Picture Perfect

Los Angeles. The city of dreams. Or, more accurately, the city where dreams come to die.

My job is to keep the dream alive for those foolish enough to chase it. At least for a little while. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of young actors and actresses entrust me with the creation of their photo book, highlighting the best of their features and finding their best possible angles, hoping it will set them apart from the pile of applications sitting on some casting agent's desk. Spoiler alert: it won't. Most of them are nothing more than pretty faces, and in these city, those are dime a dozen.

Nevertheless, I have earned my reputation as one of the best in the business.

I arrive at my studio, half an hour early as usual. Not a speck of dust on the walls or the floor. I always make sure I clean the place every afternoon before I leave. In the morning, I prefer to focus on the more meaningful parts of the job.

I flip through the pages of my appointment book so I can take a look at the list of today's clients. Of course, I could have switched to a digital booking system long ago. It would certainly make the process quite a bit more efficient. But, to be perfectly honest, I'm not very good with computers -- and even after twenty-five years in the business, I haven't had the heart to switch from the tried and true pen-and-paper approach. Call it a little quirk of mine.

My first appointment for the day goes by the name of James Bennett. He's going to be here any minute now.

I make sure my appearance is as it should be: Black leather trousers, grey turtleneck sweater, rectangle-rimmed glasses, blond dyed hair tied behind my head. I have always maintained that my appearance is an important part of the job. When a client sees me, I subconsciously project the image I want to capture with my camera. So that's what my image should be: picture perfect.

The doorbell rings, signalling the arrival of my client. Sitting at my desk, I buzz him in.

A young man walks into the office and closes the door behind him. Tall, thin, with a clean-shaven pale face, his hair short and curly -- a haircut that has become quite popular with boys his age these days.

"Good morning, Mrs. Turner," he says with a soft, British accent.

"Emma. Call me Emma," I reply, smiling. I always try to establish communication on a first name basis. In my experience, it makes clients more comfortable, helps them loosen up a bit.

"Emma," he says and tilts his view downward, blushing. "That doesn't sound quite right. Is it alright if I stick to Mrs. Turner?"

I chuckle. "Mrs. Turner it is, then. You must be James, right? Or should I say, Mr. Bennett?"

"James is fine," he says, chuckling back at me.

"Well then, James. Let's get to work, shall we?"

I direct James to the white draped section of the room, to the tall metal stool, set between a complex system of softboxes and reflectors and intimidatingly large studio lights.

He sits, practically slouching, his hands hiding his body to the best of their ability. He looks at me nervously. "Is that alright?"

"Well. Let's work on your posture a little bit, shall we?"

He looks flustered. "I'm sorry Mrs. Turner, it's the first time I'm doing this and I-"

I hold my hand up, interrupting him. "Don't worry. Everyone takes a little time to warn up, it's quite normal. For now, I just want you to relax, okay?"

"Okay."

Actually, it's not quite normal. Usually, the people whose life's dream to become actors are those who have no problem projecting their image to the world. James appears to be doing the exact opposite, trying to hide his face and body as much as he can.

"So," I continue, "I want you to straighten your back and let your arms loose. And give me a nice, big smile."

He dutifully follows my advice. I click the button on my camera a few times.

"So, James. Where are you from?" I always found that small talk, however mundane, helps to lighten the mood a little. In this case, it's needed a little more than usual.

"Cambridge. Although I've lived in London for the past few years. You know, studying acting and all. I've been here for just a month, give or take."

"Trying to make it big in Hollywood?"

"Aren't we all?"

I take a look at my camera and I go through the photos I've taken so far. There's clearly something missing. Sure, he's a good looking guy, but the stiff awkwardness in his look and posture is unmissable.

Well, "good looking" might be a bit of an understatement. I can imagine all the girls his age fawning over him. But still, his pictures never rise above the level of good enough. Good enough is not good enough for me. I'm a professional, I'm supposed to be the best in the business, and I want something more.

I approach him.

"May I?" I tell him, pointing at the collar of his shirt.

He nods and mumbles, "sure".

I adjust the collar a little bit and unbutton the top button of his shirt. Perhaps this will help him open up a little bit.

I lift my head and I catch his eyes staring directly into mine. As soon as our eyes meet, he looks to the side. I think there's a slight blush in his cheeks -- well, maybe a little more than before.

"What's the matter, James? Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just-- I'm a little nervous."

"No need to be. You're doing great." A few words of encouragement never hurt anyone, right?

"I don't know. It's just that--" He pauses. "Nevermind."

"What's the matter? Something bothering you?"

He widens his eyes a little bit. "No, no. Everything's fine, really."

"Come on, spit it out. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. Trust me, alright?"

He takes a deep breath. "It's just... It's just that you're amazingly beautiful."

I take a step back, my mouth agape. James stands up, shaking his head, and he walks past me. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No! Wait!" I tell him. He turns around, looking directly into my eyes. He doesn't look away this time. In fact, I find my eyes veering away from his. I might even be blushing, ever so slightly. "It's fine, really. It's good you told me. You're also amazi-- I mean, now that we got it out of the way, we can get the job done right. Okay?"

He nods. "Okay."

He comes back and sits on the stool again. I bring my hands closer to his neck and I resume adjusting his collar. However, this time, I find my index finger lightly touching his neck.

I lift my head and look into his eyes. He's looking directly into mine once again--but this time, nobody's looking away. He brings his face closer to mine and he gives me a light kiss on the lips. He pulls his head away.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Turner, I just--"

I place my finger on his lips to shut him up. I kiss him, this time guiding my tongue through his lips. He places his right hand at the back of my neck. He puts his left hand around my waist, pulling me closer to him, bringing my body closer to his. I feel his hard, flat stomach pressing against mine.

I've been finding it more and more difficult to keep my body in shape as I'm pushing fifty. I've always tried to maintain a healthy diet, stayed away from alcohol, ate my fruits and vegetables. I tried to never let myself go. It's been a pretty long time since I last worked out, but still. I try to be in a good shape for a woman my age.

My ex husband never appreciated that. He stopped noticing my efforts around a decade ago. I always hoped that one day, he'll look at my body like he did when we had just met. That day never came. No matter how many times I walked around the bedroom in my sexy lingerie, all I got was indifference and disdain.

I unbutton one more button from the top of James' shirt, then one more. I kiss him on his chest as he caresses the back of my head.

I pull back ever so slightly to see his reaction, to get an idea of how he feels about all this. His eyes are filled with lust, the kind that I haven't seen in ten years, maybe even more. I had almost forgotten that it's possible for a man to look at me like this.

James unbuttons the clasp of his belt.

I can't believe this is happening.

He pulls down his pants and his underwear, revealing his rock-hard cock. He looks at me and nods.

I fall on my knees, placing my right hand on his thigh and caressing it lightly. Up close, his cock appears even larger--huge, even--compared to my ex husband's, that is.

I touch the tip with my tongue, circling it lightly at first, then I place my lips around it. I feel it getting even harder, though I didn't think this was even possible. I push it deeper into my mouth, sucking hard, feeling his veins against my tongue and lips.

I keep sucking, moving my lips across its entire length, barely being able to fit it in my mouth. I stroke it with my left hand as I move it in and out of my mouth.

I feel his hand caressing mine. Then, he grabs it a little bit tighter, as I feel his cock pulsating, his cum filling my mouth as it flows freely out of the tip.

I pull back and look at him. He's panting, blushing harder than ever before, sweat rolling down his face and his chest.

I swallow. "So, James. How are you feeling now?"

"I-- That was--" He stutters, still panting. "Mrs. Turner, that was--"

"Emma."

"What?"

"After what just happened between us, I think we can address each other on a first-name basis, don't you think?"

He smiles and nods. "Right... Emma."

I smile back at him. "That's more like it."

I suppose I should be feeling some kind of guilt or shame about what just happened. But it's been so long since I've felt something like this, I think I deserve it. Even after I found out that my ex husband had been screwing his secretary behind my back for the better part of the past ten years, I kept blaming myself. I thought I wasn't good enough. I wasn't hot enough. Like I wasn't a real woman anymore.

Finally, I found a man who appreciates me for who I am.

He shuffles around uncomfortably. "Okay, so... What now?"

"Well," I say, "we could go back to our photography session, if that's alright with you."

"Right." He seems unsatisfied with my answer.

I look at him questioningly. "What? Anything wrong?"

"Emma... That was amazing. I was wondering if you-- you know, if you're in the mood for something more."

"Something more?" I say, puzzled, but intrigued.

"Well, you know." I see his cock getting harder once again, his pants still down. "I just can't get enough of you, you know?"

"I see someone is trying to tell me something," I say, my heat tilted downwards.

He looks down at his cock. "Well. Not much point hiding it, is there?"

"Well," I say, smiling. "Speaking strictly as a professional, I can think of a few more things that may help you loosen up."

He comes closer to me. He takes off my glasses and places them gently on my desk. He unties my hair and lets it flow over my shoulders.

He looks directly in my eyes, for the first time without those rectangle-rimmed spectacles between us, and he pulls up my turtleneck sweater. And I suddenly feel a little nervous. He's going to see my body for the first time. What if he doesn't like what he sees? I've been hiding behind my glasses and my clothes this entire time, after all.

But as he removes my sweater completely and drops it on the floor, I see something that I hadn't seen in my ex husband's eyes in a very, very long time: adoration.

He grabs me and lifts me up, his right arm around my waist, his left arm under my butt. He carries me effortlessly to my desk and lays me gently upon it. I look into his eyes with anticipation.

He slowly pulls down the zipper with a smirk on his face, and my leather pants slide off my legs as James carefully pulls them off me and drops them on the floor, next to my sweater.

I spread my legs open as I anticipate his next move. He's the one taking the initiative now. He drops on his knees, placing his hands lightly on my thighs, and brings his head between them.

I feel my whole body quiver. He's good at this. Really good.

As I feel myself getting more and more wet the longer he goes, I place my hand at the back of his head and I push it against my thighs. A shiver goes down my spine as I let a small gasp. I cover my mouth with my hand. I want to shout, but I can't let the neighbours know what's going on. I can't hold it in anymore. I try to keep it quiet, but I can't. I try to muffle my moans and my groans and my screams with my hand as I clasp James' head tighter.

Finally, I let go of him. He stands up, a satisfied grin on his face. I'm still panting as I try to come back to my senses. I let my arms and legs go loose.

"Emma? Everything alright?" he asks softly.

"What does it look like to you?" I say under my breath.

"This whole experience is helping me loosen up, that's for sure."

"What can I say?" I reply. "I know how to get the best performance out of my clients. I'm a true professional, after all."

"That, you are. But Emma, the performance is not finished yet."

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, Mr. Bennett. Don't keep me waiting."

"Oh, so I'm Mr. Bennett now? Whatever happened to James?"

"Well, things have changed compared to a few minutes ago, don't you think?"

His face suddenly takes a serious expression. "But Emma, I don't have... You know."

"What? Protection?"

He nods.

"What are you afraid of, getting me pregnant? Don't worry, Mr. Bennett. That ship has sailed. Trust me."

He smirks and places his arms on my hips, as he comes closer to me, rock-hard once again.

He softly slides his cock inside me effortlessly, having made me wetter than I have ever been in my entire life. I moan as I feel him inside me, thrusting softly, my body sliding against the smooth office desk.

It was never like this with my ex husband. It's not that he didn't fuck me. He did. But it always felt like a formality, sometimes even an obligation. He would usually get home tired from work, he would thrust his limp dick inside me a few times, and when he came he would fall asleep right away. Cuddles and kisses were luxuries, completely out of the question. I always wondered if he was like this with that secretary of his.

But it doesn't matter anymore. I'm sure that bitch would be pretty jealous if she knew what's happening to me right now.

James keeps thrusting, his cock getting harder inside me. And as he goes, he keeps thrusting faster and faster, my body rubbing against the surface of the desk. I moan and I groan, louder and louder, my concern for the reaction of my neighbours waning by the second.

James grabs the sides of my waist tightly. I feel his body slamming into mine, his grip tightening as he goes, until he comes to a full stop.

His cock pulsates vigorously as he blows his massive load inside me.

He stays there for a few moments, panting, and then he pulls back, a wide smile on his face.

"Well then, Mr. Bennet. I believe this concludes your performance."

"Yes, Mrs. Turner. I believe it does."

We both get dressed, without saying another word. He heads back to the metal stool in the middle of the bright white draping surrounded by the set of photographic equipment and studio lights and softboxes, which somehow seem more welcoming to him now. I pick my camera back up and snap a few more photos. I don't even need to give him any instructions anymore. He has the look and posture of a seasoned professional.

I smile as I look at the latest batch of photos on my camera. I have the feeling this is shaping up to be the finest work of my career.