My first boyfriend Danny, besides being captain of the
basketball team, star of the journalism school, and
generally a BMOC, was a talented amateur photographer.
By the time I met him, when he was a senior and had won
quite a few national awards in intercollegiate
competitions.
Naturally everywhere we went, Danny took pictures of
me. He told me constantly that I was the most beautiful
and photogenic girl he’d ever seen; I was flattered,
even though I’ve always thought I looked pretty good.
I’m a natural redhead with green eyes; since junior
high I’ve been 5’2″ and 107 pounds, with measurements
of 36C-23-34, and I don’t have any warts or anything.
One rainy weekend after we’d been going together for a
couple of months, we were at Danny’s because his
parents were away for the afternoon and evening. After
two solid hours of fucking (in a bed, for a change!),
what I wanted was a nap, and then a reprise. But Danny
wanted to show me some of his earlier portfolio.
It was a magnificently erotic collection, ranging the
gamut from girls in bikinis to wet T-shirt contests to
girls showering together – and far, far beyond. I knew
they were Danny’s own work, because of the humor and
imagination behind even the most explicit shots – and
because I recognized a lot of the girls from school.
There was one pose that I thought was really brilliant.
In the first frame, a pretty but very puzzled blonde
girl (Karen – I played tennis with her a couple of
times) is standing in the shower, her pussy and thighs
completely concealed by billowing bubbles; she is
gaping at something a contrite-looking kneeling
brunette is displaying on her open palms. After you
study the picture a minute, you suddenly realize it is
a soap sculpture of a cock and balls, and that half the
shaft is missing.
In the second frame Karen, still dripping wet, is lying
on a bed, a pillow under her hips and her legs spread,
while the other girl examines Karen’s twat very closely
with a pen-shaped flashlight.
Another which I just loved shows a nude girl seated at
a small table, her eyes closed dreamily. She is leaning
far forward, her hard nipples just grazing the
tabletop, and sucking ardently on the tip of a large
banana held upright in both hands. Oozing from her
mouth and dripping onto her tits is a white, syrupy
fluid Danny swore was whipped cream; but knowing Danny,
I can think of a MUCH more likely liquid.
After ten or fifteen minutes, Danny asked me to pose
for some sexy photos. I refused at first, even though,
to tell the truth, the idea excited me, but he kept at
it until eventually I let him talk me into doing it.
Besides, I was crazy in love and would have done
anything for him.
What he wanted was a series showing me masturbating, in
all sorts of outfits and circumstances. One of my very
favorites shows me in one of his sister’s pinstripe
business suits leaning way back in a desk chair, with
my eyes closed and feet on the desk, holding a big
cigar casually in my left hand as if I were a tycoon
relaxing and listening to someone across the desk; the
impression seems somewhat less likely when you notice
that my skirt is pulled up around my waist and my right
hand is inside my panties! (I always wondered how
Personnel people kept from being bored.)
The one Danny liked best showed me standing naked
except for leg-warmers and a headband, looking
delightedly at a modified exercise bike; Danny had
modified the bike himself, replacing the seat with a
huge black dildo. It was sort of funny, because at the
time I’d never even heard of a dildo, and I assumed
that he had made it himself!
As you can imagine, both of us got very horny pretty
quickly, and so within half an hour we were back in
bed. While we were resting for a while later, Danny
said that if these came out well, we should think about
making some others to sell, because we wanted money to
go to Spain over spring break. I was a little reluctant
at first, but the thought of Spain alone with Danny
persuaded me.
A few weeks later we made another set of pictures, a
lot more explicit this time. I won’t bore you with the
details – the theme of the shoot was “Megan Plays
Maid,” and there were shots with feather dusters,
turkey basters (even a long, thin loaf of French
bread!). I learned a lot, including the terms “beaver
shot” and “split beaver,” and Danny was so loving that
I immediately agreed when he said he was going to send
them to the amateur contests, to build a following,
before he tried the high-paying markets.
They were printed in quite a few, maybe because there
aren’t too many real redheads willing to spread their
legs and prove it to the camera. I got a real kick out
of it the first few times; I loved seeing myself naked
and spread open like that, and Danny telling me how
proud it made him that thousands of guys were
fantasizing about fucking me, and gnashing their teeth
when they saw that I was wearing his class ring.
Danny always talked to me about each shot, told me what
the readers would be thinking as they stared at me,
what they’d do to have me in the flesh. It was really
exciting to imagine a whole long line of guys bringing
me presents, and my rewarding them accordingly. Like,
for a small diamond, maybe I’d take my bra off and let
them kiss each nipple once; for a large emerald,
perhaps I would let them lick my pussy for a minute or
two.
I remember working out a whole schedule of gifts and
payoffs, all of them probably equally inflated. But
Danny’s little lectures did help me understand men
better, and made me a better model.
The first time my picture was selected as a monthly
winner, and I got to work with a pro photographer, was
the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. I loved peeling
off my clothes for George; I almost came when I pulled
down my panties and he said, “Christ, you really have a
world-class twat! It’s even giving me a hardon.” I knew
he’d probably seen about a million, so I took his
remark as a high compliment.
At the time I had a rather thick bush of pussy fur,
which obscured more than George was happy with – I was
so innocent I’d never even thought about trimming it.
So George started to, then decided instead to make a
“how-to” piece. In the end my poor pussy was shaved
clean, which George found extremely exciting; like many
pros, he worked in just bikini underpants because the
lights made the studio so hot, so I could see how
turned on he was.
I also thought being shaved was exciting – at the time
– but in a few hours it burned like crazy from the
scrapes, and in a few days it itched like the worst
case of poison ivy you’ve ever imagined. That was when
I gave up panties, completely and forever. For two
weeks I constantly wore sanitary pads soaked in baby
lotion (a trick George taught me when I called him,
nearly crazy from the itch).
I learned a lot from George, like putting baby oil on
your clit to make it glow when it’s photographed, and I
also had a lot of fun. I was really proud when the
spread was published, but Danny almost ignored it. He
was pretty happy, though, when we bought our tickets to
Spain with the money! Then I realized that as far as
Danny was concerned, he had to be the whole center of
attention, even though it was my tits and pussy these
guys were drooling over. He wanted them to be jealous
of him, instead of just being hot for me!
Too bad for Danny! By now I really loved posing – and
not only for the “anonymous fame” it brought. I got
(and get!) a great kick out of the actual photo
sessions. Whenever I’m on my way to one, particularly
with a photographer I haven’t worked with before, I get
hornier and hornier, the closer I get to the studio.
By the time I arrive, my nipples are achingly hard and
my panties are soaked; I can hardly wait to get my
clothes off and my legs spread. I don’t know why, but I
practically come just undressing with someone watching
– it doesn’t much matter who: a photographer, a lover,
the girls in the health club locker room.
Seeing myself in a magazine has much the same effect. I
think it’s knowing that thousands of guys (and a few
girls?) will be drooling over my picture, thinking
about how vulnerable I look sprawled on my back with my
cunt exposed, imagining themselves fucking me. And all
the time I know that in fact I’m the one in control,
the center of attention. The shrinks all say a girl
poses naked because she’s uncertain that she’s sexually
attractive, but I think that’s wrong; I don’t fuck all
the guys who take my picture, let alone everyone who
sees one.
Danny’s attitude really rankled, so one night when
Danny was at a fraternity reunion, I called up Ted, a
guy I knew from school, and got him to take a bunch of
photos of me WITHOUT Danny’s ring on, and submit them.
He did a great amateur job, and when they appeared, I
mailed a copy of the magazine to Danny.
When he next saw me, he was mad at first, then decided
he loved thinking how horny it must have made Ted to
see me naked in person, and how jealous Ted must be of
him. This same old attitude made me mad all over again,
but when he asked me if I’d fucked Ted to thank him for
taking the pictures, I could and did say quite honestly
that I hadn’t – the idea of Ted suffering with an
unrelieved erection really fed Danny’s ego, and
fortunately he didn’t ask how I HAD thanked Ted.
It was entirely unplanned, anyway; Ted was a sort of
buddy, and I knew that he would do it as a favor, or
just to see me nude. But after a couple of hours naked
with three guys (his roommates Kevin and Bill refused
to leave when they found out what we planned – and I
found the idea of an audience fantastically exciting),
three attractive guys who, though their dicks had
seemed about to rip through their jeans all evening,
never tried to put the make on me, I decided they had
earned a bonus.
And so had I. It was maybe my best bonus ever, at least
until the day George was sick and Michelle filled in
for him. But that’s another story. Two stories. If
anyone wants to hear them.