They say the eye is the window to the soul. Well I can tell you that when I put my camera in front of my eye, those souls are laid well and truly bare.
Flasher Watkins they call me, snapper extraordinary to all the best top shelf magazines and most of the worst. If a magazine editor wants some hot young lovely draped across his centre spread, it's me he calls. And believe me, nothing warms up a frosty beauty faster than my trusty Nikon pointed between her legs.
Take that posh bit that Harry over at 'Rough 'n Tumble' magazine sent round the other day. They're going to run a monthly series of real high-class girls doing stuff that would give their families mass heart attacks.
So in came Lady Melissa. Hoity-toity, stuck-up little madam if ever I saw one. Thought she was a right rebel, but still wanted to treat me and Donna like servants in her parent's stately home. A lot of them start out like that, but they soon learn that they can't be too demanding with a macro lens focused on the stubble of their freshly trimmed pubes!
Sorry, I dropped poor old Donna in like a nasty smell there. She's my 'photographers assistant'. Funny little thing: small, thin, bony, spiky hair that seems to change colour every week, no tits worth speaking of and a sex drive like a rabbit. I'd like to think she works for me to learn the fine craft of 'glamour' photography at the feet of the master, but the truth is she needs the money and she gets all the sex she can handle. We snap men as well as women and Donna doesn't much care which is which - she swings every way that's going and then some.
Anyway, back to Milady Melissa. She turned up wrapped up in the sorriest excuse for clothes I've seen in a long time. Beige, woollen, baggy and long. Not the most flattering stuff for a would-be glamour model.
Donna took her into the studio to settle her in while I hid out back. My studio can't be described as luxurious, but it serves its purpose. It's at the top of a three-story building. Street level is a greengrocer - handy for props sometimes. An old tart who got too long in the tooth to pull in any passing trade rents the floor below mine. She's got a few regulars who like to get her to tie them up and bash them around a bit, but apart from that, she specialises in phone sex. We often hear her groaning away down there. If only her callers knew!
Right opposite is old Moroccan Marlene's flat where she 'entertains' her gentlemen guests. Or would like to. The old bag is so far over the hill that the last time she saw a trick he wore a top hat and was on a TV special.
I wouldn't change it though. I've worked in London all my life and Soho has got a feeling like nowhere else. Old Compton Street may be seedy and full of battle-scarred strippers, worn down whores and perverts in dirty macs, but I feel right at home.
Anyway, my studio is at the top. It's just one big room where all the equipment is set up - with a big skylight. In summer, we get great natural light. Mind you, the other 48 weeks it's raining. There is a tiny toilet, a smaller shower room and a kitchen that even cockroaches would turn their noses up at. At the back, there is a darkroom. That's it. A grand a month, plus electric and rates. Daylight robbery!
Miss up-yer-arse saunters in and looks around. You'd have thought someone was dead and propped up in the corner the way she looked down her nose at the place. Donna is a pretty good organiser, though, and wasn't having any of that old bollocks. She sat her down in the big wicker chair in the corner.
"Wanna drink?" That was Donna's idea of putting them at their ease.
"Lemon tea with a twist. Okay?"
"Nah, teabags, instant coffee or vodka. No ice though."
"Oh. Black coffee then, please."
When she had her coffee perched in her lap I decided to make my entrance.
"Good morning Miss Upton-Bagshot," I said in my most businesslike manner. I busied myself setting up the cameras. "Are you ready to get started?"
She was plainly having second thoughts now it was time to get down to it. So to unwind her a bit I started snapping away while she sat in the chair drinking her coffee. She soon got used to the idea of me pointing the camera at her and started to relax.
"Excellent, that's it...chin up…tilt your head to the right…eyes wider…beautiful…you're bloody photogenic, darlin'…stand up now…shoulders back…wonderful…you're a natural…can we try it without the overcoat…perfect…these shots are fantastic…slip off the cardigan…YES!!…"
Gradually, I used the Flasher Watkins charm and got her down to her underwear. At least that was a bit more attractive than what she had on over it: a black thong, black hold-up stockings and a black satin camisole top. Looked expensive. Probably all from Janet Reger. Nice. Made a change from the chain store undies we usually get to see. As she got comfortable parading around for me in her smalls I could see she was quite a looker. Long legs, slim but not too thin, medium sized tits, which seemed nicely pointed under that shiny top. And a great tan - probably from laying out on some young toff's yacht. No sign so far of bikini lines.
Now that there was a bit more of her on display, I quietly signalled to Donna to put some film in the cameras. There's no point wasting it on the preliminaries. Melissa was posing quite well for an amateur and I figured it was time to find out if she was really up to the job.
"Slip your top off now, love, lets get some real glamour poses."
She looked like she was about to pout for a moment, but then shrugged and pulled it over her head. Not bad. Perky little devils, conical, firm and upward pointing. She didn't need ice cubes to add interest - her nipples were some of the longest I'd ever seen. And I've seen a lot! They stuck out about an inch and a half, and half an inch thick, in a lovely shade of light brown. I could see that Donna was interested too, but we both knew better than to frighten the kid off.
"Oh beautiful," I admired, "award-winning stuff. Now, arch your back…that's right…turn sideways…yes…lean forward…push them together…pout your lips…great…yes, wet your lips…seduce the camera…oh babe, that's perfect…"
She might have sunbathed topless, but I doubt she'd ever showed off like this before. Our little Lady Melissa really began to get into it. You can always tell when the exhibitionist inside starts to come out. Her movements became bigger, her smile wider, her pout sexier and she started to ask questions.
"Like this? How about that? Are my nipples hard enough? Do they really look good?"
All the time Donna fussed around her: powdered her face as she 'glowed' under the lights, arranged her long dark hair, helped her achieve the right pose. And Donna didn't fail to steal a surreptitious feel here and there. It was no wonder Melissa relaxed into the mood; the amount of contact Donna gave her. I thought I would help her out.
"OK Melissa, I want a really sexy shot now…put your hands under your breasts…lift them up for me…lovely, but not quite what I need…Donna, can you show her…"
