Cat-like.

"You and I have a lot in common," she said.

"I'm sorry?"

"I only have a year of school left. You are graduating in a month. How does it feel to be on the verge of life as an educated person? I am curious to know."

"You sell yourself short. You already have a wonderful mind."

"Thank you," she said firmly. "What are you doing after graduation?"

"Unsettled. I have a job offer with the afternoon paper."

"A newspaper photographer," she said with emphasis.

"No, it's for a byline mostly. Maybe for a few years. I have always thought vaguely about law school."

"Choose carefully," she said quietly. "These decisions seem easy in the moment, but they reverberate for a long time."

"How about you?"

"You mean, how am I undoing my bad decisions? I am finishing an undergraduate degree in chemistry, if I haven't forgotten everything. Maybe a masters too but it feels like a lot after fifteen years. I was a year away from my degree when Bill and I left for his internship. I suppose this summer will tell the tale."

She suddenly brightened. "If I can't cut it, there is always tennis!"

"Or ballet," I replied. She laughed.

We were talking easily now as the sun slid behind the trees. After half an hour of easy conversation and another round of drinks, we fell into a fuzzy silence, watching the light disappear.

Her nose buried in her drink, Jane finally said "This rum is luscious. I brought it back from Jamaica a couple of years ago." She peered over her glass at me. "But then you knew about that trip."

I fumbled. "Yes. That would be a logical conclusion. Based the available evidence, that is."

She laughed again. "Well done! Forget about the newspaper. You are destined for law school.' she paused, "So, how do you like it?"

"Do you mean the rum or your picture?"

"Now that we each have had some rum... I mean my picture.

"What are your conclusions based upon that available evidence?"

I took a long draw from my drink before answering. "That you are a beautiful and extremely sensual woman."

"Well, you managed to notice that as well. Not everyone has.

"It was a last-ditch effort to save me from this mess. Palm trees, tropic breezes. Adventurous, amorous wife. You know, the hard sell, trying to make him forget about his polo pony string of nurses. I would have screwed him in Times Square to save my marriage."

She took a last sip from her drink, and then quietly said, "You know he took that picture with a camera that you sold him."

I considered my answer carefully. "It was quite an exposure."

Jane laughed again. "Yes, definitely law school for you. It was easy, really. Something about a private ocean cabana demands that you take your clothes off."

She sighed and, in a moment, said quietly, "Didn't work, of course. What upsets me the most is that it he was so predictable about everything. Trite, almost."

I was speechless again.

In a moment, she silently stood and led me by the hand into her darkened house. Inside, she turned to face me, and said firmly, "You know, I won't be coming back to the camera shop. That will make things convenient for each of us."

Then she kissed me. It was sweet and tentative. She turned away after just a moment and presented the back of her neck to me.

"Help me with these pearls."

I hesitated for an instant too long. "Well?" she said, somewhat impatiently, I thought.

I unhooked the clasp of her pearls and handed them to her. Then I lowered my lips to her shoulders, gently kissing them.

"Well!" she purred with a different inflection, grinding her rear into my crotch.

She turned to face me, and we kissed again, this time hungrily. "Please, hold me," she said finally. I wrapped my arms around her, and we stood for a long moment in the open door, the cool of the evening suddenly noticeable. My hands told me that she was wearing nothing under the dress.

"Close and lock the door," Jane said in a moment. "Then help me with this zipper." In a moment, her dress puddled on the floor, and I gathered her suddenly nude body close to me again, kissing her deeply.

"None of that wouldn't have been wasted on me," I finally whispered. "It hasn't been wasted on me."

She pulled away slightly so that she could peer into my eyes. She smiled wordlessly, unbuttoning first my shirt, then my trousers.

The room was an entertainment area with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the pool. A piano was next to the windows. Silently Jane led me to the piano bench. Pushing me onto my back, she lowered herself onto my erect cock, gasping. She was already wet, and my cock slid easily into her. Slowly building speed, she ground into me, moaning as I met her with my thrusts.

Jane held herself erect, gripping the front of my thighs to steady herself as she bucked and groaned. Finally, she whimpered and collapsed into my arms. In a moment, she kissed me deeply. It was passionate and appreciative. My cock twitched inside her.

Not waiting for her to catch her breath, I sat up, gathering her to my waist. Sliding to the end of the bench, I stood and wedged Jane against the piano bouncing her on my cock for a long time before turning and gently lowering her back onto the bench. This time I was on top.

I had not come yet, nor had my penis left her pussy. Standing over her, I pulled her more firmly onto my dick and drove into her faster and faster, controlling the pleasure for each of us. We continued this way for twenty furious minutes. Twice, I pulled back from an orgasm while she moaned and climaxed more than once. I paced each of us by slowing my thrusts and lowering my lips to her breasts, making love to them with my mouth. She groaned appreciatively, growing louder with each ministration.

I finished each of us in a furious series of thrusts. Finished, we lay there in the evening darkness, my arms holding her tight.

"Thank you," she whispered to me as she kissed me sweetly.

We tumbled off of the bench and, entangled in one another, rocking gently in the evening light, exploring each other's mouths with deep passionate kisses. I explored her body with my caresses and soon we stretched onto the floor. On my knees, a drank in the curves of her body, still visible in the fading light. She was magnificent with a dancer's firmness but distinctly unballetic his and tits.

Slowly I kissed most of those curves, starting with her calves and bypassing her vulva at first. I worked around the sides of her breasts before taking turns with my mouth on each nipple. She began moaning again.

"Yes. Yes! Please take charge of me."

My lips lingered on her abdomen and then teased her pussy before attacking it with my mouth. She was neatly trimmed, nearly shaved and my tongue darted in and out of every crevice. I left her clit for last and when I raked it for the first time with my tongue, she nearly screamed.

"Yes! Please! Suck my clit!"

I obliged, by now holding Jane's thighs in each hand. It was the first time I had ever tasted my own semen mixed with a woman's own wetness. I ate her with purpose, driving my tongue in and out, withdrawing it to swirl her clitoris and then raking it with authority.

After long minutes of having my mouth buried between her legs, Jane gasped and suddenly stood.

"Take me to the bedroom."

I stood behind her, grabbing her waist and pressing my cock into her ass, as I pushed her firmly toward the bedroom.

The sheets on her bed were already turned down and the room was warmly lit by bedside lamps.

"Leave the lights on," she said with some purpose. "I want to see you on top of me."

There was no kissing now. I spun her back into arms and then pushed her into the bed. I was on her at once entering easily, her pussy already wet from our fucking and pussy eating, my cock suddenly stiff again.

"Jesus!" she gasped. "Please Fuck me hard!" As I obliged, she resumed her moaning, once again, louder and louder as I pounded into her, trying my best to stave off my own second orgasm. I held Jane's legs wide apart and stared down at her breasts, which were more magnificent than in the beach picture. Her nipples were long and engorged.

As we thrashed in bed and Jane's screams built to a crescendo, I lowered my mouth onto a nipple, twirling it with my tongue, as I delivered my final thrusts. "My God!" she rasped. "Finish me! Please finish me! Fill me! Fuck me!"

I lifted her thighs of the bed and leaned into her with authority, my dick noisily sliding in and out of her wet pussy.

"Ugh!" It was my turn to moan. I exploded into her as we both screamed.

"Yes!" she screamed. Like that! Just...like...that!" I poured semen into her, continuing to thrust long after I was finished, fucking my own cum.

Jane whimpered. I hovered over her, withdrawing my cock slowly, teasing her. Then we were in each other's arms again, once more spent and stilled. In a minute, the world stopped spinning, replaced by a post-coital calm.

We lay gasping for a long time with Jane curled into my arms. Finally, she raised her head and cooed, "By the way, you should keep the picture."