Photographed by my Friend: Pt. 01

Photographed by my Friend

by BurroGirl18 and Pan

Chapter 1

*hey mands,

germany is great. full of germans lol. nah it's not that bad. me and the boys have been going out a lot. wish you were here.

-dave*

When my boyfriend first got deployed, he'd been excited. I'd been excited for him, too - I mean, he wasn't going anywhere dangerous, and the pay was *incredible*. It was only six months, and when he got back...we'd sort of agreed that it would be a good time to get married.

I mean, it wasn't like an official *proposal* or anything, but...it wasn't *not* a proposal either, y'know?

We'd known it would be hard. We promised to Skype whenever we could, but between my studies, his shifts, and the time zones, it had been difficult. Eventually, we'd given up on video calling, and just stuck to texting and emails. Texting for short chats, for the hours we were both awake and available at the same time, email for more in-depth conversations.

But god, I hadn't realized how lonely it would be.

He'd been gone for just over two months - not even halfway through - when everything began.

I'd asked my friend Bert to come hang out, just for the company. Seriously, that was the intent; I just wanted someone to hang out with.

It was never meant to be anything more than that.

"Hey A," Bert said, as he stepped into my room. My name's Amanda, but he's called me 'A' since we were...6? Maybe even longer.

"Hey B," I replied. Yeah, it was a little dorky, but...well, so was he. It was hard not to get sucked into it sometimes, y'know?

Bert was wearing a T-shirt, and a pair of these cargo shorts with thousands of pockets. His camera was around his neck, as always. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd seen him without it.

I was dressed in gym shorts, and a shirt with a loose, deep side-cut. He could probably see my black lace bra through the sides, but I wasn't self-conscious about it. I mean, we were friends - we'd known each other since we were kids.

I had nothing to worry about, right?

As I gave him a hug hello, I noticed something hard pushing against my crotch. I sort of jumped back in shock, and glanced down - it was his camera.

Ugh. Two months without sex, and I was suddenly developing a dirty mind.

"You noticed!" he said, his face lighting up. Ignoring my confused expression, he launched into a long speech, sharing waaaay too many details about his equipment.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, picking it up and excitedly showing me the back. "Bert, you've always been a Nokia guy! But Sony have really knocked it out of the park this time - the MC556 has a bunch of features I've been wanting forever."

"You and your cameras," I smiled, sitting down on my bed, hoping my obvious disinterest would shut him up.

No such luck.

"Did you know they can make the lens self-stabilize *within the unit*?" he asked. I gave him nothing. He continued anyway. "It's not as good as a separate, dedicated stabilizer, of course, but the technology is just getting better and better..."

For the next few minutes, he continued sharing specific new features about the unit. I tried for a few minutes, but ultimately I just could not bring myself to care. Instead, my mind wandered as I glanced around my room.

It hadn't really changed that much since I was a kid, not really. I had a desk now, covered in verging-on-overdue homework, and my *My Little Pony* posters had been replaced by The Decemberists concert posters.

Other than that, we might as well have been eight years old again, playing with my Barbie dolls on the carpet. Bert hated me bringing that up.

I brought it up whenever I could.

"So..." I replied, when it seemed Camera Facts With Bert was starting to wind up. "What you're saying...is that this new toy of yours can take a sick new Instagram picture for me?"

Bert laughed at that, exposing the back of his throat. He's always been the funny one - it made me feel good when I could make him laugh.

"Yes, Amanda," he eventually replied. "Just like the Death Star could be used to 'dispose of your old couch', I think the Sony MC556 could 'take an Instagram picture' for you."

"Everyone's always so jealous of my social media pics," I said, crossing to the mirror and checking my makeup. "You're the best friend a girl could have."

"Thanks," he said, preening slightly at my words. "I mean, some subjects just photograph better than others..."

As I turned around, I thought I caught his eyes flicking down to my legs.

"You're making me blush," I said dryly. I must have been imagining it - I mean, I know I'm attractive, and I know that *he* knows I'm attractive, but...he's never looked at me that way before. We've always just been friends. Nothing more.

Ugh. I was way too hungry for attention. And David had only been gone for seventy-three days.

Not that I was counting.

"Blush away," he replied. "It'll come across great in the shots...and, of course, I can use photoshop to flatten the red curve a little, really bring out the color of your eyes."

He raised his camera, and pointed it at my face.

*Click.*

"While you're at it," I said, staring at the big black lens, "can you photoshop *me* some better curves?"

As soon as I said it, I wished I could suck the words back into my mouth. What was wrong with me? Flirting with my childhood friend - that was a new low.

Like, I know I have a great body. I know I do. I've never been one to suffer from poor self-esteem.

David once said that my butt could launch a cruise liner. I told him that it was Helen's face that launched all the ships, but he refused to believe me. "Pretty sure it was her butt," he'd joked.

I really missed him.

And it might have been shallow, but...I missed being told that I was hot.

Not that I, like, *needed* it. It was just nice to be complimented.

To my surprise, Bert lowered his camera and stared at my chest in response. But not in a pervy way, somehow - like a professional, sizing me up.

It made sense, I guess; he *is* a professional. Mostly weddings, but he's moving more into portraiture. It's part of why I make sure to voice my appreciation that he still takes my social media pics for free.

"Hmmm," he said. "I don't think you have anything to worry about in that regard."

I raised one eyebrow and shot him a glare, but he missed it. He just kept staring at my shirt.

You ever done that thing where you wait behind a door to scare someone, but they never come, so eventually you just come out and keep...living your life? Yeah, this was a little like that - he wasn't looking up, so I stopped glaring. His stare was lasting so long, I realized he must have been kidding.

Bert was always kidding around, so I figured this was no different.

"Yeah," I said, grabbing my tits through my shirt, weighing them with my hands. "I guess they're alright. But you know how boys are - the bigger, the better..."

He laughed at that, too. I was on a roll today.

"Besides," I continued, "I've gotta make sure that David remembers what he's missing. I don't want some German slut trying to seduce him..."

That was meant to be a joke, but...it had a weird ring of truth to it.

Don't get me wrong - I trusted David. I really did. He'd never even glanced at another woman, the whole time we were together. But...he'd been gone for two months. I'd seen what German girls looked like, and German porn is always the dirtiest. That couldn't be a coincidence, right?

In response, Bert picked up his camera, moved it to his eye, and took a picture.

Of my chest.

*Click.*

"Hey!

"Don't want David to forget why he loves you, do we?" he said with a wink.

"I was just kidding," I said, my blush returning. I knew I shouldn't have gotten into this. I felt like I was being disloyal, talking to Bert about my insecurities.

"Sorry." Bert scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Want me to delete it?"

"Yes," I should have immediately said. Yes was clearly the correct answer. Right?

But instead...

"Show me," I replied softly.

Bert sat next to me on the bed. His bare forearm brushed against mine as he twiddled with the dial at the top of his camera, pulling up the photo.

Like I said, I know I have a great body. I'm a little shorter than I'd like, but my boobs, my butt, my legs - I wouldn't trade them for the world.

Even knowing that - *damn*. Bert's camera added a few pounds to all the right places.

"Depite the fact that you're being a perv," I said, stunned at the image on the little LCD screen, "you really are good at this."

"That's my secret," he said gruffly. "I'm *always* a perv."

I laughed, and pushed him away. The image of my body, captured on film (or however a digital camera works) for all eternity. My tits, in the center of the frame. No face, no identifying marks, just tits in a white shirt.

Really nice tits, at that.

"You want a copy, to send to David?"

"No," I replied.

"I'm not sure," I said, immediately contradicting myself. "He's always asking for sexy pics, but I don't think he'd like the fact that they were taken by a guy. Even if it's just you."

David's never had any issue with my best friend being a guy. I mean, why would he? Bert's harmless, and David is far from the jealous or controlling type. I probably wouldn't be with him if he had a problem with me being best friends with a guy.

But still...I knew this was crossing some kind of line.

"Well," Bert said with a nod, "If you ever decide you want some, just for yourself, you know where to come to."

What did he mean by that? Why would I want sexy pictures of myself?

I blushed as the image of my own tits appeared in my mind once more.

"Want to rock the Instagram world?" Bert continued.

"Shoot," I said, posing for the camera.

"H-O-T-T," Bert said, in response to my ironic duckface. I mean, I think it was ironic. I discovered a while back that...duckface actually looks really good on me. Does that make me a bad person?

I reluctantly relaxed my face, and we spent the next minute or so taking pics.

*Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.*

"Okay," I said. "You think that's enough?"

"I can always use more," he replied, and - with a huge smile - pointed the camera straight at my chest once more.

*Click.*

The image of my tits on his camera screen popped into my head again. I knew this was nothing more than a joke.

There was no harm in joining in, right?

"Going for the 'I didn't notice my tit was out' shot?" I joked in response, pushing my boobs together. I even pulled the front of my shirt down to reveal an extra inch of cleavage.

"Perfect for Christmas cards," he smiled back. To my surprise, he actually spent a few seconds adjusting the shot, committing to the joke more than I expected.

*Click.*

"Aunt Mildred will love it," he continued.

*Click.*

I laughed. Actually, I sort of snorted. Aside from a chronic addiction to duckface, gigglesnorting is my very worst habit.

That was when I should have ended things, obviously. Like, posing as he took closeup pictures of my tits didn't just *step* over the line - it pole-vaulted.

Instead, I struck a new pose.

"Ooooh, let's take a sideboob picture as well!" I laughed, turning to the right. I mean, we were just kidding around, right? No harm in continuing the joke.

It was just for laughs...like the way I ironically duckfaced.

"This is the 'I just woke up like this...in full makeup, with perfect hair."

*Click. Click. Click.*

My arms were outstretched, like I'd just woken up from a nap. As the photos continued, I realized that my bra and the shape of my boobs must have been completely visible through the cutout side of my sleeveless tee.

Too late now, right?

Besides, it's not like it'd be a problem. It was Bert.

It was just Bert.

*Click, click, click.*

"Give me smokey eyes," he instructed. "Really show the camera how much you want it."

I instinctive started following his directions. For the next few moments, I forgot that we were just friends. I forgot that we were friends at all.

For the next few moments, I was just a model, posing for the camera.

"Put one finger in your mouth."

I obeyed.

"Crook it, like you're going to bite your knuckle."

My body took on an 'innocent schoolgirl' pose, while my index finger seductively parted my lips.

This was more fun than I expected. Of course, I always had fun with Bert - that's why he was my first call whenever I was bored.

Not that I was, like, taking advantage of him or anything.

*Click, click, click, click.*

"What next?" I asked, fluttering my eyelashes at Bert, waiting for his next direction.

"Lay on your side," he ordered. "I'm going to photograph you like one of my French girls."

I couldn't help but giggle and obey. No snort, thank god.

*Click. Click. Click. Click.*

As we resumed our banter, I continued to lose myself in the photoshoot.

"Run a hand down your waist," he instructed. I followed his command.

*Click. Click.*

"Run a hand down your leg." I stroked my leg softly as I did.

*Click. Click. Click.*

"Lift the bottom of your shirt a little, show off your midriff."

As I pulled up my shirt, I noticed a glow in Bert's eyes.

"You're enjoying this a little too much," I said with a chuckle.

"I just love photography," he responded. "Did I say earlier that it was all about the subject matter? All lies. It's about the *angle*, baby."

"These pics are not going to Instagram," I said, lifting up my shirt to the bottom of my bra and revealing my flat stomach.

*Click, click, click, click.*

"They should," he told me, moving in closer and focusing on my upper body. "I bet you'd get a lot more followers."

"Yeah...and a lot more creeps, commenting how they'd have their way with me."

"That's the internet," Bert shrugged. "Hey, I have an idea."

The big, black lens was just a few feet from my face. I could feel it watching me, recording me. Recording my image, for posterity.

I felt uncomfortable, as well as...something else.

But I trusted him.

"If you hold your hands up past the camera," Bert continued, "I can take some sexy photos for David and make them look like selfies.

"You'll have to lower the image quality," I laughed nervously. "He's never going to believe I took these pics with my crappy phone."

"I can't believe you're still on an iPhone 6," he said, rolling his eyes. It was a conversation we'd had many, many times before. "When are you going to upgrade?"

"When I win the lottery."

"Yeah, I can make these look like they were taken with ancient technology. I can even photoshop them to make the composition worse. Y'know, so they look like a girl took them. Ow!"

Rubbing his arm where I'd just punched him, Bert laughed. I smiled as the back of his throat came into view.

"Watch the goods. These arms are the money-makers!"

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he reached out and ruffled my hair.

"Great," I sighed, trying to fix it up. "How is *this* gonna look in the pictures?"

"Like sex hair."

His dumb joke made me blush again. Maybe because he didn't really deliver it like it was a joke.

For a moment, I paused. What exactly was I doing here?

Just taking some sexy pics. For David.

For David.

I mean, he'd been bugging me about it forever, right? No, not 'bugging' me, that's not fair. But he'd definitely brought it up more once. More than a few times.

"Where do I put my hand?" I said, avoiding eye-contact.

"Just reach up and rest it on my shoulder."

"This is funny." I grabbed his shoulder. "It's like I'm holding a giant camera."

"You break me, you've bought me. Push your arms together and look up at the camera."

"Like this?"

My elbows pushed together, creating cleavage (well, more cleavage than normal) and I looked into the lens with big, blinking, innocent eyes.

The lens winked back at me:

*Click.*

"Perfect."

*Click, click, click.*

"Okay, now open your mouth just a little."

*Click. Click.*

"Use your other hand to pull down your shirt some more. Really show him what he's been missing."

*Click, click, click.*

"Amazing."

*Click click click click.*

"Use one hand to grab your boob and look at the camera like you really miss him. Like you wish he was here. Like you wish he was the one grabbing you."

That wasn't hard. I really did miss him. I would have done anything to feel his hands on my tits again.

"You're going to delete these pictures once you send them to me, right?" I chuckled, grabbing my breast.

Bert shook his head, disappointed. "C'mon, Amanda...that's no way to talk to your camera."

*Click, click.*

"I'm going to change lenses," He said, reaching into one of his many pockets and pulling out a small black cylinder. "You want to take your shirt off? *Really* drive him wild?"

"No way," I panted nervously.

A part of me wanted to, but I knew it would be wrong.

So much of this was wrong.

Although...I was doing it for David, after all.

"Cool cool." Bert's casual response made me feel a lot better. Not that I expected him to fight me on this.

Not that I wanted him to.

"What if you kept your shirt on but removed your bra? That way I wouldn't see anything, but we could take some really hot pictures for your fiancée."

I'd told Bert about the almost-proposal, of course. I told Bert everything.

"Boyfriend," I corrected.

"Whatever."

His tone was cool and professional, but...something gave me pause.

"No," I said, after a few minutes of thought. "No, that's...that's going too far. I'm sure he'll like the pictures we already took."

"Why don't we have a look at what we've taken so far? They're a lot of fun - you look amazing in them."

"Okay," I nodded, scooting closer. He draped an arm around me so casually, I barely noticed. Spinning the dial once more, he pulled up the pictures and started pointing at them and discussing the details.

"See the soft lighting on that one? A cloud went overhead, and I quickly took a bunch of pictures to take advantage of it. Oh man, I was so happy with the shadow on that one - even though your hair isn't in the shot directly, it still evokes the feeling of it. The angle on this one is something I've been wanting to try for a while. Your breast has such a great curve in this picture - I used it to sort of frame the image, you see?"

As he discussed the photos, it definitely helped me calm down. I was clearly overreacting, right? We'd been friends since forever; he wasn't suddenly looking at me sexually, it was just aesthetics. He was just a photographer doing his job.

Nothing to worry about.

We continued flicking through the pictures, and Bert's tone grew increasingly critical.

"Like, look at this one," he said, pointing at one of the last photos. "See how the bra strap throws off the composition of the shot? It's almost distracting."

I was so focused on the pictures and my friend's words, I barely noticed the fact that his arm was rubbing against the side of my breasts as he gestured.

"Or this one - the shadow is ruined by the contrast between your bra and your top. The colors work great in person, but on the camera they're not quite right."

I nodded in agreement. They looked fine to me, of course, but I trusted Bert's professional opinion above my own amateur view of the pictures.

"The line of your bra strap is completely visible through the fabric here...it totally ruins the composition I was going for."

When we reached the last photo, he surprised me by popping the screen out, spinning the dial, and taking a quick selfie. A preview of the image appeared on the screen - Bert, with his tongue sticking out. Me, a surprised look on my face.

"Uh..."

"Just a memento," he said smoothly.