Photography has been an important part of my life since I was 16. A summer job funded my first serious camera purchase and before long I was picking up money taking pictures of weddings and the occasional portrait. By the time I reached college, I was selling photographs to newspapers, supporting the effort with a job in a local camera store.
The summer after my senior year became a decompression point for me. I was soon scheduled to start my first real job writing and taking pictures for the local paper but for three glorious stress-free months I worked in the camera store, went home at five o'clock and, for the first time in years, didn't worry about the school work that I never seemed to have the time to finish. I still recall it as one of the richest interludes of my life.
I went to school in a tourist town and our camera shop days always involved selling film and photo gear to vacationing visitors. Although it is hard to recall an era before everyone had a camera phone in their pocket, the 1970's were the early days of the 35-millimeter craze when taking nice photos meant acquiring the latest Nikon marvel fueled by miles of film stock.
We sold our share of nice cameras to visiting tourists, but none was as memorable to me as a rig that I sold one afternoon to a single woman from Connecticut.
She had a short haircut and a trim athletic figure to match, shown off perfectly in a sundress that sculpted her breasts and showed just enough cleavage to be interesting but just shy of provocative. Her name—not important here—was one of those buttoned-down New England names that seemed to drip money. She had a practiced and confident manner that I have always found attractive in a woman.
As we worked through the choices of cameras, she took her time, asking more questions than I was used to hearing in a typical sale. I obliged, able to take extra time on an afternoon that was unusually slow. Finally, she settled on a high-end model, paying for the purchase with a gold American Express card.
We were wrapping up the sale when she casually said, "I will need someone to show me how to use this thing. Would you be available after the shop closes?" My stomach flipped, realizing for the first time that there might be more to her interest than f stops and film speed.
"Of course," I answered. "Where are you staying?"
She named one of the nicer hotels and we quickly agreed to meet in a scenic area within walking distance. A few hours later, we were taking snapshots as I explained Nikon's latest wizardry.
It was a golden evening, one of those fading days of summer followed by the first cool evenings. As the light faded, our conversation became more intimate.
She was newly divorced and vacationing alone for the first time after what she described as a difficult marriage. The haircut and sundress were part of a new look intended as a new beginning.
"How do you like it," she asked with a sudden boldness twirling in front of me.
I liked it very much, I told her, reaching for her hand.
By now, the evening shadows had deepened, and I steered her toward a secluded formal garden where I took her in my arms and kissed her deeply. She responded hungrily and we stood their exploring each other in the growing darkness.
Finally, I held her away from me and asked, "Would you like to have dinner?"
"Yes," she chirped. "But room service is what I want most."
After an agitated walk, we were in her room. As soon as the bolt slid shut, we dropped all pretense and wildly groped each other. She seemed voracious and tender all at once. Soon, she crossed to the bed and lay on her stomach.
"I am worn out from walking," she said. "You have strong hands. Can I convince you to massage my back and legs?"
"Let's start with your neck," I said, kneading her bare shoulders before kissing them slightly. She groaned pleasantly before kicking her calves into the air.
