Universes Where You're Banging Alex

After the thing with Emma Watson, I realized how foolish I'd been to test my machine so recklessly. I'd been expecting the alternate reality to be more or less analogous to mine—maybe with Emma Watson as a librarian or something, and me happening to live in the same zip code. But there was no reason to think that. I was as likely to end up in a reality where a new pandemic had devastated the world, or where nuclear war had destroyed the environment, or where aliens had conquered the Earth.

Not knowing the circumstances I would find myself in had been nearly fatal. What if I had leapt into a space station and not known how to put on a space suit, or become a surgeon and not known how to operate? I needed a way to cram for these universes like I would for an exam. A cheat sheet, notes, a study guide, something. And the easiest way to do that would be to come up with a way to give myself the alternate me's memories as well as his body.

I invented the device easily enough, an addition to my first machine that was complete after a few months mainly comprised of sleepless nights. Soon, I was ready to test the new process. I stepped into the machine and switched it on, this time selecting Alexandra Daddario—because, well, she's Alexandra Daddario.

I glanced at the new component as my machine powered up—and saw it burst into flame.

Everything went black. I had the peculiar feeling of going to sleep without feeling tired. I tried to think, but I couldn't remember my name, my birthday, where I was or what I was doing. Then, abruptly, I could.

Only I wasn't me.

***

Chad's eyes flittered briefly up from the paper as Dichen Lachman stalked past the breakfast nook, going straight to the counter and the coffee mug he'd already left by the brewed pot.

"Good morning," he greeted cheerfully, having finished his article and now focusing his complete attention on the beautiful body so close by, her lean figure somehow perfectly endorsed by the old shirt of his that she had on.

"What's so good about it?" Dichen demanded, pouring herself a cup. She sounded bleary, not quite alert after the previous night. Drinking, bed, and finally, too little sleep. She sipped carefully at the hot coffee. "And before you answer, remember that I consider about to be in the poorhouse as bad as actually being there."

Chad smirked. He knew her mood couldn't truly be that awful. She was still indulging in her favorite bad habit, walking around the house distinctly underdressed. The constant sight of her half-naked body, and the expensive lingerie she generally put it in, provided him with a great deal of inspiration for his photography.

"No need to worry," he assured her. "I met with that client of yours and I'll be doing that photoshoot you wanted after all."

"Thank God," Dichen moaned. Pleased, she came over to the nook and stood beside Chad, leaning her curvy thigh against his arm.

Chad moved over as she squeezed her lush body into the bench seat beside him. "Yes, well, it won't be pure art, but it won't be a total sell-out either. He's letting me use Deborah, for one thing. And I do like the product. It has a certain... novelty."

"You like that Deborah will be wearing it, you mean," Dichen scoffed ruefully. "Men."

"We can always see if you squeeze into it, if you like," he teased.

"Maybe the next time it's a private photo shoot."

"Too many of those and you'll have to claim me as a dependent."

"What makes you think I don't already? It's hard work, being a patron. Why can't you be a good boy and take one or two photos of celebrity twits in uncomfortable things?"

"I never settle for anything except what I want. A bad habit I picked up somewhere."

"Oh, turning it around on me, then?" There was a manila folder poking out from under the newspaper that Chad wasn't reading. Dichen slid it out and opened it, finding some glossy prints of potential models. Deborah Ann Woll was first and foremost, of course. "Sure this is a one-woman job?"

"No, not exactly... I thought I might cajole Alexandra into one more shoot."

"You're supposed to be training her, remember? You promised..."

"This will be an object lesson then. Besides, look at her," Chad insisted, paging back to the old glossy of Alexandra Daddario. He showed it to Dichen with pride, and she looked at it with open admiration. "She's perfect for the look they're going for. And we already know we work well together."

"It's time to cut the cord, Chad. Find a new muse. And no, not Deborah, not if all she puts into your head is playing in the sand."

"I thought you liked looking at her playing in the sand."

"Chad, you've spent so many rolls of film on that, I'm pushing you into selling bras just for a change of pace. I know she's no Alexandra, but you have to move on. Treat her as an equal. And treat Deborah as a tool. She's supposed to be inspiring you, after all, not locking you into some stale routine."

Chad sighed. He did have a new idea sketched out, even if it was to sell underwear. Deborah would be a customer in a upscale clothing boutique, with Alexandra the sales lady, introducing Deborah to the new clothing line that Chad's client wanted spotlighted. It would be warmer and more personable than the usual lingerie shoot, which sold either flesh or what was around the flesh. This would sell the camaraderie of the two women, mentor and student in the art of seduction, the tingle of their shared and flaunted sexuality, the eroticism of intimate friendship, the obscenity of conspicuous consumption... but in a hot way.

Usually, Chad worked only under the auspice of Dichen, brainstorming new ideas or carrying out her wishes, their creative vision in harmony. She paid him well for his work, and it did reasonably well with the outside world, attracting laurels if not profitability. But the Alexandra situation had left him a little flummoxed. Doing a little soulless corporate work for a friend of Dichen's, work that would bring in money for her rather than send it directly to her taxman's charitable deductions column, seemed like it would clear the air.

All that remained to be seen was whether Deborah, his new model, straight off the bus, could play the role. She had to be normal, but an improved normal, a vision of perfection that people nonetheless recognized in themselves. She would be outwardly shocked at the indecent attentions of the shopgirl, but inwardly thrilled—just as the good citizens of Gotham might cluck their tongues at the risqué material, but secretly find it speaking to them on an intimate level.

Chad didn't want to sell out. Despite it being lowly contract work, he wanted to make this shoot his best. He wasn't prepared to start unless he and his trusted right-hand, Dichen, were in agreement that it would work.

And Dichen teasingly let her long fingernails caress the inside of Chad's thigh, knowing that this fondling would prove him truly oversexed if she kept it up without adding more to the pot.

His patron she may be, but Dichen enjoyed Chad's creative process as much as the end results.

Chad put his hand around her, resting his palm affectionately underneath her shirt, on the smooth flesh of her buttocks... feeling the warm, soft skin under his fingers. Like he'd touched a livewire, his cock was shocked to life, giving an involuntary twitch inside his slacks. It stirred uneasily as Dichen's firm flesh moved against the light pressure of his hand.

Dichen nuzzled her face against Chad's, her lips brushing his cheek. "I think Deborah will do an excellent job. And so will Alexandra. So why don't you prove it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Before we celebrate."

***

Deborah showed up around noon, and when he buzzed her in, Margot Robbie came with her. Deborah, of course, was the new model—literally, as Alexandra might say—a very professional photography subject that Chad had worked with extensively since discovering her in an airport café last year, while Margot was his biographer—one of those people captivated by the chemistry between him and Alexandra, now trying to see it or point out its absence in Chad's burgeoning partnership with Deborah.

Margot was actually a pretty smart cookie, so adept in Chad's process that he could actually rely on her for advice, but he'd hate for her to know that.

"I'm ready to begin posing now if you want," Deborah said, demure as ever. "What's top of the menu?"

"Not done setting up yet," Chad told her. Damned bastard equipment. Nothing'd worked right since Alexandra left. "Margot, take her to the dressing room, I'll go over everything again." Then he turned away from her, checking the cameras and the lighting stands all over again.

Margot took Deborah's hand and walked her to the small room at the back of Chad's studio, where there was nothing but a dresser and a full-length mirror. Margot opened up the dresser, revealing all the bras, panties, and corsetry one might be expected to be shot in. As always, Deborah was amazed by the variety of sizes and colors, and moreover, by how quickly Margot rummaged through them to what she wanted.

"These are just test shots, right? It doesn't matter what I wear."

"It always matters," Margot said, eying Deborah as though double-checking something. "Wouldn't want to look bad in front of Chad, would we?"

Deborah colored.

Finally, Margot select a white bra with a pair of almost translucent cups, a white garter belt, and a tiny pair of white panties. The panties were nothing more than a wispy vee of material at the crotch, then white strings fitting below the hips to hold it in place.

"Is this what the real thing'll look like?"

"Close to," Margot said. "But it's expensive, so it'll have far less refinement."

After Margot was sure Deborah had put on the costume properly, she led her back into the studio. Chad looked up from his light meter and gave a low whistle, impressed with just about every line of Deborah's body, studying every curve and crevice she had. He could feel his cock twitch up against the crotch of his slacks, but no more than that.

"Okay, Deborah, stand there in the light, legs slightly apart, hands on your hips. I'm going to get a shot from the rear."

"Always fun," Margot quipped, moving out of the way of the camera.

Once Deborah was situated, Chad stared at her through the viewfinder and adjusted the focus of his Leica. Then, handing the camera off to Margot, he walked over to Deborah and lifted her chin so that she was looking curiously over her shoulder. She met his gaze evenly, though he indicated he wanted her to look back the way he had come, at the camera. After a little teasing back-and-forth—on her part—she did as bade, striking a statue pose with her eyefucking directed at Margot.

Still not satisfied, Chad bent and lifted the lacy hem of her panties a little higher over her buttocks, letting the soft flesh there spill even more generously out. Deborah could see the intrigue in Margot's eyes, and thought Margot could see the giddiness in hers. Her nervousness wasn't nervousness at all.

Chad moved back to Margot, took back the Leica, and snapped a few pictures. Once the digital of the first showed up on the viewfinder, he scanned it with a professional eye. "Very nice," he said. "Margot?"

Margot looked at it as well, raising her eyebrows in approval. "How do you do it?"

"It's easy," Chad said. "Deborah has a natural talent for being photographed. The camera loves her. I just help her bring it out." He checked his watch. "Alexandra's running late again. Margot, would you mind terribly? Just for this little run-through?"

Margot smirked. "You're transparent. Fine. But give me a real answer first; don't flatter Deborah anymore."

"Deb, take five," Chad called after a moment's deliberation. "It really is mainly Deborah. Me, I just have an eye for women. A natural talent for composition, coloring, angles... everything I learned just confirmed my instincts. I guess all the photographs I loved as a child just engrained themselves in me."

"Then why women? Why not nature photography? Why not... sports cars?"

"The company's better," Chad quipped, playfully snapping a picture of Margot in an unguarded moment, catching her inquisitive reporter's face.

Margot beamed afterward, knowing it would turn out beautifully. "You know what I think it is? I think that you love women. That's why you photograph them so well. That's why you worked so well with Alexandra. And that's why you're having trouble with Deborah. You don't feel the same way about her."

"Nonsense," Chad said, hiding himself in looking over Margot's digital. "Deborah's great."

"Yes. But have you slept with her yet?"

"Oh, grow up."

"It's a fair question for your biography. There's always an air of intimacy in your photos. How can you have that with someone you're not intimate with?"

"Deborah is a good friend."

"Good friends do not art make."

"Or grammar, apparently."

"Feh," Margot cursed, skirting away as Deborah returned, polishing off a bottled water.

"Ready for more?"

"When it's you, certainly. Margot, if you would?"

Margot went over to join Deborah in the area of action, underneath the dazzling spotlights, with Chad at a tripod to snap the whole run-through. Deborah, wearing a trenchcoat over her lingerie, projected demure artlessness, a jaded detachment that Margot countered with enthusiastic sexuality.

Chad snapped away as Margot played out her role as a shopgirl, showing Deborah a bra that made her put her head coyly to one side, visibly not making up her mind. Then Margot ripped Deborah's coat open, taking her bra off herself. Chad zoomed in for a close-up of Margot's hands as they closed on Deborah's bare breasts, massaging the round, full flesh, a tape measure crushed against one mound as if Margot could possibly be determining Deborah's cup size.

Chad got some good shots of the dangling, ignored tape measure as Deborah offered herself up to be groped, then zoomed out to photograph both of them—Deborah's eyes closing in pleasure as the fondling went on and on.

"The panties now," Chad said, causing Deborah's eyes to snap open.

"Just like a guy. Never any real foreplay," Margot said, finishing her sensuous massage with one last squeeze.

"Business before pleasure," Chad replied.

Margot picked up a pair of lacy panties and offered them up for Deborah's inspection. As the flash broke against her visage, Deborah put one finger pensively to her mouth, biting the nail in excitement, then pointing to Margot. Margot put a hand to her chest, signaling her surprise that Deborah wanted her to try them on herself. Bending to Deborah's insistence, Margot hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her pants and began to work them down her legs, panties and all, in little wiggles of her hips...

Chad snapped one last picture. "Alright, that's great for a run-through. I'd like to go over these in the lab, see what pops."

Margot jumped her pants back up her legs, noticing a little mewl of discontent from Deborah. She gave her a wink.

Chad's Leica, high-tech as it was, operated on the tried-and-true principles of photography, silver nitrate and film. Though the viewfinder took a digital 'Polaroid' to give a quick and dirty idea of what had been photographed, Chad never considered the deal sealed until he had developed it in his lab.

It was there that Alexandra Daddario was waiting.

***

The red light was on, showing that the color tank's chemicals had reached the desired temperature, and Chad was loading the rolls of film in when he recognized Alexandra's presence.

"Didn't hear you come in," he said, barely acknowledging her presence as finished loading the film into the automated machine, its clicks and grinding an enjoyable symphony to his ears.

"I didn't want to disturb you while you were working. I remember how much you hated that."

"I hated being disturbed while I was working with you. There's a difference."

"Not that much of one."

Alexandra was an old friend of his, someone he'd known before he'd hit it big in photography or she'd become a major model. But she'd grown tired of being seen by the world primarily through Chad's lens, and now was trying to follow in his footsteps as a photographer. It seemed an odd arrangement to everyone, Chad included, going from model to photographer, but he tried to make it work—always wondering if it was as hard on Alexandra as it was on him.

"So, what's on the menu today?" she asked.

"An exercise in futility," Chad sighed.

Alexandra hugged him from behind, pressing her warm breasts into his back, and Chad relaxed into the affectionate gesture. "Poor baby. Tell mommy what's wrong?

"Our corporate overlords want their bra and panties photographed. Fine. But there's some new lifting and separating technology in the bra that they don't want their competitors getting a look at, so I have to shoot around that. Imagine, shooting a woman in her bra without showing her breasts. I might as well shoot her in clown make-up. They're going to be shit."

"Oh, how can you say that without even seeing them?" Alexandra insisted, rustling his hair. "Deborah's a great model. They'll look fine."

Chad smiled. No matter how their working relationship changed, she kept trying to cheer him up and he kept brooding to draw her out. "When you're a photographer, you get a sixth sense about shit, from shooting enough shit. You see like a camera, and you know when the picture won't turn out right because the angle is all wrong. Or when a girl is gorgeous, but she just won't photograph worth a damn.

"And how's that?"

Chad shook his head. "It's just instinctive. You walk down the street, pass a girl like any other, and know she could sell a million posters because she's photogenic... whatever that means. Like you, Alex."

"So I'm a girl like any other?"

"Well, no, but that's a coincidence."

Alexandra punched him in the arm just as the buzzer sounded, announcing the development as complete. Chad jumped up to cajole the printing on the old machine to life. It took a rigmarole of pressed buttons and flipped switches.

"You'll see," Alexandra predicted. "They won't be all bad."

"Oh, she still believes in miracles..." Chad picked up the small prints that were coming out onto the tray. They were still damp, raw, and he handled them by the edges as he hung them on a small line.

"Crap," Chad huffed. "Crap. Megacrap. God, it's even worse than I thought."

"They look fine to me," Alexandra said, brushing by him to inspect the photographs.

"We're not going for fine. We're going for art. Any kid with a phone and a filter could do this. They lack glamour. There's no sex appeal. If I'm hired to sell sex, the least I can do is make it actually sexy." He sighed heavily. "I can correct the exposure, jazz up the lightning, but how am I supposed to photograph her boobs without photographing her boobs?"

"Why don't you just photograph my boobs? That always seemed to work before."

Chad was about to say how that certainly would give it sex appeal—maybe too much—but a light bulb came on over his head. "That's it!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"My boobs usually are," Alexandra replied dryly.

Chad took her arms in his hands, pulling them close. "You'll be the shopgirl, right? Only you're not just going to sell Deborah the lingerie, you're going to hide it. Put your hands over it, or your leg in front of it, or your hair, whatever works. We'll make it a mystery. Arranged just right, the customer will never see the damn thing they need to buy so damn bad! Hell's bells, Alexandra, this just might work!" he cried, eyes ablaze as he imagined the possibilities.