I think I was ten – maybe 11 – when I got my first camera. It was a birthday present from my mother. Funnily enough, I remember being disappointed. I'd been hoping for a guitar. I was right into music. But photography?
Looking back, I suspect that part of the problem was that my mother had something of an obsession with photographing 'important family moments' as she called them. Birthdays, Christmases, weddings – even funerals – my mother was there telling us to 'Say cheese'. And it wasn't as if she was a particularly good photographer. Even today, her family albums serve as examples of how not to take photographs.
Much to my mother's disappointment, I hardly used the camera at all. It mostly sat in the top of my wardrobe, along with a couple of other gifts that I hadn't really wanted.
But then something happened that changed my life.
The Christmas after I turned 15, my Aunt Sophie came to stay. She was a proper photographer. That was her job. She got paid to take photographs for fashion catalogues, as well as for the occasional magazine.
After supper on the first night she was with us, she showed us some of her photographs. They were very good. They were clever. They were beautiful. And, more importantly, they were interesting. They were nothing like my mother's photographs. I remember being knocked out by them.
I also remember being knocked out by one of her cameras. It was a digital SLR, the first I'd ever seen. It had nowhere near the pixel rating of a modern digital camera. But that didn't matter. It was instant! No more waiting days or weeks until you'd used up the whole film. No more trips to the Snap Happy store down on the high street. No more waiting for a couple more days while the film was processed. (And no more forgetting to pick up the prints because, well, by then the whole thing had taken so long that you'd sort of lost interest.)
It was just point ... shoot ... and look at the results. And, if you didn't like what you saw, you just trashed that shot and took another.
'Your mother tells me you're a photographer, Harry.'
'Not really,' I said. 'I've got a camera. But I don't really do much. Not really. It takes too long.'
'Then try this one,' she said. 'Here, I'll just set it to auto everything.' She handed me the DSLR and, ten minutes later, I was deeply and madly in love.
In some ways it was a good thing that my 'birthday camera' had had so little use. It was also a good thing that I'd kept the original packaging. Within a couple of hours of the local camera store opening after the Christmas break, I was down there using my low mileage film camera as a part-exchange on a near-new digital.
I won't pretend that I became a master of photography overnight. My early efforts were only slightly better than my mother's. But, freed of some of the more tedious parts of the process, I concentrated on the stuff that I thought mattered. Within a couple of years, I'd put together a portfolio that was good enough to get me into the photography programme at one of the better art schools. And, three years after that, I was ready to take the photography world by storm.
My timing was about as bad as it could be. The world was going through one of its periodic economic setbacks. The people who normally hired photographers weren't. And for a 20-year-old newly-qualified snapper without any real experience, even freelance jobs were few and far between.
'Talk to Soph,' my mother said. 'She might know someone who needs someone. She might even need someone herself.'
By then Aunt Sophie had set up in a studio only about half an hour from our village. I gave her a call and explained my problem.
'Yeah, the well is certainly a bit dry at the moment,' she said. 'But come out to the studio. We'll have a chat. See if we can work something out.'
Aunt Sophie's instructions took me off the main road, down a secondary road, on to a country lane, and then, finally, down a narrow farm track. Just when I had decided that I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, I found myself outside some sort of barn. I could see three cars parked outside. And I recognised one of them as Aunt Sophie's beloved old Jag convertible.
I parked my car and made my way along the path that I hoped would lead to a door. It did. The door was partially open and, inside, I could see Aunt Sophie, all alone, cleaning a lens. 'Aunt Sophie! Hi!' I called out.
She looked up and seemed surprised to see me there. 'Oh, Harry. Of course. I forgot you were coming today. Never mind, I'm nearly finished.' She carefully put down the lens and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. 'Gosh, you've grown,' she said.
I couldn't help noticing that one of the two laptops on the floor next to her camera bag seemed to be on a porn site. I must say that was a bit of a surprise.
Then another surprise. Two women appeared from another part of the building. One, a big-breasted woman who appeared to be in her late 40s, was completely naked. Well, she was wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes of the kind designed to be worn only in the bedroom, but that was all. The other woman was slightly younger and wearing one of those short, pocketed aprons. I assumed she was a make-up artist.
'Is this better?' the younger one asked.
Before Aunt Sophie could say anything, the older woman suddenly noticed me. 'Ooh, is this my stud, Soph?' she asked. 'Yum, yum.'
Aunt Sophie gave her a stern look. 'Celia, Tamara, this is my nephew Harry,' she said. 'He's a photographer.'
Naked Celia licked her lips. 'Very nice,' she said. 'Are you going to do my close ups, Harry?'
Aunt Sophie's stern look became even sterner. 'Celia! Back in your box!'
'I'd rather have Harry in my box,' Celia said. And just to make sure we knew what she meant, she gently tapped her hairy pubic mound a couple of times.
Aunt Sophie turned to me. 'There's a kitchen through there, Harry,' she said. 'Go and make yourself a cup of coffee. I'll just finish up here, and then we can a chat.'
Ten minutes later, I was just finishing my coffee when Aunt Sophie came into the kitchen. 'Sorry about Celia,' she said. 'She gets a bit excited when there are good looking young men around.'
'That's OK,' I said. 'She's a bit of a full-on character, isn't she.'
Aunt Sophie just smiled and started to make another pot of coffee. 'Now, I suppose you're wondering what all this is about,' she said. And before I could say anything, she continued: 'As I said on the phone, the well is a bit dry at the moment. There's not that much work about. And what there is, is not paying as well as it used to.'
'Tell me,' I said.
'Fortunately – although that may depend on your point of view – a chap for whom I used to do a lot of fashion work decided to get into the mature erotica business. He set up a subscription website and several of other things, and he seems to be doing quite well. In fact, he seems to be doing very well. I guess people can always find a bit of spare change to pay for their pleasures.
'Anyway, he asked me if I thought I could do some erotic shots that had a bit of quality about them. I told him I couldn't see why not. Personally, I've always enjoyed a bit of good quality non-violent erotica. And don't look so shocked,' she said.
I didn't realise I was looking shocked. But perhaps I was. I hadn't really given too much thought to my aunt's preferences in the realm of the erotic. Although I was beginning to.
'Anyway,' Aunt Sophie said, 'I gave it a go. And, fortunately, he liked what I did. To cut a long story short, we came to an arrangement. He set up this place. And now I keep him supplied with fresh pics for his website and some other things. In between times, I get to do my normal stuff – when it's available.' She paused. 'Surprised?' she asked. 'Shocked?'
Was I? 'Well, I was a bit surprised,' I said. 'I wasn't expecting Celia.'
'Celia? No, nobody ever is,' she said.
'But I'm not shocked,' I told her. 'Not really. In fact it sort of sounds ... well, quite fun, really.'
'It can be,' she said. 'So ... I guess the bottom line is that, with the porn money – as I call it – I can now afford to take on an assistant. Your mother showed me some of the fashion shots you did at college. I think you've got real potential. I'd like you to come and work with me. Oh, and just call me Soph – everybody else does.'
And so the next morning I became a proper working photographer.
For the first two days I helped Soph with a catalogue shoot. It was surprisingly hard work. In the course of the day, we completed about 30 shots. But it was also fun. And I was being paid to do something I enjoyed.
As we were leaving at the end of the second day, Soph said: 'By the way, we're working for Tom tomorrow.'
'Tom?' I said.
'The granny-porn meister.'
'That should be fun,' I said.
'Oh, it will be,' Soph assured me.
And it was.
Our first model was Maggie. She would have been about 50 and I imagine she must have been quite a looker in her day. Even with a few summers behind her, she could still turn heads.
Soph started out with some gentle lingerie shots. Nothing especially raunchy. In fact not that different from some of the catalogue shots we'd done the day before.
Then Maggie changed into an electric blue lace-up bustier with a matching thong and stockings. Little by little, the temperature started to rise.
'That's nice,' Soph said. 'Yes, really nice. Bring your chin up a little. Great. Yeah, just a fraction more. Perfect. Looking straight down the lens .... Yeah, that's it. That's really nice. Now try pushing your tits together. Just gently. That's it. And once more. Yes. Lovely. Great.
'Now turn around and stick that beautiful bum of yours out. That's it. Yeah, that's great. Now just start to take your knickers off. Just a little bit, just a tease. Yeah, that's it. And now a little more. Lovely.' And between each instruction, between each encouraging word, there was the familiar thwat! of the big Balcar strobes splashing just the right amount of light exactly where it was required.
And so it continued, until Maggie lay sprawled seductively on a period chaise longue, her womanly breasts totally exposed, the lacy blue bustier little more than a wispy waistcoat, her knickers on the floor, her hot and bothered vulva open for all to see. Well, open for Soph and me to see, anyway. And for me to find more than a little arousing.
The thwatting stopped. For the first time in more than half an hour, Soph took her eye from the viewfinder of her camera. 'Well, Harry, what do you think?' she said. And then she glanced at the bulge in my jeans. Turning back to Maggie she said 'I think Harry approves. I certainly don't remember him having a banana in his pocket when we started, do you?'
'No,' Maggie said. 'But it does look very nice. I'm flattered, Harry. Come over here so that I can show my appreciation in the proper manner.'
'Well, go on,' Soph said. 'It's not as if you find Maggie a total turn off. We've already established that.'
Carried away by the heady atmosphere of sex, I thought I'd call Maggie's bluff. I walked straight over to her, unbuckling my belt as I went. I figured by the time I got within three feet of her, she'd be up on her feet and scurrying off to the dressing room.
But I was wrong. She did leap to her feet. But not to scurry off to the dressing room. She leapt to her feet to get my jeans down around my knees, freeing my aching cock.
Fixing me with a mischievous smile, she took my hard cock in one hand and gently cupped my balls with the other. 'See, it wasn't a banana,' she said. 'It was something much better.'
It was about that point that I noticed the slightly muffled thwat! of the triple Balcar strobe lights had started up again. And Soph was once more watching the action through the viewfinder of her camera.
Funnily enough, I didn't care. I was going to blow my pink stack whatever happened. And blowing it with the help of the lovely Maggie seemed as good a way as any.
And it didn't take long. A few expert strokes from Maggie and I was shooting milky semen over her womanly breasts.
Once more the thwatting stopped. 'Brilliant,' Soph said. 'Perfect. There are some things you just can't plan. That was really good. Really good.' And she bent down and kissed the head of my wilting cock. Just like that. Just like it was something she did every day. 'Yes, excellent,' she said.
It was all a bit like being in a delicious dream. But there was work to be done. Maggie and I needed to get cleaned up. Soph wanted to get another couple of close ups of Maggie. And the next model, Anna, was due at any minute.
That night, as we were leaving the studio, instead of the customary kiss on the cheek, Soph planted a serious kiss right on my lips. There may even have been a hint of tongue. 'I told you working for the porn meister would be fun,' she said. 'And we've got another session tomorrow.'
As it happened, we started the next day a little more prosaically. Apparently our model, Catherine, had phoned Soph to see if she could shift her session to the afternoon. Soph had told her that would be fine. So instead of photographing beautiful, sexy, mature women for Tom, Soph and I spent most of the morning photographing industrial strength vacuum cleaners for some sort of trade show. Talk about variety being the spice of life!
With the vacuum cleaners out of the way, Soph and I then got to work creating the set for the afternoon shoot. Soph wanted the feeling of a Victorian conservatory, light and bright, but also lush. We were just getting the last of the 60-odd plants we'd hired into place when I heard a familiar voice.
'Well, if you two ever get sick of photography, you could always try landscape gardening.' It was my mother.
At first I was pleased to see her. 'Hi, Mum. What a surprise.' But then I thought, oh oh, any moment now, our next porn star is going to be walking through that door.
I looked anxiously at Soph. But she didn't seem at all concerned. 'Coffee time, I think, Harry,' she said.
'So this is where my son the famous photographer works,' Mum said, looking around the studio.
'Are you sure we've got time for coffee?' I said, my eyes nervously darting from Soph to Mum to the clock on wall to the door and back to Soph.
'Plenty of time,' she said. 'You're not in a hurry, are you, Cat?'
Mum shook her head. 'No, I'd love a cup of coffee,' she said.
'I was just thinking ..., I said.
But Soph wasn't to be dissuaded. 'Why don't you go and put the kettle on, Harry,' she said. 'And I'll give Cat the VIP tour.'
As I headed off to the kitchen, I nervously glanced at the clock for tenth time. I just hoped that the model didn't arrive early. But at the same time, I thought, well, it could have been worse. Mum could have arrived while we were in the middle of the shoot. Being that we were several clicks from anywhere, most of the time Soph didn't even bother to close the door.
From the kitchen, I could vaguely hear Mum and Soph chatting away. And there seemed to be a lot of girlish laughing going on.
After a few more minutes, Soph called out. 'How's that coffee, Harry?' She seemed to be back in the main studio.
'It's ready when you are,' I shouted.
'D'you want to bring it through? We may as well have it out here,' she said.
I put the pot of freshly-brewed coffee and three mugs on a tray and headed back to the studio.
'Maybe put it on the small table over there,' Soph said, 'and we can help ourselves when we get a moment.'
I put the tray down and was just about to ask Soph if she wanted me to pour when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed our model had already arrived. It was my mother, provocatively attired in a black satin and lace bustier with tiny matching knickers. Of course. Catherine. Cat, as she was more commonly known to her friends. The look on my face must have said it all. Mum and Soph just burst out laughing.
'What's the matter?' my mother asked. 'Don't you think I'm up to it?'
Oh, she was certainly up to it. She looked fantastic. 'No,' I said. Although, of course, I didn't mean no. I meant yes. 'No, you look fantastic,' I said. 'You look amazing.'
'Thank you,' she said.
'It's just that ....'
'It's just that you weren't expecting Catherine to be this Catherine,' she said. 'I was going to tell you last night. But, somehow, the opportunity didn't arise. And then Soph said she'd tell you this morning. But she chickened out.'
'Don't blame me,' Soph said. 'I'm not the one in the sexy underwear. Now ... shall we take some dirty pictures? I've got a deadline to meet.'
'Should I go and do something else?' I asked.
'Gosh no!' Mum said. 'According to Maggie, you're how we know if we're doing it properly. And I gather you thought Maggie was doing it very properly.'
'Maggie? You mean ...?'
'She phoned me last night with all the splendid details. I can tell you, she was very pleased with herself, very pleased indeed.'
'I didn't realise you knew her,' I said.
'Oh, yes,' Mum said. 'A month or so back, Maggie and I did a girl-on-girl shoot – although in our case I suppose it's more middle-aged-woman-on-middle-aged-woman shoot.'
'Come on, Cat. Let's get going,' Soph said. And soon Mum was posing like a pro. Which clearly she was.
'To the front slightly. That's it. Yes. Lovely. Now lose the bra strap. Yeah, great. A little more. Perfect. And the other. That's nice. Now just hold that. Great.'
And with each encouraging word, the familiar thwat of the Balcars.
'That's nice.' Thwat!
'Lovely, Cat.' Thwat!
'Oh, that is so sexy, girl.' Thwat!
'What do you think, Harry? Is it working?' Soph asked.
Oh, it was working alright. By the time Mum was spreading her beautiful juice-covered labia, my cock was ready to burst.
'What do you say, Cat, shall we go for a splash of dressing on the salad?'
'Oh, I think so,' Mum said.
'Right, Harry, drop those jeans and get over there,' Soph said.
'Now!' Soph said. 'While we're all in the zone.'
I dropped my jeans and walked over to Mum, my erect cock leading the way.
'Gosh, this has developed nicely since I last got a good look at it,' she said. Her fingers were already wet with her own juices. And in two or three strokes my cock had a similar glisten to it. 'Ready, Soph?' she asked.
'When you are,' Soph replied.
Mum increased the stroke rate on my cock. It felt so good. It felt so wrong. It felt so wonderful. I tried to hold on, but I couldn't. 'Oh, no,' I started to say. My mother's timing was perfect. She got herself in exactly the right position at exactly the right time. Four or five white ropes of semen shot from my cock and landed in her salt-and-pepper pubic hair.
'Perfect,' Soph said. Thwat! 'Just turn your hips to the right slightly.' Thwat! 'And one more.' Thwat! 'Perfect,' she said.
Soph put down her camera. 'Come here,' she said. 'I need to clean you up.' And she did. With her tongue. Not surprisingly, my cock immediately started to get a second wind. 'Excellent,' she said.
Continuing to lick my hardening cock, Soph kicked off her shoes and freed herself from her jeans. 'Over here,' she said, leading me to the chaise longue that we had used for Maggie's shots the day before. She lay back and spread her legs wide. I could see she was already wonderfully wet. 'In here,' she said. 'I've been dreaming of this.'
I slid into her and, oblivious to the rest of the world, Soph and I fucked for perhaps ten minutes until we both reached a satisfactorily noisy conclusion.
After a while, I half rolled off her. There was my mother with Soph's camera. 'Say cheese,' she said. Thwat! Well, I suppose it was an important family moment.