1. Jane.
It wasn't a plan; just a fantasy. A half formed image swirling in my head from the last look at the picture as I covered it up; what an arousing thought it was though. I wondered if he would do it?
It had been a long day getting the exhibition ready and now I was alone, I was in need of some – relaxation. Pouring the wine I thought about Michael and smiled to myself. Yes, Michael. The photographer. Would he do it? Of course he would; I remembered the few times I'd seen him looking at my figure when he thought I hadn't noticed his stare. I chuckled as I sat in the leather chair behind my desk; he was shy but still, that could be overcome with a little thought.
The white wine tasted cool in my mouth as I looked out at the picture now draped in its cloth. Yes, that would be the place to take innocent, shy Michael. Right there, after I show him that image.
My fingers were half consciously massaging my thigh through the fabric of my jeans as these thoughts turned themselves into possibilities.. Then there were those other pictures in the exhibition too, yes I'd show him them. It was then the idea began to form and I bit my lip in anticipation, sliding my fingers higher to the front of my jeans, between my legs. Softy rubbing the clothing against my wetness within, I felt the warm surge of pleasure move out from my loins, making my nipples tingle. Idea, fantasy and body were all coalescing.
Yes, he would do it, I thought, putting the wineglass down, eager now to play through my fantasy in my head as I fondled myself through the denim. As I parted my legs, I imagined how he would react when he saw me the way I was thinking.
I opened my tight jeans sliding my fingers inside, feeling the wetness of my panties as I caressed myself through the soft cotton, feeling the hairs moving under my fingers, as I played with my lips. The gentlest touch on my clit as I leaned back on the chair with a soft moan, finally allowing my fingers to slide under the wet panties, led by the images conjured in my head. I felt my engorged lips, opened them, played in the wetness, taking wet fingers to my clit and massaging around it, quicker, harder.
I would play with him I thought, looking out at the half lit gallery, populating it with our naked bodies, then shuddered and groaned as the wave of the climax washed over me.
I let my fingers explore inside at that moment, thinking, yes, he'll do it for me; sweet man that he is. Yes. I needed props; those would be easy – from my apartment overhead. Mostly, I needed Michael. I picked up the phone.
2. Michael.
I'd known Jane a long time and we were good friends, nothing more. So, when she called me up from her gallery and asked me if I'd like to come around and help her out with a new exhibition, I was pleased. On top of that she even wanted to hire my professional photographic services. Perfect!
"It'll mean working late," she said, "the display has got to be ready for the day after and we only have the time after we close."
"No problem," I said and we discussed the sort of things she wanted of me. "Most things will be finished," she said casually, " but I want to do some special shots - me and the pictures - for some publicity, that sort of thing."
I pictured her long red hair and deep blue eyes, her fresh complexion and good bones, these always made for nice images. Sensual images. I'd used one in the window of my shop a while back and it seemed to have attracted attention - and customers!
It was already dark by the time I arrived at the gallery. I waited in the cold for her to open the door. She smiled when she saw me outside, loaded up with photographic equipment bags and a pizza box. "Pizza delivery," I said, "thought you might need it. I bet you haven't eaten today at all, with getting everything ready, have you?"
She laughed. "You're getting to know me well."
Entering the gallery's large white space I began to off-load bags while she took the pizza. I pulled a couple of bottles of beer from the pockets of my leather jacket.
We sat behind one of the pillars in the gallery, away from the window, to eat. Jane sat down with a languid elegance, despite being in working jeans and a shirt. She curled her right leg beneath her reminding me of a cat's grace then sighed and took an open beer, taking a sip from the bottle. As we ate she explained about the exhibition. The pictures were mostly by new artists and were all of women. "Unusual," I said.
