Pictures of Her

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Author's note:

All characters involved in sexual activity are 18 years or older.

This is a standalone story in three acts.

I hope you enjoy it.

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Pictures of Her

I want to be more than a prop in her commemorative pictures

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"Jason, I wanted to ask you if you could do me a favor?"

I held my locker open. "Umm... OK, what kind of favor?"

She shuffled her feet and looked down at them. It was unusual for Tina to be unsure of herself. "It's kind of a big favor."

I wouldn't call Tina a friend. It wasn't like I could just call her up and ask her to hang out. I didn't even have her phone number. But we had a lot of classes together, and we talked occasionally. Just enough that asking a favor fell barely on the right side of the line of being too presumptuous.

"What kind of favor?" I repeated. I had no idea what Tina McCarthy could possibly want from me. Or maybe I did. I groaned inside.

She wasn't the hottest girl in school, just the prettiest. There's a difference. She dressed too conservatively to be considered hot. It only left a vague idea of her body. She wasn't fat, she wasn't too thin, her chest was not too big and not too small. But that left a lot of leeway. All I had to go on, all anybody had to go on, was her face.

Her face was damn pretty. She checked all the boxes. All my boxes, anyway. Deep brown doe eyes under dark eyelashes, a cute button nose, a wide, warm smile that she was currently using to maximum effect on me. Her mouth was just a hair too wide for her face, and it made her even prettier. Her chin had a subtle dimple, as did her cheeks. Her brown hair was done in a tight wave that tapered to two pigtail braids that faded to fine strands of lighter auburn as the last six inches of those braids were left loose.

Despite the young girl-next-door look, she had intelligence and confidence in those eyes. The braids were not childish; instead, the way she carried them, and herself, made her look young and carefree and ready to take on the world all at the same time. She was very definitely a woman, not a little girl, but a woman who had not forgotten what it was like being a girl.

Yeah, you could say I was more than a bit smitten. Did I mention that she was a straight-A student and would be Valedictorian when we graduated next month? Yeah, that kind of girl, and more.

She could easily have fit in with the popular crowd, despite her grades and her legendary punctuality both at the start of class and with all her assignments. She was on friendly terms with the popular crowd, but she wasn't one of them.

She was on friendly terms with everyone from the Prom King and Queen to the athletes to the geeks to the burnouts who still wore AC/DC t-shirts and gathered just outside the fence to smoke pot every day after school. She seemed to be on her own plane of existence, one that cut through the planes everybody else lived on, rather than hover above them.

She was a force of nature, the most quiet, reserved force of nature you'll ever see. She took shit from no one, but instead of making a scene, she always had the perfect line. A line that would be absolutely crushing, devastating, the kind of comeback everybody else thinks of five minutes after they need it.

She delivered them with impeccable timing, in the sweetest, softest voice, and with a smile on her face that could melt steel. She never held a grudge, and nobody held one against her. Even when her tongue could spit pure acid, she was known as the kindest, most down-to-earth person in our graduating class.

Which made it all the more unfathomable that asking me for a favor rendered her awkward and uncertain.

"I thought I could take you to lunch. No obligation, just let me pitch the idea."

It was starting to sound like a pretty big favor, but a free lunch with arguably the prettiest girl in school, just to listen, didn't sound awful.

Still, I felt like I had to push back at least a little. I did have the upper hand here, after all. "OK, but at least tell me what kind of favor. Some vague outline just so I know what I am in for."

She shuffled her feet again, then looked into my soul with those eyes. "You can't tell anybody I even asked, before or after."

If my curiosity wasn't already high enough to seal the deal, at least for lunch, it had shot up straight to eleven. I was in, no matter what. But I had to get her to tell me. I dragged two fingers across my lips. "I'll take it to my grave."

I'm not the kind of guy to kiss and tell, so this wasn't a hard promise to make. And I was sure there would be no kissing involved, so it was even easier. I was more sure than ever that I had a good basic idea of what was involved.

"OK," she took a deep breath. "It involves most of a morning out in the sticks, and your camera." She must have seen the look on my face because she quickly added, "I'll buy you lunch, a nice one, not just hot dogs or sandwiches."

I'm in the school photography club. I was considered a bit of a star. I'd won a few awards, and not just the ones the school itself gives out. It had given me enough of a big head to seriously consider making it my major in college. Despite a paid gig here and there, I was not a professional, but I felt like I was damn close.

"A whole morning? For a free lunch?" I put my head back, trying to look like I was on the fence, and trying to look like the fantasies inspired by her insistence on secrecy were not running through my head like a fast-forward movie reel.

"A nice one. At a nice place." she reiterated.

"If you say the word 'exposure' even once, the deal is off."

Even at my tender age and with my naive eagerness to break into the business, I knew that was a word so foul to artists that the only people who dared utter it had names that started with a 'K' and ended with "A-R-E-N"

"What part of 'never tell anybody' makes you think I would dare use that word?"

I smiled. "OK." We agreed to meet after fourth period and go to the local Italian beef joint just down the block. The nice lunch at the nice place apparently depended on my going through with the morning.

------

"You know my birthday is a week after graduation?" she asked once we'd sat in the cheap plastic chairs and dug into our food. "Nuh-uh," I mumbled through a mouthful of beef sandwich.

She took a bite of her sub sandwich. It was a more petite bite than mine, but she wasn't shy about chowing down. As properly as she always dressed and carried herself, you could never call her 'prim'. She wrapped her lips around the thin shaft of her straw and sucked a mouthful of sweet soda into her mouth. I used the effort of swallowing the big bite of sandwich to mask any expression that might have revealed what was going through my mind watching it.

"I didn't know that," I said, my mouth finally free to articulate more than a grunt. "So you want me to photograph a birthday party or something?"

"Not a party. Just one person."

I had my own waxed paper cup of Coke in my hand, and I used the straw to point at her. "Just you, you mean?"

She bit her lip. Apparently, her nervousness was about more than whether or not I would agree. "Every year, since I was 12, I've taken pictures of myself on my birthday."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "The first time, I had such a great time at my birthday party, I really wanted to remember it."

"There was nobody taking pictures at your party? Your parents or something?" I would bet she had the kind of family that did all the things. The kind where birthday parties were big, formal affairs, where every important moment had a protocol, a clearly defined way of celebrating and marking it.

"Oh, there were. But I wanted to remember who I was then. Not just the party, but me. What I was like, what I looked like. Just me, without all the... the other people, the decorations and presents, all that stuff. Just me."

That was an intriguing idea. I never doubted she had depth to her, but twelve-year-olds were not known for thinking of the future. "And so you just decided to do it, year after year?"

"The next year, I had..." She gave me that soul-probing look again, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to give me the full story. "I had changed. A lot. I felt like I wanted to capture that."

"I see," I said. I bet she'd changed a lot since, too. I maintained eye contact.

"After that, it just became my thing. I take pictures of myself, and some pictures of things to remind me of important things that happened in the prior year."

"And you want to keep this going?"

She nodded. "Yeah. For the rest of my life. I want to be able to look back at who I was. Back when I didn't know who I would become."

"That's actually a really nice idea," I said. I meant it.

"Thanks. So will you help me?"

"What's different this year?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've been taking your own pictures every year. I assume selfies with your phone or something? So why me, now?"

"This is my 18th birthday. It's a big milestone. I want good pictures." she hesitated, nervous again. Before my mind could run away with me, she said, "I mean with graduation, and... some other things..."

"So why do we have to go out to the sticks?"

"Not the sticks, really." She gave me a general idea of the area she had in mind. There was nothing out there but farm fields and a few patches of small woods. It wasn't the middle of nowhere exactly, but it was pretty much nowhere as far as this area was concerned. "There's an old abandoned farm building out there. I want to do it there this year."

"Is that part of something you want to remember this year?"

"Not so much remember, but I think it suits me better. Who I am now. I'm going to be going out into the world, on my own. I mean, college, yeah, not exactly getting thrown to the wolves, but when I saw the place, I don't know, it felt like it represented something. Freedom, or hope, or the fact that the emptiness of it suggests that everything is possibilities."

"Wow." I was genuinely impressed. I'm not far from a straight-A student myself, but that was a deeper thought than I could remember ever having. "It sounds pretty interesting." Then my more practical mind kicked in. "But I can't use the pictures in my portfolio or anything."

"No," she said flatly, not inviting any negotiation. "I don't want you to keep any copies, either. You have to promise me you won't. They're too... personal. I need to show... myself who I really am. I don't want to feel like I am posing for an audience."

So much for doing this for exposure. "I promise."

"I can't offer you anything but lunch."

If there was a heaven and I ever got to the Pearly Gates, I the fact that I did not glance down at her body would be right at the top of my resume.

"I'll take it," I said. Her smile left me as a puddle on my seat.

======

It sure felt like the middle of nowhere. We'd driven separately, and I doubt I would have found it if she hadn't sent me the GPS coordinates. We parked at what appeared to be an official county park that was down a gravel road a mile from a county highway spidered with cracked pavement and striped with faded, barely visible lane markings. The bare spot of dirt that served as a parking lot could have held 4 or maybe 5 cars, if they negotiated ahead of time how they could all squeeze in.

Tina was sitting in her car, engine running and the radio softly playing. Classical music. She was not a party girl. She went to parties, sometimes, but never drank, never got even remotely wild, and never left with anybody. Or so I'd heard.

She was wearing a loose sundress that came down to her knees. It was unusual for her, she usually wore slacks and a blouse. The most casual I'd ever seen her was jeans and a sweater. And she looked nervous.

"We've got about a quarter-mile walk," she said as I unloaded the hatchback. Jesus, the equipment I'd brought filled two fairly heavy bags. Lugging all that a quarter mile over trails was going to be a huge pain in the ass.

"How good is that lunch?" I asked, looking down the meandering path she was pointing at, then back down at my bags.

"Pretty good. Anything I can carry?"

I hefted the lighter of the two bags. It was still pretty heavy. "Either one would be pretty tough for you." With the way she was made up, it probably wouldn't do for her to work up a sweat. "And if I gave you one, I'd be unbalanced."

I would have to tough it out. It wouldn't matter if I worked up a sweat. Luckily, it was early enough, and there were enough trees around that it might not happen. The return trip wouldn't be so pleasant.

What Tina had described as an old farmhouse was a stone block building with no doors, windows, or roof. It looked big enough to maybe have been two rooms, but it was just one now. The inside was surprisingly free of the usual detritus found in abandoned buildings near large cities. No empty liquor bottles, no used condoms or needles, and very little graffiti.

Around it was nothing but a field of weeds aside from a few ancient artifacts. Two oil barrels with holes rusted through them, an old bicycle, and the wire frame of what looked like it used to be a mattress.

"How did you find this place?" I asked, looking around. There wasn't a road or building in sight in any direction. We'd started out on a trail, but it had petered out and for the last fifty yards was all brush and weeds. It wasn't likely anyone would just stumble across it.

"Google Earth," she said. I raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to elaborate. "I sometimes poke around looking for interesting places. Then I drive out to see them."

"That's really cool," I said. "So where do you want to set up?"

She walked over to stand in front of one wall of the farmhouse. "Is the light good here?"

I looked it over. The light was pretty harsh when the sun wasn't behind a cloud, but it would be manageable. The shadows as the sun climbed should not interfere.

Crumbling mortar and heavily weathered uneven stone made for a nice backdrop without being too busy. I put my bags down a good distance away and started pulling things out.

I grabbed the camera first, out of habit. You never want to be caught unprepared if something photo-worthy should appear unexpectedly, and the way she was standing nervously against that wall in her sundress, the morning sun making her skin look golden, I thought that such an opportunity may arise.

"You're a professional, right?"

It was the same question she'd asked me at lunch when she'd made her pitch. I had told her that I hardly make any money at it, but that wasn't what she'd been after.

"I mean in the sense of professionalism." she'd asked. "You know, discretion. And it's just business, no judgment, no commentary, just take the pictures."

I'd wondered then and wondered now why that was so important. "Yes, I do my best," I said. "Why?"

"These pictures are pretty personal." She gave me a nervous look that tried to come off hard and failed.

"Yes, you told me that yesterday. Look, I'll just be the guy that gets the light and settings right and pushes the button. I might have some advice on angles and lighting and the like, but other than that, they're your decisions."

She accepted my claim with a nod. She stood straight, almost rigid by the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, one hand on each shoulder. "Just as we discussed," I reassured her. "Just doing a job, I'm not here to judge or to try to impose my own ideas."

She nodded again, biting her lip. She was hesitating over something, her posture protective, withdrawn. She was making some kind of decision. I didn't know her that well, but this seemed really unlike her.

Then all at once, I fully understood why this whole thing had made her so nervous. She pushed the dress off her shoulders, letting it fall to her hips, but kept her arms crossed over her chest.

I froze, for the obvious reason, but the thought crossed my mind that this photo session was going to be something I never expected. I had thought it might involve a few shots that were a little risque, but this put a whole different twist on it.

She was covering herself, but it was obvious that she was not wearing a bra. I wanted her to move her arms. I wanted to know if she was wearing panties. But she was staring at me, looking for a reaction.

Given her repeated need for reassurance about my professionalism, I was sure the reaction she was looking for was not the one that came naturally to a guy when the prettiest girl in school suddenly strips for him.

I unfroze and gave a curt nod, accepting the implied terms of my job, and went to check over my camera. I made sure not to point it her way. Watching her without obviously watching her, I saw her drop her arms and peel the dress off her hips. She was not wearing panties.

She bent to pick the dress up then stood, frozen herself. I glanced back at her, keeping my expression neutral through sheer force of will. "You know it will take me about 15 minutes to get set up?"

I used the comment as an excuse to look her over, hoping it looked like I was a professional who was more concerned with calculating f-stops and exposures, gauging how the light would work with those firm, round breasts, how it would pick out the relief map of goosebumps surrounding her nipples, how it would create shadows in the thick and somewhat unruly triangle of hair between her legs.

I was doing all that, but I am only human. Despite my carefully maintained professional demeanor, I was intently studying the view and storing it away for future reference.

She suddenly relaxed and laughed when she realized she was going to either undo her dramatic reveal or stand around naked twiddling her thumbs for fifteen minutes.

"It'll give you a chance to be less self-conscious." I tried to relieve that awkwardness. "That'll probably make whatever pictures you want turn out better."

"Yeah, probably." she held the dress up, then carefully folded it. She walked over to where she'd set her bag down and knelt by it, her back to me. The form her body took, legs folded up against herself, the firm but delicate curve of her butt and the long, lean stretch of her back made me take a chance. I stood as she fished in the bag and snapped a picture.

She heard it. She turned her upper body and face to me, one hand covering her breast. Her expression looked like she was less than pleased.

"That", I gestured toward her, "is so you. I mean, I've only ever talked to you in class, seen you around, you know. But something about the way you are doing that, how carefully you folded that dress and are packing it away. I don't know, it seemed to capture something about who you are."

She looked doubtful.

"I can delete it," I said. "And I promised not to keep any of these."

She cracked a smile. "No, that's OK. Thank you."

I quickly set up. A tripod for the camera, though I would probably mostly be doing handhelds. A fold-out reflector to soften the harsh contrast the sun would produce. I set up a small, lightweight folding table, just big enough to hold an assortment of lenses and other accessories along with a box of memory cards and my power bank.

Meanwhile, Tina had unpacked her bag. There was a plaque of sorts, made of poster board with a big "18" on it outlined in glitter and sporting a graduation cap. Her actual cap and gown were present as well, laid out on a towel stretched across a relatively flat patch of weeds. She had brought a set of clothes that I had seen her in many times, her typical school outfit.

She stood and faced me. "Sorry. I jumped the gun on that."

I was done setting up, so I turned to her. "That's OK. I'm not here to judge, remember? And the time does appear to have let you get used to it."