Who was The Photographer? Ch. 03

Click, click.

Jude pleased, "You're doing well. You seem to have an instinct and eye for this."

***

Pose number two.

Frontal. Standing. Leans against the table. Left leg straight down, sole flat on floor. Right leg bent, pivoted on fore sole on floor. Right arm extended straight down to tabletop, resting on palm, supporting torso.

Left arm bent, extended down, fingers at base of penis, holding penis pointing vertically up.

"Julia, frontal shots."

Click, click, click.

"Now, oblique frontal shots."

Click, click, click.

"Worm's eye view."

Jude glances down at Julia. She lies seductively supine on the floor, purposefully focused on her shot. Her legs are parted revealing her loins. A petal is showing only just so. The photographer contemplates the subject as the subject ascertains the photographer. A curious pleasing circularity that feeds into the composition.

Click, click, click.

"Still worm's eye view. Close-up of my groin."

Click, click.

"Now, get up. Eye-level close-up of my groin."

"Like so?"

"Closer"

"Adjust yourself a little."

Jude makes small movements. His head is now aligned to his navel. It gives a sense of comparative dimension to the composition.

Click, click, click.

***

Pose number three.

A masculine chill pose. Gazing at camera. Seated on sofa. Legs apart.

Left arm straight down, hand on mid-thigh. Right arm bent, hand at groin, four fingers extended over sac, thumb against side of penis, inclining it left at one o'clock position.

The composition is centred on his groin, the disposition of a ranging serpent in suspended animation, the tense underside of his shaft culminating in the tender mooring of his frenulum.

Like a good, bare chested bloke sitting chill on his home couch, watching TV football, nursing a beer can in hand. Allowing the imagination to take a moderate leap, the beer can is his shaft.

"Julia, shoot as guided by your artistic impulses."

***

They move on to the rooftop garden. Where there was an overhang of covert conspiratorial boudoir mood in the studio, the rooftop garden is an affirmation of life. Fresh air and sunshine. Julia is moved. This curious wedge of wild nature in the sky, flowers blooming merrily away, gardens itself so well. Jude looks at his sunlit sister. She is lovely in the pure light. A gift of flower to the garden.

***

Pose number four.

A muscular pose, but not overly tense.

Facing camera. Kneeling on the grass, legs apart. Both hands raised, supporting each side of neck. Penis hanging down. A symmetry to it, except that the head is tilted back a little to left. Dreamy look.

Like a sun worshipper on a nudist magazine cover.

Click, click, click.

***

Pose number five.

A muscular, athletic pose.

Gazing right.

Standing. Right leg straight down. Left leg bent, foot on the top of a 3-step ladder, causing the torso to incline slightly right.

Right hand extended straight down. Left arm bent, hand on left knee.

Groin exposed. Penis pointing down regally.

Click, click, click.

Click, click, click.

***

Pose number six.

A coy pose.

Facing camera. Sitting on the stone seat.

Right leg vertically down to the grass. Left leg raised and bent, sole flat on the seat top. This has the effect of inclining the torso slightly to the right, and cocking up the groin area.

Right arm extended vertically down, palm resting on seat, supporting torso. Elbow of left arm is resting on left knee.

Groin exposed. Penis pointing down.

Click, click, click.

Click, click, click.

"This is the last pose. Can I add a variation to it?"

"What might that be?"

"Something to capture for posterity."

"Yes?"

"Capture me in flourish."

"Oh? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I hope it won't be awkward for you."

Julia is not quite sure what to say. It is one thing to take Adonis type photos. There is a noble artistic mission to it. It is quite another proposition to shoot an erection. And not just any male exuberance. This brotherly exuberance.

Julia says nothing. She turns her back to Jude as if she is waiting for him. Jude reads this as tacit approval.

In a socially conditioned act of modesty, although not really necessary, Jude turns his back to Julia's back. Back to back modesty!

Jude is priming himself for the shot. After a couple of minutes, Julia checks, "You cool?"

Chuckling, "Yes I am! That's the problem..."

"Why don't you turn around. We've been native for awhile anyway. A little visual may help."

They face each other. He carries on, a little sheepishly.

Julia watches him. She unconsciously writhes a bit in unison to his kinetic action, as if willing him. She bends down to scratch an itch on her foot.

"Can I help?"

She does not wait for his answer. She holds him. She makes small tentative movements. He reacts a little. Her fingers have the light persistency of feathers as she caresses him. She teases forth the beginnings of flourish.

Julia pauses, as if deciding something of great import.

She surprises Jude. For the first time in their sibling lives, big sis asserts herself. She grips his shaft, and runs his head up and down her outer labia. Grazing, rubbing, then vengefully grinding. Then, maddeningly grazing all over again.

Jude appears pleasurably dazed. His penis is full of cock. A little organic moistness is apparent. It is not clear where the wet excitement comes from. A sibling blend, maybe? But, it does not matter. No words are spoken. No words are necessary. What he experiences is bigger than the words he has for it, leaving the language overwhelmed. At times, reality overwhelms language.

Jude is good.

Click, click, click.

Click, click, click.

Julia doodles his head to smoothen the gathering granules of arousal. A male gasp.

Julia pulls the focus in. Click, click, click.

Julia mutters to herself, "Mister Stringy."

Jude overhears this. He is anything but stringy. He is a little hurt, but manfully says nothing.

Julia points to, then, runs her finger along a thick vein that runs a good length of his penis. She holds him awhile, whispers conspiratorially, "I can actually feel a pulse there."

Jude's ego sighs back to place.

Julia inches closer with scholarly ponderance to glean her final insights. She is now the consummate photographer executing her vision.

Click, click, click.

***

"We're done. Let's enjoy the rest of our champagne."

"This is heavenly. Let's loll and luxuriate here. We don't get to choose time. Time chooses us. But, right now, I feel we've our own time."

"My thoughts too. I'll upload the photos to my laptop PC. I'll bring the PC and the champagne out here. Let's stay native. Enjoy the sun. We've all day."

"Sounds like a plan!"

Julia is now alone. She scans her world. Lush green on three sides.

There is no security of a parapet. An open abyss staring down the clouds. An austere drop. A world unto itself. A sneak preview of heaven without the inconvenience of dying.

Julia feels tempted to step off the edge of the garden onto the cloud bridge.

Julia thinks of Kierkegaard's "fear of falling". Anxiety, dread and angst are unfocused fear. When the person looks over the edge, she experiences a focused fear of falling. But at the same time, she feels a terrifying impulse to throw herself intentionally off the edge. That experience is anxiety or dread because of her complete freedom to choose to either throw herself off, or to stay put. The mere fact that she has the possibility and freedom to do something, even the most terrifying of possibilities, triggers immense feelings of dread. The dizziness of freedom.

Julia feels compelled to peer down the edge just once more.

Julia thinks back to the blindfold game she once played with Jude on their treehouse, at the bottom of their garden. She was twelve, and he, ten. All the while, she was fearful of falling off the treehouse. And yet, she did not wish the game to end. And when at last she thought she fell, she did not. And here she is now, on a treehouse in the sky, only higher, and she, older.

She counts the floes of clouds. Cloud nine. Joni Mitchell's poetry of song comes to mind. That song so resonates with her, like she had written and composed it herself right off her head, unbeknownst to Joni Mitchell, one morning in time.

Some songs do that to us. Most songs sing by us, seeking its listener to fasten on.

Julia hums...

"Rows and flows of angel hair

And ice cream castles in the air

And feather canyons everywhere

I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun

They rain and snow on everyone

So many things Julia would have done

But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now

From up and down, and still somehow

It's cloud illusions I recall

I really don't know clouds at all"

She wonders if she knows Jude at all? The both sides of him. Brother. Man. Can she tease apart the brother from the man? And he, the sister from the woman? The ambivalence. It is like one of those songs where the words themselves are happy, but the interpretation can be pure heartbreak.

Jude re-emerges at the sunlit garden with the PC and champagne. A brilliant shaft shines on him.

"Hummin' something?"

"Clouds... Joni Mitchell's 'Both Sides Now'. It's both so sad and happy all at once."

"Sing it in your loneliest voice."

"Hmm... in that case, you'll have to go away for me to sing alone."

"I'll settle for your second most loneliest voice then."

And she does. A gentle sort of haunting.

"Now, sing with me. This song sounds better when sung by more lonely voices."

***

"Let's review Project Jude."

Jude leans back on the lounger languorously. He holds the PC in front of him.

"Come sit with me so that we can both view the PC."

Jude opens his legs as if inviting Julia to sit in between. Julia pauses momentarily processing the invitation. She then sits in front of Jude, pauses, as if giving him notice of her next move. She then leans back against Jude. Jude makes some small adjustments. Jude puts his arms around her waist like a seatbelt, as if buckling her down, securing her, then releases. Julia gazes back at him. She flashes a quick yet withholding quarter smile as if they have a secret.

***

Jude announces, "Pose number one". Studio shot. Classic Michelangelo's David.

"You were a little stiff."

Jude magnifies his crotch area.

"No, I wasn't."

Giggling, "Silly! Your demeanour."

Chuckles.

***

"Pose number two."

Studio shot.

Standing. Frontal. Leaning against table. Holding penis up.

"Lewd?"

"Hmmm... yes and no."

"In that case, it's just right. Ambivalence is the artistic sweet spot."

"Were you... errr...?"

"Let's find out."

Jude magnifies the photo.

"Hmmm... no need to be so pointillist about it."

Laughter.

***

And so they navigated through to the last photo. Rooftop garden. Intimate close-up. Very intimate.

Julia chuckles, "Hello! Mr Stringy again!"

"Your thoughts?"

"The phallic head is so intimidating, a symbol of cruel ravaging intentions. And yet, the helmet ridge is so charmingly tender and fragile. Mr Stringy, surreal. A conduit of lifeblood. And yet, it may pass of as inadvertently exposed colour-coded wiring of an AI sex robot."

"OK, we're done with Project Jude. Sis, you did well, thank you."

***

"Shall we get started on Project Julia?"

"No need."

"Huh?"

"No need."

"Am I missing something here?"

"No"

"Is this your devious trick to get your big sis naked, to feed your jollies, only to photoshoot you naked?"

Jude drifts to another photo folder on his PC.

Fifty thumbnails sprinkle on the screen like scintillating stars illuminating the wondrous night sky.

Jude initiates the slide show.

Julia the naked photographer, posturing this way and that, shooting earnestly. The photographer is also the subject, the model.

"Oh my god! How did this happen?"

Sensing that his sister is fast losing her serenity, "I should explain."

Annoyed, "You'd better."

"I wanted a natural nude photo study of you without the inevitable pretensions that go with posing and modeling. Remember the tech gizmo that I was wearing. That is a high-performance portable camera."

Still annoyed, "So, you tricked naïve old me into this oh-please-photoshoot-me charade."

"No"

"Firstly, I truly wanted a photo record of myself before age creeps up, and messes me up."

Julia appears to accept this. After all, this is her own desire too. Jude pauses, sensing that he is making persuasive headway.

"Secondly, yes, stealthily photographing you is indeed sly. But, I had the intention to review the photos with you. I would be happy to delete some, if not all of them, subject to your review."

Jude pauses allowing Julia to process this.

"I didn't want a conventional photoshoot. The inventive artist in me wanted to do something different. I can't do this with any female model. I thought I can do this with you, being family. Please understand."

They view the slide show. A study of the artistic labour of an earnest photographer in her element, in service of art. And in the process, she is art herself. A circularity.

Julia begins to appreciate Jude's innovative spirit. She begins to see his point. Art is a form of investigation.

This is what sets her accomplished pro photographer bro apart from the pack. He challenges the boundaries. He shoots out of the box. He leverages tech.

If she decides to trash this lot, and ask to reshoot in the conventional, tried and tested way, Jude will oblige. Thus, she views the photos with an open mind.

Project Jude and Project Julia are one enterprise. Project JJ.

***

Jude pauses the slide show.

Julia is in a crouching position. Both hands cradling the camera. Peering intently into lens.

Right leg bent at knee, extended forward. Left leg bent at knee, extending back, supporting buttocks and torso. The small muscles of her calves show a little, like a newborn eel trapped beneath her skin in suspended animation.

Torso arched slightly. Her breasts and crotch are partially obscured. Seen, but longingly not nearly enough. Titillating. Tell more by showing less.

Jude assessing, "Beautiful lines. Discern the intensity in service of art that itself is art."

Julia is pleased. But, she says nothing. The female impulse in her does not want Jude to be let off quite so easily, even if his brotherly intentions are artistically laudable.

***

There being no audible reaction from Julia, Jude resumes the slideshow.

Jude pauses the slideshow after a passage of some ten photos.

Julia is on the step ladder. Left foot on top step. Right foot on next step, securing her balance. Legs slightly apart. Her femininity is showing, but only just so. A tantalising hint of cleft. A peek of one petal.

Hands cradling the camera, focusing intently downwards at an angle.

Breasts partially obscured by her arms and the camera. At that angle, her nipples are obscured. But her chocolate smears of areolas are apparent.

Jude admiring and critiquing, "Intense, yet coquettish. Oh, those contours of muscles and sinews, I can almost hear them ripple!"

Julia flashes a muted semi-private smile. She is beginning to enjoy herself. Enjoying the art that is she.

***

Jude resumes the slideshow.

Jude pauses the slideshow after a run.

Julia is seated on the ground. Torso erect upright. Hands cradling camera, pointing the lens horizontally.

Her legs are folded flat on the ground, soles facing backwards, like a demure Thai lady in a Buddhist temple. Her crotch is mostly obscured. But, a few wayward wisps from her thicket rise above the fray. Coy. A teasing and pleasing quality.

Jude advances to the next photo.

A variation of the earlier composition.

The demure Thai lady in the Buddhist temple is not so demure now. A sea change.

Her legs are now parted and raised, soles flat on the ground. Her femininity is revealed in unfettered glory. Is that a spot of glisten?

Jude begins to say something, but bites his lip, as if knowing better. The silence winds itself around them, and binds them.

Jude makes a private vulgar speculation on how his sister's femininity might look if she is shorn and excited. He summarily dismisses the thought.

Julia gives a dim boudoir smile.

***

Jude resumes the slideshow.

Jude pauses the slideshow after a flurry of some eight photos. Something compelling catches his eye.

Julia is standing. She is bent forward cradling the camera, pointing at something of interest. Like a photographer shooting a close-up of an exotic flower.

A lovely photo study of feminine bosom. Small to medium pendulous fruits hung high. All natural. Tanned skin stretched smooth and tight, like filled sails, over chest. Nipples point down just enough to make them alluring. Her breasts appear heavier than they look. Sagging a little from their weight. A dusting of freckles on upper chest accentuates her cleavage.

And then lower and deeper into the photo, a hushed soft vision of tamed wilderness. Is that a hint of lips?

Jude enthralled, "Lovely! So lovely!"

Julia subconsciously leans forward a little, and initiates small torso movements.

***

It starts to rain. The weather slowly thickens. Water sluices down from the testy sky as if to purge the wicked world in a singular wash. The wind blows, seemingly from all directions, simultaneously. Not that they care. They are too exhilarated by this tour de force.

"You stay. I'll stow away the PC indoors."

"What?"

"We enjoyed the sun. Now, let's enjoy the rain. Let's get wet in the wet."

***

They cuddle. He feels her gentle weight against him. Perversely, the brutal tempest makes it all the more cosy and intimate.

Julia tells Jude that she missed him over the passage of years after their teens. The distractions of life have inserted too much void between them. She tells him that she wants to take all the time in the world, unhurriedly, tenderly, experimentally, exploratorily to rediscover his body and soul all over again. Like their first playful sibling intimacy. And if he likes, he can do the same with her.

Julia reaches over and encircles his flaccid penis with her hand and gently squeezes her brother.

She does not let go. His penis begins to harden in her hand. Her forefinger moves up. She gently skins back a portion of foreskin and runs the tip of her finger over his head. Circling his slit. His penis winks encouragement with a cocky single eye.

Julia is a mild OCPD. Obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, marked by need for orderliness, neatness and perfectionism.

She cannot help checking for grime caked under Jude's helmet head. Jude is now her little teen brother all over again. Perversely, she is a bit disappointed that Jude is clean there. But, upon closer sisterly scrutiny, there are a few specks of visually offending grime. She informs Jude so. He flashes a knowing boyish grin that says he understands her big sister instincts. This is all the big sis justification she needs. She scrapes the specks off meticulously with the tip of her forefinger. Each touch tingles Jude. He is very tender and sensitive there. This is understandable. The ring crevice of shaft flesh below the helmet head does not experience much traction of flesh normally. Jude writhes a little. Cleanliness is next to godliness, she tells her younger brother. His penis nods sagely.

Julia observes that Jude's head is a little tender and raw, in colour and in feel. The French, who know these fine things, would say saignant. Her other fingers are squeezing and kneading his hardening column of meat. Like fine bone china, Royal Doulton, Wedgwood or Mintons. Firm, yet vulnerably brittle.