All participants are aged eighteen or over.
*****
I was born and raised in a tiny village in Norfolk, England. At the age of eight I was taken by my parents to New Zealand, to make a better life for ourselves they said. We did have a good life, and when my father passed away when I was twenty four and my mother decided to return to England I stayed.
Over the next thirty or so years I visited my mother every few years in that tiny village where she had resettled. I was fifty six when mother passed away and left me a small life insurance and a cottage. My own life had had a few down turns, my wife and only child had been the victims of a stupid accident, they had died instantly I'd been told, but that didn't help my state of mind at the time. I'd never gotten over it enough to remarry, so had been on my own for nearly twenty years. At the time of my mother's death I'd been offered an early retirement, so I packed up a few possessions and moved back to the UK, to my mother's cottage.
It was certainly no Christchurch, it was very quiet, just a dozen or so houses and an ancient church; not even a pub. I managed to land a part time job at a stately home a few miles away, cutting grass, arranging parking, serving occasionally in the gift shop, it didn't pay a lot, only just above minimum wage, but it was enough.
The nearest pub was about two miles away, in the next village so I cycled over there a couple of nights a week for a pint or two of the good stuff. My natural route to the pub was along a pretty overgrown old road that served as the only way to the old church. The church, one of hundreds in the county of Norfolk, now more of a tourist attraction than a real working church. In some ways I suppose that is a disservice to the church and the local volunteers that do most of the maintenance on it. A vicar visits once a month to hold services, and other than that it seems to be popular for weddings, white weddings, gothic style weddings, you name it, the age and ambience of the place, it's graveyard and flint tower seem to attract all sorts.
It was one Friday night when I was on my way home that things started to happen. Just outside the arched gateway into the churchyard there is a series of potholes in the lane, in the darkness it is necessary to get off the bike to avoid them. Having gotten off I thought I saw some movement over the hedge, in the churchyard. It was quite late, well past eleven o'clock, and like nearly all these old churches there was a small history of vandalism, not a lot, but enough to anger the people who looked after it. I decided to take a quick look.
I entered the churchyard and walked around. The church itself was locked up at night, at least when one of the key holders remembered to do it. Someone had remembered, and it was locked. I didn't see anyone but as I was leaving I got the definite impression of being watched. I'm not given to flights of fancy, and graveyards don't bother me so I was fairly sure that someone was there.
Exactly the same thing happened the following night, Saturday, and again I saw nobody. I didn't go to the pub again until the following Wednesday night when nothing at all happened.
Two nights later, on the Friday, I was sure there was someone in the churchyard. I once again checked that the church was locked, but this time as I turned to leave I saw a young woman, sat on one of the old gravestones.
I approached and said "hello, are you alright?"
She answered that she was fine and that this was a nice place.
As I got closer I could see her much more clearly. She looked to be about eighteen or maybe twenty years old. She was pretty, although the ring through her nose didn't help her looks. She had what looked like dark blue or black hair, it was difficult to tell in the moonlight, she was dressed in what I think of as a gothic fashion, big boots, fishnet tights, a frilly sort of dress or skirt and a leather jacket, all black.
I had to ask what she was doing there at that time of night, to which she replied that she came here to get away from home, to get some peace and quiet away from her family. When I asked where she lived she just laughed and said that she couldn't tell me that, I was a strange man after all, a man she had only just met, and in a graveyard!
Fair enough I thought.
She was there again the following night. I had half expected her to be there so I had some crisps in my bag on the back of the bike. I ended up eating them myself when she said she wasn't hungry. We sat for a little while and chatted, about absolutely nothing worth remembering until she suddenly asked if I was any good at photography?
I explained that I had never made a hobby of it but that like most people I thought I could frame a decent picture. For some reason she thought that was hilarious and asked if I would be willing to take some pictures of her?
"What sort of pictures, and where would you like them taken?"
"I was thinking right here, I always wanted to be a glamour model, and I love this place, so why not here? There are loads of good spots and it's nice and quiet, will you do it?"
Well, I'm no David Bailey but I was faced with a very pretty young woman who was offering to pose for me so obviously I agreed. I was surprised however when she pulled an old instant instamatic camera out of her pocket and handed it to me. To be honest, I hadn't known that these things were still made, it was years since I'd seen or heard of them, I thought it amazing you could still get film for them.
"You want to do it now? At the dead of night in the pitch dark?"
"Sure, I can't think of a better time to take pictures in a graveyard, can you?"
I couldn't really argue with that so opening the camera and turning on the flash I took a few steps back and took the first picture of her, sat on a headstone sideways on to me with her face turned towards me. After I clicked the shutter the photograph slid out of the bottom of the camera and needed to be put somewhere to develop and dry. Angel, as she called herself pointed to the foyer of the church and said that there were a couple of seats in there that we could place the photos on to dry. I walked across and left the still developing picture on a seat and turned back to her.
While I had been gone she had removed her jacket to reveal that she was only wearing a leather bra under it. Again she sat on the headstone and did the same pose, this time with her jacket thrown over the shoulder furthest from me. When I went over to place this second photograph with the first she followed, and picked up the first, showing it to me. It had come out much better than I expected, very clear considering how dark it was. She was a good subject, her smile shone out at the camera, and she had a lovely figure, not skinny, but with all the right curves in all the right places.
In all I took a total of just eight pictures before running out of film. They had gotten progressively more daring, she had taken off the skirt for the fourth picture and posed in just panties and bra for three pictures before taking off her bra for the final two.
She said she didn't have another film with her, which I have to say that with the way things were going was rather disappointing. Well I am a man!
Still, our little photo shoot had ended at a sensible point so I can't complain. At her insistence I left her examining the pictures as I rode the rest of the way home.
