Who was The Photographer? Ch. 03

Preamble:

This story may be read on its own, or as continuation to Chapter 1 and 2. It is written to be complete in itself. Or, you may read this, and then read Chapter 1 and 2 as prequels if this story so titillates you.

In Chapter 1, the mature husband Julian, and wife Julia, reviewed the wife's young days racy lingerie photos. Probing, the husband discovered that the photographer was his wife's brother Jude, who is now an accomplished professional photographer.

As the husband desired a photo record of his well-preserved wife at her current 60 year old milestone, after overcoming initial apprehension, the couple agreed to have the brother do the shoot. They had dinner with the brother, and after a preliminary check out assessment, the shoot session was arranged.

In Chapter 2, the wife teased her husband on her preparations for the photo shoot.

As with Chapter 1 and 2, this is a banter-style teasing, titillating story. It is rendered in ornate prose, with philosophical musings in parts.

The action is light, the culminating lovemaking savage, but poetic. If you are aching for bruising, howling, torrenting action by rippling triathletes, this is not for you.

***

Her cell phone chimes. A message. The brotherly tone she had set for her only sibling, Jude. An urgent, yet velvety shrill.

"Coffee? Café round the corner before shoot. Tenish?"

"OK"

"Commando"

"Huh?"

"Dress commando."

"But why?"

"Prime your mood for the shoot."

"Oh?"

"See you."

"Hmm..."

***

Julia steps into the café. She orders a coffee from the counter. She finds a 2-seater table at a bay window corner at the back of the shop. She crosses her legs coquettishly. She expects to be edgy about her particular state of dress, or more aptly, undress. But so far, she is not, which pleasantly surprises her.

Jude enters the café. He scans. Julia looks away, lowers her head and recrosses her legs slowly, being careful not to bump the leg of the small table.

When she looks up, her brother is gazing straight at her with a slightly questioning, fascinated look. He strides to her table.

They hold each other's eyes. A smile creeps across his face as he sees one appears on hers. They exchange sibling pleasantries.



"You are, aren't you?"



She says nothing.

He scans around to see whether anyone is close. Softly, but assertively, "Show me."

A command. He is her younger brother. But, she cannot remember a time when she did not think of him as her big brother.

She blushes. And then, a deeper flare of rouge. Almost ruddy now.

He observes her. Her bare arms. Her straight back. The sweet tilt of her elfin chin as if she is tucking a violin under it. The curve of her bosom silhouetted against the bay window.

Jude orders his coffee. He likes his strong. They talk a little.

***

They leave the café. They walk down the block, round the corner.

He observes her. The hem of her cotton skirt swinging against her tanned calves. The small muscles of her calves rippling as she shifts and sways.

***

His studio is on the top floor of an 80-storey building, the tallest in the vicinity. The architectural style is a curious cross between classical Art Deco, and the kind of building structures that loom in noir sci-fi movies. Post-industrial glass and steel. But, it has a kind of stark soul in its austerity. Julia gazes up the shard of building, a massive erection, and then at Jude.

Jude stares down the biometric scanner with an intensity that raises the lift to the eightieth floor. They are duly delivered to a small private lift lobby.

Pointing to the illuminated keypad on the door, Jude turns to his sis, "Your birthday."

She remembers from her last visit here that Jude has set the access password to her birth date. She is the key to her brother's entry.

***

Like her last visit, she notes that the studio is sparsely furnished. Large umbrella lights. An opulent rug. A modern design sofa and armchair set. A black backdrop. The office, kitchenette, dressing room and washroom are across the small passageway.

The studio space opens up to a small private rooftop garden, with a swirl of 360 degree privacy. There is no parapet wall at the edge. A dizzy precipitous drop. The rooftop garden allows him the option of outdoor shoots.

Imagine a small quintessential verdant English garden, in glorious bloom, transplanted and airdropped onto a rooftop. Three sides of vivid green. One side nudging the clouds.

A green oasis in the city, where one can leave it all behind. A radical re-imagination of Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic "The Secret Garden". Julia's favourite novel growing up. She had copied her favourite paragraphs from the book to a pretty notebook, in girlish purple ink. It gave her a feeling that all was good in the world.

Julia feels like she has been transported to a secret garden perched on one side of the mountain top. The sunny side by day. The starry side by night. She imagines what it might be like to loll and luxuriate here all day everyday in this unlikely reality. Maybe a handsome prince may step off the clouds and commune with her?

***

Julia is awakened from her pleasant stupor by a pop. Jude has uncorked a Krug from his stash of poisons. Julia watches his hand glides the taper of the bottle to its opening, once, then again, to hand wipe the trail of foam. He serves the bubbly.

Julia contemplates the flute of bubbly in her hands. She observes the furious flurry of bubbles from her brother's Krug. So much of it. Streaming. Persistent. Never ending. Just where do they all come from?

Finally, she pouts lips to bubbles. She imbibes. Her brother's Krug is now in her. She imagines, and then feels, the bubbles streaming, racing to her extremities.

***

Jude studies his sister's feet.

"We've to prep your toenails."

Julia sits on the sofa. He retrieves his pedicure kit.

She has to remove her pantyhose. She stands up, reaches up under her skirt, and pulls her pantyhose down as far as she can, right in front of her brother. She removes them while Jude holds her arm to balance her. She cannot remove them all the way, while he holds her arm without falling over.

Jude perfunctorily reaches under her skirt. He grasps the sides of her pantyhose to help her. It is as if it is the most natural thing in the world for a brother to help his sis slip off her pantyhose.

Julia forgets that she does not have any panties on, until she has her pantyhose to her feet, and is stepping out of them. She is naked under her skirt.

Lifting her leg with Jude's help brings a cool sensation to her gathering moistness. Julia comes to the startling realisation that she is tingled by this situation. To her dismay, the type of pantyhose she had worn does not require panties. Panty top nylons. If she had known she would be in this situation so early in the photoshoot session, she would have worn panties, regardless of what Jude instructed, to preserve her modesty a little longer. She knows this misgiving is irrational as it has been already agreed with Jude that this is a nude photoshoot.

Sitting back on the sofa, Julia tries to keep her knees together. Jude sits on a low stool in front of Julia, facing her.

Jude cannot help but admire his sister's legs. Sylphy, silken, unblemished, save for a faint shading of mole dots on the back of her right thigh, which lends character.

Jude works on one foot at a time. He places her right foot on his left thigh. Julia has to pull her skirt up high, to the bottom of her mound, to get it out of the way for Jude to work properly. She wonders what her brother is seeing? But, Jude appears perfunctorily focused on his precision paint job, oblivious to everything else. An artist focused on his art, and right this moment, that canvas of art is her parade of dainty toenails. Micro art.

When he finishes, he puts back her right foot on the floor. Taking in the scent of a woman in the first stages of sublime excitement, Jude's eyes instinctively drift to what he speculates is the source of the scent.

When he finally looks up, she can surmise from the unbrotherly look that he relished the intimate sisterly view.

Moving on, Jude lifts Julia's left leg, and rests her feet on his right thigh. Julia's toes curl a little.

He leans in closer to her. Shifts her a little here and there. He surprises Julia. Without asking, he raises her skirt above her waist to get it out of the way, so that her legs have greater swing room. He does this, all the while, without taking his eyes away from her toenails.

He works on her toenails with rapt attention. When done, Jude moves her leg back to the floor. Julia pulls down her skirt. She closes her legs.

***

"Can I check you out a little, to prep you?"

Jude guides Julia to stand up. He gently raises her skirt to her waist. He parts her legs a little.

Jude has his face at his sister's femininity. Julia realises his proximity. She does not know what to think. Secrets. They grow. Never fade. Once he steals her secrets, she will always see her secrets in his eyes.

Jude tries to hide his mounting excitement. He examines her, making artistic calculus decisions for the photoshoot that is to come.

Jude asks Julia if he can touch her, to render her lady parts in the position he envisions, so that he can assess the visual effect. She nods weakly in muted assent.

Jude touches her feminine opening. He explores the minutiae of her womanhood to the extent that he can ascertain and decide what are the presentation options. A slight flushing of his face indicates his concentration. His forehead creases as he studies her petals. He does some delicate arrangement. Julia squirms a little, but, does not distract Jude's artistic focus.

Jude asks Julia to sit down. Julia spreads her legs a little to make room for Jude who is standing before her. This exposes more femininity to her brother.

"Your limbs are tense. You'll look stiff you in the shoot. I'm going to chill you a little."

Jude rubs her legs. He cannot keep from glancing at her exposed pubes. Julia is getting a thrill out of his kneading of her thigh as they talk about banal matters. Jude sees her gathering moist. Julia's heady scent is crowding the small studio.

Jude is becoming more aware of his sister's sexuality with every passing minute. His mind is wavering. No, he must not behold his sister as sport. He reminds himself. She is art. No, in fact, she is Art. The embodiment of Art.

After about ten minutes, and Julia fragile moments away from a powerful orgasm, he senses her ascend the smooth and rising curve to ecstasy. He stops, not having the will power to control himself if he continues any longer massaging her legs.

Julia's head is spinning. She is so close to an orgasm. And this is just a leg massage.

Jude releases Julia, pulls her skirt back down. Julia instinctively writhes a little, as if refitting her contours to her skirt, then, pats her skirt down.

***

They sip champagne.

Exploratorily, "There's something I've always wanted done... but never had the opportune moment."

"Oh? What might that be?"

"To be photographed..."

"Huh? Who is photographing who?"

"As a pro photographer, I'm always shooting, but never shot. I've always wanted a photo record of myself for posterity, but never got around to it. There're severe limitations with selfies. Can you shoot me?"

Laughing softly, "I thought this photoshoot is about me?"

"It is. All in good time."

"OK, if you entrust your posterity to me. Know that I can't photograph a fruitcake in suspended animation, if my life depends on it."

"Here's the camera. I've set it to point-and-shoot mode. All you need to do is press the button."

"I think I can manage that."

"I'll do three poses in the studio here. Then, three at the rooftop garden. You'll shoot multiple perspective angled shots for each pose. Don't fret, I'll guide you. Just shoot whatever feels right. We can cull the photos later."

"Perspective angled shots? You mean like I'll be lying on the floor like a pro photographer aiming the lens this way and that?"

"Yes, for some perspective shots. Bird's eye view too from a step ladder. After awhile, you'll get it. It'll be intuitive. Even enjoyable."

"Cool! Where do you want to start?"

"Wait!"

Jude takes off his shirt.

"Beefcake, huh?"

Julia pointing the camera at Jude.

"No! Not just yet!"

"Huh?"

Jude takes off his trousers. He turns modestly away from his sister, and begins to pull down his briefs.

"Whoa! Whoa! What's happening here?"

"I thought you understood. Nude shoot. If it's clothed, I could've gotten anyone to do it."

"Oh my god!"

"Sorry sis! This is presumptuous, insensitive and disrespectful of me. This must be awkward for you. Please forget I even asked."

Julia collects herself. She reflects and rationalises over the matter. Jude had kindly agreed to render his professional services to shoot her. And now, Jude is merely asking her, a mere amateur photographer, to return the favour. He wants a photo record of his body for posterity in the same way that she wants it for her body. And Jude being male, it would be awkward for him to source a non-family third party, male or female, to shoot him nude.

Male-shoot-male photoshoot carries potentially awkward gay associations, by stubborn socially conditioned societal norms.

Jude asking a female person to shoot him nude may be construed as he hitting on she. It may get unwieldy. The female photographer may allege molestation or something. It will be her word against Jude's.

"Jude, I've been hasty. Sorry! I've mulled this. I'm the one who is insensitive. I'm happy to shoot you. You've as much right as me to want a photo record of yourself for posterity. And I can appreciate your challenges in sourcing a photographer, be it male or female. We're family. If we can't count on family, who can we depend on?"

"Only if you're comfy, sis."

"I will be."

***

"Rule numero uno in photography. Both photographer and subject need to be chill. Otherwise, the unease will inevitably creep into the work."

"I agree."

"Now, I'm going to be forward here. Since we're both going to be nude eventually anyway, why don't we get nude now, to habituate, enjoy our champagne, chill a little, before we get started."

Julia is quiet. A brother and sister nude in an apartment in the sky, in a world unto itself. Her husband on business travel in another continent. She processes this. She does not reply. She does not know how to respond. After awhile, in an act of socially conditioned modesty, she turns her back to Jude. She peels off her blouse. She is in her black bra and skirt.

She turns to Jude nervously. Jude is visibly disappointed that Julia has changed her mind. He has been too forward, too fast.

"Can you help me with my bra and skirt?"

Jude goes behind Julia. He unclasps her bra. The garment falls to the floor. His eyes trace the gentle slope of her breast.

Jude comes to her front. He kneels before Julia. She places her right hand on his shoulder to balance herself. She writhes out of her skirt. Jude helps to pull her skirt down. The skirt is in a puddle at Julia's feet.

Julia's naked pubes are in Jude's face. There is a strange, wild light in his eyes. He has an unimpeded view of the tight slit of her womanhood, framed between her legs, accentuated by the firm mounds of her outer labia, bracketed generously by womanly hips. Her rip curl of thicket is a tamed wilderness. Soft, sheeny, mossy. An inedible delicacy.

His rising feeling is not entirely unfamiliar. Something between an ache and an itch. But smoother, warmer and somehow emptier. A pleasurable aching emptiness.

After awhile, Jude gazes up. Their eyes meet, full of connection. They say nothing. He cannot believe that she can be the repository of so much sensuality in one woman. He admires her rapturously. Julia's hand rises to her forehead to brush back an imaginary strand of trailing hair.

Jude stands up. He turns his back to Julia. He takes off his trousers, then, slips off his briefs. He turns to face Julia. They look at each other for awhile, each taking in the other.

Jude has his rightful legacy allocation of mellowed contours. He is scrupulously mown. His uncircumcised penis is above average in length, but by not much. His girth is decent sized, but not thick in a crass lewd way. His penis points down obliquely. He has one of those where it is difficult to tell whether it is semi-erect, or it is in its normal state. It exudes a kind of silent persistent soft power that can be called to action at short notice. An understated grandeur. And when he moves, his penis does not sway with frivolity. It maintains a kind of statuesque dignity.

This male detail is not lost on Julia. Her eyes linger on her brother in a swirl of curiosity and awe.

***

Jude freshens their champagne. Julia sits on the sofa, her legs crossed.

This is a good time to describe Julia. She is sixty. An attractive woman. Her most striking features are her short brown hair, lightened with some silver streaks, though the roots hint at a darker natural colour. Penetrating brown eyes. High cheekbones. A few freckles beneath her eyes. A lovely English smile. These combine to compose a most appealing face.

There is a touch of maturity in her figure. Nicely rounded, but firm. Neither overweight nor skinny. She gives signs of taking care of herself, without being obsessive over it. Her breasts, if one discerns them from beneath a t-shirt, are on the small side. Pert high-hanging fruits of tear drops. Her t-shirt will also reveal that the freckles continue on her upper chest and arms. The dusting of freckles accentuates her cleavage.

Julia had a sultry look in her youth, as now. A comforting timelessness.

Jude is a six footer. Well-trimmed beard. Clean cut. Aquiline. He looks the part of the archetype roving intrepid photojournalist, comfortable in the method to the madness of the world. It is easy to imagine him ducking machine gun fire on a busy day in Rwanda, or ascertaining the finer cultural nuances of the Shan mountain people in Myanmar. Raw energy. Mellowed experience.

***

They finish their champagne.

"Let's get started. I'll guide you with instructions to begin with. As you settle down to the shoot dynamics, you may shoot according to your intuitions."

"Sounds good!"

"A photo is a moment. It's yours to seize and capture. A moment at a time."

"How very poetic! I will remember that. I'll add that the photo outlives its moment, to come into its own, only to be reimagined by the viewer."

"First three poses in the studio. You can shoot any number of perspective shots for each pose, to cover the angles."

Julia curiously, "What's that thingy you're wearing?"

"Oh that! It's just a wearable tech gizmo. I'll leave it on."

***

Pose number one.

Statuesque. Jude is in the classic pose of Michelangelo's David.

Standing. Legs slightly apart. Gazing left.

Right arm straight down, fingers in contact with the side of mid-thigh. Left arm raised and bent, fingers just short of touching left shoulder.

"Julia, take the frontal shots."

Click, click, click.

"Now, oblique frontal shots."

Click, click, click.

"Profile shot."

Click, click.

"Bird's eye perspective. Up the step ladder."

Click, click, click.

"Now, lie down in front of me, about two feet away. Worm's eye perspective."

Click, click, click.

Jude perfunctorily, "Still worm's eye. Close-up of my groin. Centre the view on my head."

"Head?"

Touching himself, "Yes"

Julia is a bit surprised. After a moment of hesitation, she points the lens up. Her worm's eye spies another worm, emerging from between two low-hanging fruits. It winks at her with a cocky single eye. She is seeing her brother eye to eye. How cute is that?