My New Lover, A Camera

My question. "How's the crime scene in South London then?" got us off to an easy start. As with many men, though, when the subject is their job, he went on a bit. Thankfully not in a cocky or arrogant way and to be honest actually I did find his accounts stories of arresting people and other activities quite interesting and, the way he explained them, rather funny. He was not being boastful or overtly trying to impress me, and that impressed me. I was enjoying myself and feeling comfortable on my first date for such a long time.

My vodka got freshened. I shouldn't really have let that happen for I assumed we would have wine at dinner. Christine, vodka and wine sometimes don't mix that well, I thought almost giggling as we finished the drinks and stood up to leave for the restaurant.

As we left the bar, he casually draped his arm round my waist. He touched me with not too much pressure, the gesture was not intrusive or assumptive, just nicely affectionate and appropriately proprietarily, well sort of. I thought that he was demonstrating to others that we were together, and to me indicating that we were a number, or were becoming one. Quite some progress in half an hour!

Outside, he didn't immediately remove his hand, but left it draped round my waist resting on the swell of my hip, as he asked.

"What's the best way?"

I smiled. "Well first you need to tell me where we are going, don't you?"

"Oh shit yes, sorry, silly me, waffling on about work and forgetting the important stuff."

"So where are we headed then?" I asked, my mind again wandering as I wondered if he might say. "My place or yours?" I speculated as to how I would react to that, but could not reach a clear conclusion, before he replied.

"La Luna, in Canada Square."

I knew the place, but had never eaten there, although I had heard it was good.

"Great."

"Have you been there?"

"No I haven't, I have been meaning to, but just haven't got round to it."

"What's the best way?"

"Over the swing bridge," I replied, turning away, noting with a tad of regret that his hand dropped from my waist.

It had been comfortable having him touch me. The first touch of a man is so important; it can ruin a relationship, for sometimes, inexplicably, it can make a woman's skin crawl as they say. And after that, there is absolutely no way back at all, ever. My skin certainly didn't crawl, shiver somewhat maybe, a slight attack of goose bumps possibly, nice feelings from which no recovery at all was needed. Matt's thumb had rested just about horizontally on the pleated black belt of my trousers. The trousers were fashionably low-rise so the belt rested on the lower extremities of my waist. The area just above my pelvis, where, inevitably for a slightly "meaty" woman, there is some excess flesh. Matt's thumb being where it was, meant that the rest of his hand and fingers were sort of cupping that softness, with his little finger being lower down, right on my outer thigh.

I thought. 'Good job I'm not wearing suspenders.' Why I thought that I have no idea, for I never wear them and hadn't even thought about it. Odd.

We walked along the dockside and started across the pedestrian bridge over the big dock. With a strong breeze coming off the Thames it was quite chilly.

"Wow that really is some sight isn't it?" he said stopping when we in the middle. We looked at the cluster of massive buildings that make up the area known as Canary Wharf.

We were standing facing each other, our heads turned to the right looking up. My linen coat was open, flapping in the breeze. The slight chill was going straight through the loose-knit top onto my skin. It was also finding its way through my bra. I could feel it on my breasts; I could feel it on my nipples, which are very reactive to stimulation, both sexual and cold. The inevitable happened, the little buggers betrayed me as they had many times in the past. They hardened, suddenly and obviouslyly. They pushed at both the gossamer thin bra and the light, loose-weave, cashmere top, making large bumps. I saw him look at them. I tried to turn my attention away from what was happening to my body by replying.

"Yes it sure is."

I saw that nice, quizzical smile, the same one that had impressed me in Starbucks, the same he had given me when he handed me the photos. Looking right into my eyes, his hand again slipping onto my waist, he moved closer and said softly and pointedly about my nipple show.

"Yes, a very nice sight indeed Christine. It would make a great photo"

I was flustered. It was too soon.

"Just like those other very nice sights you gave me in the folder," He went on referring to the photos.

"Did you look at them?"

"Yes many times, they are amazing, I love photography."

Flustered and surprised at the turn of events and, I have to say, aroused far more than I should have been I mumbled something stupid like.

"Oh yes, still life or portraits?"

That nice, quite sexy, sort of knowing, yet enquiring smile again.

"Well my preference would be for glamour stuff, but finding models is so hard," he said staring intensely into my eyes. He went on slowly and softly. "However, as I have a sort of captive audience right now, may I?" he asked bringing a small, digital camera from his pocket.

I was amazed. Not just at the surprise of him asking me, but more so at my reaction. The idea excited me. I was a little turned on by the thought of posing on this narrow bridge in the near darkness with the backdrop of Canary Wharf and with my nipples bursting out from the thin bra. Where was that excitement coming from? Maybe the same source as when I posed for the underwear shots I thought, realising that it was not just the cold that was now stimulating my nipples.

"You don't really want that Matt," I said unconvincingly not doing anything; I realised to cover myself up.

"Oh yes I do ma'am, it will be a wonderful addition to my Chris, damsel in distress photo collection."

I found to my surprise that I was replying. "Just one then."

"Don't be daft," he muttered sodding around with the focus and flash. "Smile for the camera, say cheese."

The crazy thing was, I did. He must have taken at least a dozen, giving me instructions with which I found myself readily complying.

"Turn to your right, now your left, hold the coat by your hip so it's open, now wrap it tightly round you, just leaving your cleavage showing, now hands on hips, the coat open straight on to me."

My mind whirred as I followed his instructions. I loved it, but we had to stop. I thought we had gone far enough. I wanted intimacy, I think, but not yet. I wrapped my coat round me.

"I think it's time for dinner, don't you Matt?"

It had been a lovely meal. In fact, it had been a lovely evening. In truth, it had been a lovely date. In my mind, it had been the prelude to what could well turn into a lovely night.

But it was too soon. He was too nice, too attractive, too appealing, too interesting, simply too fucking fanciable to go further with at this stage. I wanted to, quite badly, I realised, as I stood in the doorway of the restaurant while he went back inside to order a cab, but I was scared of getting in over my head, I can fall for a man so easily.

"It will be twenty minutes or so," apparently there's a world shortage at the moment, something to do with global warming."

"What?" I asked, at first not getting the humour. I smiled and looked at him our eyes meeting. "Oh I see, well we'll just have to walk. That'll reduce our carbon footprint as well as my waistline won't it?"

Matt slipped his arm loosely round my waist as he let me walk past him out of the narrow doorway.

"Now that's something you have no need at all to worry about?"

"My carbon footprint?"

"No, your waistline," he said, his hand resting lightly on me just above where my bum flares out from my waist.

"Well thank you kind sir," I replied lightly, starting to walk along the dockside, quite forgetting that he had seen 'those photos.'

"You'd be surprised there's loads of lumps and bumps."

"Not on the body on those photos, I have looked very closely."

The word body seemed to crash into my brain. It took on such an evocative meaning, it became such an erotic term in my mind, it adopted such a sexual connotation that it had never had before. I felt myself responding.

"And not on these," he suddenly said holding his camera up.

"You've seen them?"

"Yes, I couldn't resist it; I had a peek in the loo."

"Oh," was all I could of saying as we stopped. Standing close together, he clicked a button on the camera. It was the waist up shot of me with my hands on my hips. The cardigan had ridden up so there was a band of bare flesh round my midriff, its whiteness accentuated by the black of the leather trousers and the cardigan. That was stretched across my breasts, the loose weave being pulled open slightly. My bra was very clearly on view, as were the sizeable lumps of my nipples.

"Oh shit, were they that obvious?"

"Mmmmm, wonderfully so," he murmured flicking on several of the other shots, all of which focused on my breasts or my hair.

He put his arm round my shoulders.

"I'll walk you home if that's Ok Christine?"

Although I was pleased with the gallant gesture, I replied, a little more curtly than I intended.

"It's well out of your way, I'll be fine."

"I couldn't be at peace with myself if I left you alone around here in the dead of night."

"I am used to being on my own and alone, you know."

"Of course I do, but please just indulge my gentlemanly beliefs."

I smiled at him, quite pleased really and slipped my arm through his I said.

"It's nice to know the age of chivalry isn't over."

"Yes a real knight aren't I? Pity I forgot the shining armour."

"And your lance," I said, honestly not realising the potential for a double entendre until I had said it. I heard him snigger and that made me giggle as we both saw the other meaning.

"Oh I never forget that, in fact I never leave home without it."

"That's good to hear," I went on quite enjoying the stylishly smutty banter. "You never know when you might need it?"

He paused, probably considering whether he might be going too far, before saying something like. "Will I need it tonight, I wonder," but instead asked. "It usually lets me know in good time."

I saw where this was going and my heart seemed to beat faster. I didn't say anything for a moment or two, for I couldn't conjure up a response that was appropriate. Then I mumbled, rather lamely.

"It has a mind of its own does it? Your lance."

His arm seemed to be tighter around mine and somehow it felt as though we were closer together. I could feel the side of my breast against his upper arm. It felt nice. Was I imagining that he was pressing harder?

"Oh yes very much so, Chris, most lances do," he said quietly. "And sometimes when they let the knights know they really do need their shining armour."

"Really?" I said as I felt drops of rain. "Why is that?"

"As a cover really."

I realised what he meant as the rain started to fall heavier.

"Oh yes I see, for the same reason, I suppose, that us maidens really need a waist to shoulders cover sometimes." I muttered starting to run. "Quick over there,"

We had to sprint across the deserted dockside towards the doorway to what looked like a warehouse. My open coat was flapping behind me as I bounded along my boobs bouncing uncontrollably. I could feel drops of rain going through the loose weave cardigan and more falling onto the bare flesh of my breasts and into my cleavage. It was oddly arousing.

"Phew," Matt said as we sheltered in the dryness of the deep doorway of the warehouse.

It was a large area, probably thirty feet long and twelve or so deep. As with most warehouses in Docklands, it was being refurbished and turned into flats. They were some way from being finished so we were in a large alcove. There was some light from a lamppost on the dock, but not much. The walls had been recently tiled and were clean and shiny as was the floor.

"That was unexpected," I replied as we stood facing each other panting from the exertions of the run.

"What do you reckon, stay 'til it passes or call a cab now?"

"Let's give it a few minutes and then make a decision. Ok?"

"Sure, fine, whatever you say Mistress Chris."

"Mistress?"

"Yes you referred to yourself as a maiden, didn't you?"

"Oh I see."

"Yes one that sometimes needs the same sort of cover that a suit of armour gives a knight," he smiled returning to our earlier line of repartee. He dropped his gaze downwards a little.

I knew exactly what he was looking at and why. This time, though, I was acutely aware that it wasn't just the cold that was causing me to need the waist to shoulder cover. I would usually be so embarrassed if that happened with a man I hardly knew. But for some reason, as the blood pounded into my nipples hardening them and making, what I knew would be, very noticeable lumps in both my bra and cardigan, I didn't feel that embarrassment with him. Usually, when such accidents occur I turn away, bend over or cover myself. Normally, I would never say anything. Now, though, for some inexplicable reason I didn't feel embarrassed, I didn't turn away or cover myself, I didn't remain silent and I didn't even do my silent, fuck, fuck, fuck or bollocks verbal routine. In fact, I welcomed his gaze, I enjoyed feeling it on the bare skin of my chest and on my breasts, I revelled in his focus on where my nipples were pounding. I said, very huskily.

"I guess I need that cover now, don't I?"

In a very serious tone that was exactly right for the moment he quietly replied.

"No Mistress Chris you do not need a cover at all."

Matt placed his hands, almost ceremoniously, on my shoulders, inside the thin linen coat, which was damp from the rain. He applied a little pressure indicating that we should move further into the doorway, further from the dock, further from where any passers-by might see us, not that many would be likely in this foul weather, I thought.

We stared into each other's eyes; we didn't speak, that wasn't necessary, now. His hands slipped from my shoulders and went to the top button on the black, loose weave, slightly see-through, tiny, low-cut, and high-waisted, cashmere cardigan.

As if by a sixth sense, I knew exactly what he was going to do. What he wanted to do for that was what I wanted him to do and what our relationship needed him to do.

He didn't ask permission, he didn't need to, it was unnecessary. It was implied in me standing there, my breasts and nipples almost convulsing with desire, as I, as good as, offered my body to him.

Without breaking our gaze his, surprisingly dextrous, fingers slowly undid each button of my cardigan.

He gently pulled it apart tucking each side of that and the coat round the protuberance of my boobs to hold it open. That almost made me giggle, as I thought 'What odd bookends,' but the strong erotic atmosphere stopped me.

My breasts seemed so full and heavy, I felt they were overheating and pulsating, but of course, they weren't, they were just hugely aroused. As he pulled the cashmere away from each mound, my nipples exploded to an even fuller erection and a harder state, the slight chill adding to the sexual excitement that was stimulating them

"Oh Chris," Matt breathed. "You look amazing, just like in the photographs."

"Yes Matt," I replied, not really knowing what to say.

He turned my body slightly so that the small amount of light coming in was on me.

"They look incredible," he breathed, rather making me feel, as others have in the past, that all I am to them is a pair of big tits. But hey, who's complaining at that!

I watched with surprise as he once more took the camera from his pocket.

"Pose for me Chris, show me yourself, give me those tits and nipples," he said softly, shooting away as I turned to my right then back to my left.

The rain was teaming down now. Everything was quiet outside. The dockside, being pedestrian only, was deserted. I had never done anything like this. Well I'd had sex in a car a few times and once or twice in the open air, but that seemed different, and of course, it was different. But then most things are different to a woman flaunting her bra-covered tits at a bloke inn the doorway of a building as he photographs her.

"Slip the coat and cardigan off Chris."

"No, don't be daft," I replied, not totally convincing myself let alone him, that I meant that. There are times when 'no' may not mean 'no' I have found out since being 'in play' after the divorce..

"Come on. No one will come by and even if they did they wouldn't be able to see in here."

He was right of course.

Looking back on that incredible evening the next day, there were three aspects of it that so surprised me.

Obviously, the first was letting him photograph me.

Letting him persuade me out of that coat and cardigan and letting him take shots of me just in my bra, of me cupping my breasts and pinching my very evident nipples as he shot away.

The second was the sheer excitement I gained. It wasn't just the combination of a new man, what we were doing and where we were doing it that got to me, but more so it was the intense pleasure and buzz I got from being photographed.

The third, and in some ways greatest surprise, was that he didn't try to fuck me. Had he have done so, I really am not sure that I would have had the resolve to let my head overrule my body and stop him.

Had the rain have not stopped and had that bunch of revellers not come along the dock, I think we may well have gone further in that doorway. At least, in the stream of e-mails we exchanged the next day we thought so.

Although I think he was on duty, speeding around in cop car doing all upright, citizen type things and protecting us from the bad guys some of the next day, he found time to exchange some increasingly steamy mails with me. Even cops have their 'dark sides.' As the mails became more intense, as he sent me a stream of photos taken in that doorway and as we lost most of our inhibitions, it seemed to be taken for read, that we would have sex, and soon.

"I want to photograph you as you were in those first photos."

"I want to shoot all of your body. I want to take shots of you without your bra; I want to photograph your breasts and your big, hard nipples."

These were typical phrases he used during that day of mail exchanges. And these typical phrases, somehow so got to me. I was being incredibly turned on by a combination of the written word about photographs and by looking at myself in the shots he had taken.

After that extraordinary exchange of mails, we finalised our arrangements late the next evening day on one of those messenger sites.

"You do want me to photograph you, don't you Christine?"

"Yes," I typed back, "Yes Matt."

"You like me doing it don't you?"

"Yes, yes I do."

It was so much easier saying these things in type than face-to-face.

"Where can I photograph you Christine?"

"I don't know?"

"My flat is too small and its miles away. Shall I rent a studio?"

"No," I replied, my mind working fast. Sara was with her father for the next three days. I was alone in the apartment. Matt was working nights the next day, so we had all afternoon and evening. "You can come here."

"Are you sure?"

I wasn't, but typed back. "Yes."

We tied up the loose ends.

I was incredibly nervous waiting for him to arrive at 1.00 pm. Several times, I thought of calling him and changing my mind and numerous times I hoped he would call me. But almost dead on one, the intercom at the gates buzzed. I opened those and waited for him to buzz at my door then went down the stairs and opened the door.