The Camera Eye

I followed her quiet footsteps as she moved along the sidewalk. Her shape was dark and indistinct, obscured against the backdrop of night. A heavy mist had fallen over the campus, diffusing the light from the streetlamps into a ghostly haze that subdued all detail. But I'd already seen enough to pique my interest.

She went inside the library. So did I. The camera bag at my side felt solid and reassuring, an anchor against the uncertainty of human contact. She sat down at the index computers. I hung back and studied her, taking mental notes as I did. She had a slim profile, with wide hips and a smallish chest. Her short black hair was swept to one side in a stylish pixie cut. Her skin was naturally pale, with heavy eyeliner accenting her dark eyes. She had a subdued alt-punk kind of look, with multiple earrings and a pierced nose.

She was perfect.

I waited for her near the exit, spending a handful of minutes scanning the bulletin boards on the wall. They were always the same, a chaotic paper jungle of wanted ads for roommates, used books, blood donors, etc. And of course, models. I preferred the face-to-face approach, even though I wasn't very good at it.

The girl headed for the door. I moved quickly to intercept. Now that I was closer, I could see that she was wearing tight black jeans and a dark gray top with the familiar logo of a local band on it.

"Hi," I said. "Got a second?"

She gave me a quick glance of appraisal before slowing to talk. Her eyes were brown and inquisitive. Her face had the kind of quiet prettiness that grew more noticeable the longer you looked.

"Sure," she answered, focusing her full attention on me. Something immediately jammed between my brain and my vocal cords, and for a terrible moment I couldn't speak. She watched me curiously as I fumbled for words. It felt like whatever chemistry we might have had was rapidly dissolving into the night air.

"I, uh, I'm a photographer," I managed to say. "I'd like you to model for me."

Her eyes narrowed but she didn't walk away. "Oh yeah? What kind of photographer?"

Finally, the words came out. They were well-rehearsed but sincere.

"I'm working on a project about individuality and self-image, you know, how people express themselves through their appearance. I'm putting together a portfolio and you have the exact look I had in mind." As I spoke, I tried my best to be charming. Disarming. Normal. I was clutching my camera bag with a viselike grip.

"This is really for an art class?" She asked, glancing toward the door. The silver stud in her nose glittered. "Nothing weird?"

"No, no, nothing weird," I answered, maybe a little too quickly. "Just a photo layout of you in your own clothes. Natural poses. It should only take a half-hour at the most."

She chewed her lip and seemed to consider for a moment, then looked me in the eyes and asked the worst possible question. "Does it pay anything?"

"Uh, no," I answered. "But I can give you a custom portfolio with all the shots you like." I smiled and shrugged. Honesty was the only thing I had going for me. "Best I can do on a student budget."

She paused, then cracked an odd little smile of her own. "Okay, sure. What the hell."

"Great!" I tried not to sound as surprised as I was. "Um, when's good for you?"

"How about tomorrow," she answered. "Around five?"

"That'd be fine. How about we meet back here?"

She nodded, still wearing her quirky smile. "Okay."

"Oh, by the way, my name's Rick," I added, offering her my hand.

She took it and squeezed lightly. "Angela."

"Nice to meet you, Angela."

She released my hand and looked at me for a long moment. I wondered what she saw. "I have a class to get to," she said abruptly. "See you later."

"See you," I nodded. She walked through the door and disappeared into the night.

On the way home I found myself analyzing every word and gesture until I'd made up my mind that she wasn't going to show. Maybe she thought she was being nice by stringing me along, by not telling me to fuck off outright...

Enough. I closed my eyes and forced a deep breath into my lungs. I released it slowly and told myself to relax. If she showed up, great. If not, it wasn't the end of the world. The anxious flutter in my chest didn't seem convinced.

The next day was dark and rainy. I tried to gather the nerve to approach someone else, but it just wasn't happening. I'd known I was overstepping my limits when I decided to photograph women. Approaching them always made me twitchy. I think it was from all the merciless teasing I'd gotten back in middle school. A gang of popular girls in my class had gotten their kicks out of humiliating the nerdy types, and they'd seemed to have it in for me especially. I wasn't half as shy as I used to be, but speaking to women—especially the attractive ones—still made my stomach twist into knots.

My classes ended early and I spent a while just walking in the drizzle. I watched people as they interacted, each the center of their own little universe. Most had enough gravity to pull others in. Some pushed them away. I seemed to neither repulse nor attract. I was completely and horribly inert.

I went to the library at five o'clock, hoping I was wrong. At five-thirty I was still standing in the rain. It somehow felt appropriate. When the gray sky gave way to black, I turned and headed home.

The rain had turned the roads into mirrors. Every streetlamp and traffic light was reflected in the shining surface, but whenever I focused on one and walked toward it, it seemed to disappear just as it came within reach.

* * * * *

Thursday. The end of my school week. The sky was full of rain and the students seemed subdued as they milled from class to class. Every color seemed muted. It occurred to me that my life was turning into some exceptionally dull

film noir

movie. I wondered if I was supposed to be the hero. I had the squarish jaw for it, but not the confidence or charisma. Shitty casting. Nobody would want to see a film without a plucky heroine either. At least,

I

sure wouldn't.

The rain let up and I sat outside. I was busy scribbling notes for my life's hypothetical screenplay when a shadow appeared in the corner of my eye. It came closer. To my surprise the dark lines and white surfaces came together in the form of Angela.

"Hi." She smiled apologetically. "Sorry I didn't make it yesterday. I had to rewrite a paper for my English class." She looked much the same as before, only now she was wearing a different top and a pair of black plastic-rimmed glasses. It was a surprisingly cute look for her.

"Not a big deal," I replied, smiling back. I was suddenly and distinctly aware of my pulse. "Uh, are you still interested?"

"Yeah," she answered, her eyes flitting down over my notebook for a moment. "How about tonight at six?"

"Can you make it six-thirty?" Cute or not, I was struggling in Statistics already.

"Sure. Do I need any special clothes or anything?" She asked.

"No," I said, looking at what she was wearing. She had on a dark brown turtleneck sweater with black jeans and a pair of heavily scuffed Doc Martens. She didn't seem to be wearing a bra. "This outfit's perfect," I told her.

She smiled. "Okay then, six-thirty at the library." With a little wave she walked away. I sat there wondering if the tingle on the back of my neck meant that things were looking up, or that a natural disaster was coming. Maybe it was both.

I rushed to the library as soon as my class ended. Angela was already there waiting, but that didn't do much to ease my anxiety. As I should have expected, there was a problem. The studios in the art department had been closed due to a leaky roof and probably wouldn't be open for another few weeks.

Angela looked at me with an unreadable expression as I explained it to her, then I threw out the only alternative I had. Hopefully it wouldn't sound too much like a line.

"Well, I do have a studio at my apartment, but if you don't feel safe going to some art weirdo's place, I won't take it personally," I said. "I can try to find somewhere else..."

"I don't mind," she replied after a moment's hesitation. "Your apartment is fine."

I expected an earthquake or hail of frogs to hit at any moment. "Alright then, this way."

We talked a bit on the short walk there. Angela told me that she was a Communications major and that she grew up in Seattle before moving here to California, though the current weather made her feel like she was back home. She'd come here mainly to be with her high school boyfriend, but they'd since broken up.

I got the impression that she was smart. She seemed weird too, in an interesting way. She told me that she'd modeled a few times for a friend, but this was the first time she'd done it for anyone else.

I ushered her inside my apartment and gave her a quick tour before taking her to the 'studio.' It was nothing more than the second bedroom set up with lights and a backdrop. I'd never used it for shooting an actual model before. The room had an old sofa and a couple of chairs, and I told Angela to have a seat while I got my gear ready. She sat down and thumbed through an old portfolio of mine while I set up my tripod and angled the lights.

"Whoa," she said, coming to the small section of nudes. "Did all these girls pose for you?"

I felt my face getting warm. "Not exactly, they were models hired by the art department. You're actually the first person to grace my humble studio."

She smiled. "I feel honored."

There was an awkward silence. I could feel Angela watching my every move as I set up the camera. I told myself to stay focused and not let her distract me. As if on cue, my anxious hands fumbled while attaching my zoom lens, and I almost dropped both it and the camera.

My nerves were on full display. I wouldn't have blamed her if she got up and left. But if anything, she seemed amused by it. She was still sitting there with her chin in her hand and the hint of a smile on her face, and somehow that helped me to relax a little as I finished setting things up.

"Okay, we're all set," I announced. I was eager to get the shoot going. "Just stand in front of the backdrop and we'll see how the lighting is." She got up and took position, looking at me with the same quirky smile as I focused the camera on her. I'd decided to start with black and white since it would give the most contrast with her clothes, skin, and hair. Plus, it just seemed appropriate.

"Try crossing your arms and looking casually at the lens," I told her. She swiftly complied, angling her body into a three-quarters pose without even being asked.

"Very good," I said, taking a few shots of her. "Now look off to the side like someone just called your name." Once again she did as directed, turning her head and looking curiously over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone she knew. I snapped a few more pictures.

My anxiety was gone. I was behind the camera now. I was confident. In control. Or at least I could create the illusion of it. Either way, this was one of the only times that I felt I could truly be myself.

"Alright, now look back at the camera and get mad. It's the bully that used to pull your hair and put lizards down your shirt in grade school." She flashed a smile then glared at the lens, even curling her lips and throwing her hands up in a 'what the hell is wrong with you' gesture.

"Perfect." I was starting to enjoy this. Angela looked great and was even playing along with my goofy directions. Either she'd undersold her abilities, or she was just naturally good at it. I decided to take things up a notch and see what she would do.

"Okay. Now it's that guy you've always liked. See if you can get his attention."

She seemed to consider for a moment. Then she looked at me with such a searching gaze that my heart started to pound. Her eyes were wide and pleading, her pouted lips and mouth downcast as if in defeat. There was a sense of loss and longing in her face that I hadn't expected to see. It felt a little too real, and I wondered if it had something to do with her ex-boyfriend. I made sure to get as many pictures as I could.

A moment later she switched to a more playful expression, seductive and confident. She posed as if blowing a kiss, then stuck out her pierced tongue and curled it suggestively. It was long and agile. I could only imagine all the interesting things she could do with it.

"Awesome," I said, feeling warm. She was turning out to be a much better model than I'd ever expected.

After several more shots I asked her to try a rock star pose. She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin, looking at me almost arrogantly. Then she took a wide stance and posed as if she were wailing on an imaginary guitar.

"Very good," I said, clicking away. "Just do whatever you feel like. Whatever comes naturally."

Angela lifted her arms and slid her fingers through her hair while looking sexily at the camera. Then she slowly turned in a circle, seeming to intentionally show off her well-rounded ass. I was getting a little aroused by all this, and the gawkiness I'd managed to shrug off behind the camera was returning even as Angela settled down into some less provocative poses.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax. I still had a project to do.

"Do you have any tattoos?" I asked, trying to sound professional.

"Yeah," she answered with a grin. "One. But I don't know if I want to show it." It seemed like more of a tease than a refusal, but I couldn't be sure. Interpreting flirty behavior had never been my strong point.

"No pressure." I said, my curiosity quietly raging. Then another thought occurred to me. "You wouldn't happen to be pierced anywhere else, would you?"

She didn't say anything. She just pulled up her sweater a bit, revealing her taut white stomach and pierced bellybutton.

"Very nice." There was a curved silver barbell stuck through the upper rim of her navel. Her belly looked flat and smooth. I snapped a few more pictures to finish the set, then stopped to load a new roll of film.

"So, how do you like being a model?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"It's not bad. More fun than I thought it'd be."

"Well, you're awesome at it. Honestly amazing. I can already tell these pictures are going to rock."

"Thanks." Angela smiled and looked away, even seeming to blush a little. God, she was adorable. I smiled back, doing my best to stay cool and collected even though my pulse was racing.

"You sure you don't want to show your tattoo? After all, it's part of who you are." Of course, I broke into an embarrassed smile after the word 'sure'. So much for staying cool.

She seemed to waver for a moment. "Okay," she finally said. "You talked me into it."

She unhitched the top two buttons of her jeans. Then my breath caught in my throat as she turned and lowered her pants, dropping them enough to reveal the star-shaped tattoo right between the dimples on her lower back. It looked like a black sun with wavy intertwined lines radiating outward in a starburst pattern. I wondered if she knew that she was also showing me the upper crack of her butt. She held the pose as I took several photos.

"I like it," I commented, referring to both the tattoo and her backside. "Any special meaning?"

She turned around and settled her clothes back into place. "Thanks. Nah, I just liked the design."

"I bet you get asked this all the time, but did it hurt?"

"A little yeah. But the piercings hurt more. Especially these." She grinned and pulled up her sweater, dispelling any doubt that she wasn't wearing a bra. She flashed her perky little tits at me, the pair of silver barbells in her pierced brown nipples gleaming brightly.

"Wow," was all I could say. I didn't even think to take a picture.

"Sorry," she said, pulling her sweater down and looking ashamed. "I don't usually flash people. It must be the lights."

"Yeah, it must be," I said, my face feeling hot. "I won't complain if you have anything else you want to show off, though. Honest."

She smiled at me, not seeming to notice the unsteady arousal in my voice. Either that or she didn't mind. I felt that I couldn't really be blamed under these conditions anyway. This was the first time a girl had ever flashed her tits at me, or her butt for that matter.

"Well," she said coyly, "there

is

one more piercing I could show you." I went down a mental checklist of what I knew she had pierced already, and there weren't many options left. I swallowed hard again.

"Really, what?" I asked in mock innocence.

Angela unbuttoned her jeans all the way down and slowly lowered them to mid-thigh. I stared in shock as her dark triangle of closely trimmed pubic hair appeared. She spread her legs a short distance apart to reveal the delicate lips of her pussy and the captivating gleam of a clit ring.

My pants suddenly felt much tighter. I remembered my camera this time and used the remainder of the roll on a gradually closer sequence of shots, ending with a few very enticing frames of her jeweled vulva. She turned her head to the side with an embarrassed smile and half-covered her face as the shutter clicked away.

"Beautiful." I felt light-headed as I stood back from the camera. "If this is the lighting's fault, then every studio needs lights like these." I was babbling and my voice sounded husky, even to me. Angela only giggled as I quickly rewound the film and popped a fresh roll in.

"I bet that one hurt the most, though." I added, doing my best to keep us talking. The shoot was quickly going off the rails, but the last thing I wanted to do was slow down.

"It wasn't too bad actually," she answered, looking down at herself. "I just got the hood pierced. Some girls actually get their

clits

done, but I'm not that much of a masochist." She started to pull her pants up and I felt a strong sense of impending loss.

"Mind if I get some with your whole body?" I asked, wincing at my choice of words. "I mean a few shots of all your piercings from the neck down. You can use a chair if you want." I tried to sound as objective as possible, though this was possibly the most turned on I'd ever been in my life.

"Sure." Angela followed my suggestion, sitting down in one of the wooden chairs before lowering her jeans again and raising her sweater. I angled the lighting to cast better shadows over the curves of her body. She was reclining on the edge of the seat with her legs close together, the gently rising mound of her black-haired pussy outlined in sharp relief by the lights. Her torso was slouched a little with her sweater bunched up just above her silhouetted breasts. Her tits rose prominently above the smooth slope of her stomach, and all of her piercings gleamed. She was simply gorgeous.

Angela was looking at me dead-on from behind her glasses, her cheeks blushing a light red. She wasn't smiling, but the intensity of her gaze suggested that she was enjoying this. I hadn't expected her to be so much of an exhibitionist.

I snapped about a dozen pictures then removed the camera from its tripod. I told myself it was just to get some odd-angle shots and not because I wanted to get closer. After only a few more shots, I found myself on my knees right next to her with my heart thumping loudly in my chest. My eyes were level with her pierced bellybutton, my camera acting as a flimsy barrier between us. A voice in my head whispered that I should stop here and not test the limits of the universe any further, but I was too caught up in the moment to listen.

Once again the camera was forgotten. My eyes wandered downward, from Angela's close-cropped pubic hair to the silver ring that hung from the delicate hood at the top of her slit. The swollen pink lips, the hidden gap between her thighs, they were like mysteries waiting to be explored.