photo booth  

madisontallblond 47M
1 posts
2/8/2006 8:35 pm

Last Read:
9/25/2007 7:40 pm

photo booth

Walking quickly down the street to the coffee shop, I was unsure of myself for the first time that day. Four photos and a voice on the phone had launched me on a three-hour drive through the mist and now I was approaching our meeting place.

This wasn't my standard M.O. in meeting women from the web, which typically involved far less risk and far fewer miles. But the photos...

"Is that you?" she was asking on the phone as I approached the front of the coffee place and spotted a woman talking into the phone in the front window. "Until just now I wasn't sure you were really going to make it!"

But as flirty and gregarious as she had been on the phone, she nearly instantly turned shy as we shook hands and I got a hot cup for myself. Exchanging small talk was difficult, forced, particularly since we had exchanged some intimate details just a little while earlier. And the photos...

As silence began to threaten the conversation, she began to shift in her chair, glancing toward the counter or the group of college students discussing economics behind us. I pulled out my little digital and asked if she minded if I snapped a couple shots. That seems like a cheesey move, but we had talked so much about photography during my drive and on IM earlier that day... and she had invited me to come and take some photos. We were then going to decide if dinner was a good idea, but no plans for anything other than that.

She softened once I started viewing her through the view finder and nearly melted into her chair. She was wearing a bulky wool sweater and carpenter pants, but as she settled into her seat and looked out the window, the pale light turned her skin luminous in stark contrast to her raven hair which she wore in a loose pile on top of her head.

And the next thing I knew she was up and pulling her coat on and I was wrapping my scarf around my neck as we stepped out into the mist. "Where are we going?" I asked, skipping to catch up.

"To take some better photos," she said.

Her apartment was spare, furniture had been ordered, but she was only half moved in. She told me to throw my coat anywhere as she poured wine into mason jars in the kitchen. I folded it and put it in the corner of the empty living room and stood there awkwardly, not knowing if I should just have a seat on the carpet.

She emerged and handed me a glass, offering a toast - To art! - before kicking off her sneakers and and taking a long sip. She handed me her glass and tugged off her sweater. She was wearing a silky top with thin straps that went with her confidence perfectly. I tried not to look down, but noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Where do you want me?" she asked as she took her wine back.

"Um, over by the window, I guess," I said, still trying to figure out what we were doing now, here. But she moved decisively and sat on the sill, holding her wine playfully and giving me her profile. I snapped a couple and moved a bit closer.

I'm not a photographer. I don't have any gear and have never taken a class. But I know enough to get close when attempting a closeup and soon I was standing just a couple feet from her, trying to frame her face and shoulders against the glare of the window and the woodwork. She reached up, stretching and letting her eyes settle on me and the camera.

In one swift move, her top was off and her breasts instantly became all I wanted to look at. I lost all desire to frame shots or capture unique lighting and all I wanted to do was stare. And while I was staring, she was slipping out of her jeans, letting them fall to the floor where they were joined by her underwear. And we were standing right next to the window, her naked, me holding a camera in one hand and mason jar in the other with a visibly growing erection.

"You stopped taking pictures," she said, pulling her hair out of that messy pile and letting it fall to her shoulders. "Maybe I should get my camera out now."

Instead she reached for her wine and I figured I had a choice: I could either continue snapping photos, or I could join in the fun. I've never regretted doing the latter.

I handed her my wine, pulled off my own sweater and set it down with my camera. As she stood in front of me, holding my glass and sipping from hers, head cocked to the side with an amused expression, I began what might possibly be the least sexy striptease of all time. I fumbled with my belt, pulled my pants inside out trying to get them off, pulled a muscle trying to pull my t-shirt off with one hand and could barely get the elastic of my boxers over my rock-hard erection. But within seconds, I stood there naked, reaching for my wine glass, looking into her eyes wondering what would happen next.

wontknowtillutry 52F  
900 posts
6/5/2007 6:38 am

well done!

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