"Right, Luv," Eddie was saying in his heavy West Midlands Brummie, "Jus' move your face a bit closer, Angie darling...jus' rise up a bit...a bit more..."
I really didn't know Maddie, the buxom Canadian blonde leaning back against the rock, but she seemed visibly nervous. At first I guessed it was due to the precarious way Eddie had posed her at the water's edge, with one foot resting on a ledge almost to her waist and the lapping waves eroding the sand under her other foot. She only had one free hand with which to grasp the huge bolder behind her; her other hand was clutching the strings of her discarded bikini top while pulling the bottoms to one side, exposing her bare pussy at Eddie's request. A moment later, however, I realized that the source of her concern was Angelina, the mixed-race blasian girl whose face was about six inches from her genitals. "She's not going to touch it, is she?" Maddie blurted out. "With her lips? She can't, you know. You can't have her do that. My contract explicitly says no genital contact!"
"Oh, puh-lease," Angelina said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. I couldn't help but chuckle at her distain. I had worked with Angelina on several previous photo shoots, and she was clearly no prude: girl-girl, fingering herself-she was willing to do just about anything the photographer asked. There was even a persistent rumor that she'd once worn one of those strap-on butterfly vibes to a modeling industry party and let her girlfriends pass around the wireless remote controller.
"Maddie, my dear," Eddie said soothingly. "We're not going to do anything you're not comfortable with. But part of glamour modeling is the allusion, the implication that sex is really happening."
"Say what you want," Maddie protested, "but I'm here to model, not do porn!"
"I wouldn't even think of touching your pristine little coochie," Angie replied. "It might turn you into an awful nympho slut. Or worse, a lesbian!"
"Girls, girls," Eddie interrupted. "Let's get on with it. Tempus fugit!" The two girls got back into position and Eddie's DSLR began clicking away. "Bret," he said to me, "bring that reflector closer." I took three or four strides towards the girls. "No, no, you're in my frame. Take a step to the left. Lower the reflector; angle it up more." I dutifully repositioned the large circle of metallic fabric I was holding.
I'd been Eddie's assistant for three years, and we worked well together. Part of the reason was that unlike most photo assistants, I had no aspirations of being a photographer myself. I didn't second-guess his creative decisions or make suggestions about how to arrange his models. I did what I was told without debate, and for that Eddie paid me more than the going rate. I think he also appreciated that I knew better than to hit on the models; I didn't intermingle my business and personal affairs. The same could not be said of Eddie: the first time we went out of town on a location shoot together, he propositioned me several times until I made it clear to him that I didn't swing that way.
"Angie," Eddie was saying, " put your right hand on the outside of her thigh. Maddie, dear, tilt your head back..."
"Should I stick my tongue out?" Angie asked. She didn't wait for a reply, but extended her tongue within inches of Maddie's shaven labia.
"Oh, yes," Eddie nodded. Click, click. "Bloody great shot, girls, bloody fantastic. You both look gorgeous." Click, click.
The pose really was quite erotic. It amazed me that Eddie, who by his own admission hadn't thought about sex with a female since he turned seventeen, could still create images that fueled every heterosexual male's sexual fantasies perfectly. Even though I knew the reality of the situation-that the girls had no affection for one another, that their expressions of arousal were fake, that they were only following the instructions of a gay photographer-I could still clearly imagine the convincing story it would convey in a magazine or in a browser window: the stereotypical big-titted, blonde beach babe has escaped behind a rock with her exotic, dark-skinned girlfriend, where they can pull off their tiny bikinis and indulge their overwhelming sexual urges.
I glanced down the beach. The funny thing was, Maddie and Angelina and I were the only people wearing anything at all. Nude men and women were strolling around, sunbathing and splashing in the Caribbean without a stitch of clothing on. Few people gave us much notice as they passed. Even Eddie, an enthusiastic naturist who preferred be nude whenever possible, was orchestrating the photography session bare-assed in just a pair of flip-flops. I was wearing a pair of baggie basketball shorts, which made me the most covered-up person there.
Eddie repositioned the girls for another pose, this time both nude, standing knee-deep in the ocean. Angie was behind Maddie with her arms wrapped around her torso, one hand cupping her breast and the other on her belly, close to her crotch. Eddie motioned me into the water. "Bret, get out there and get some extra light on the underside of Maddie's tits." I didn't want to spend the rest of the day in wet athletic shorts, so I pulled them off and waded into the water nude, carrying the reflector.
Angie slowly slid her hand further down Maddie's torso. I wondered how much closer Maddie would tolerate. I was standing close enough that I could hear Angie whisper in Maddie's ear, "Let me touch your pussy." They kept looking directly at the camera and their come-hither expressions didn't change, but Angie's hand moved down further still. A moment later, Angie was cupping her pubic mound.
"Love it, love it," Eddie was yelling from the shore.
Angie said again, "Let me touch your pussy. I want to massage your clit. Let me slip my finger inside you." Maddie still did not react. She kept a playful, eager smile on her face, but there was no indication if it was genuine pleasure or just good modeling. Angie, on the other hand, might have been motivated by sexual arousal or just a mischievous desire to goad her prudish partner, but she was clearly acting on some desire of her own. "I could make you feel soooo good, if you'd only let me," she whispered. The anticipation was palpable and I was becoming aroused myself. I felt my cock began to tingle, then expand. I found myself staring directly at Angie's fingers as they moved to Maddie's clitoral hood and began making almost imperceptibly small circles. Maddie took a deep breath but kept smiling at the camera. This continued for several long seconds. I glanced up and noticed that Angie was also pinching Maddie's nipple between the index finger and thumb of her other hand. Smile, smile, click, click. My cock was now fully erect but was fortunately hidden from view by the large reflector I was holding. Angie finally went for broke and slid her middle finger between Maddie's pussy lips.
"Okay, that's it!" Maddie suddenly yelled, jerking free of Angie's embrace. "What are you trying to do? Just stop, okay? Stop!" As she stepped backwards away from Angie, she knocked the reflector from my grasp. She turned around to see my stiff hard-on. "Oh, please! You people! What is going on here!" I heard Angie snicker. I immediately grabbed the reflector out of the water and held it in front of me again. I'm normally not ashamed of my cock (it's at least average in length and pretty damn thick), but I had never done anything sexually inappropriate around Eddie's models before, and I didn't want my professionalism questioned now.
"Let's all just take a break, shall we?" Eddie said from the shore. "Everybody take five. Bret, why don't you go for a walk until your...until you regain your composure."
I waded out of the water with my stiff cock bouncing in front of me and dropped the reflector by the crate of equipment on the beach. "Eddie, look..." I began to say.
Eddie cut me off. "It happens. No biggie. We just deal with it." Then he smiled. "Nice tool, by the way."
My cock was still partially erect, but at least it was now swinging between my legs, not standing straight out. "Ahh, yeah, thanks," I stammered. I turned and started walking down the beach.
I had only walked a short distance when I heard a voice say, "That's got to be tough, huh?" I turned and saw a fat, big-titted young woman sitting nude in a low-slug beach chair. Her legs were drawn up in front of her and she was resting a paperback book against her knees.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"I've been watching you work," she said. "They are both very beautiful women. Working with those sexy models all the time, you must get worked up pretty often."
I motioned in the direction of Angie and Maddie, who were currently in an animated discussion with Eddie. "Less often than you'd think. Those girls are high, high maintenance. Too high. It's always about them."
"When you look like them," the fat sunbather said, "I think you just grow up to expect the whole world to be at your beck and call. Sex appeal will do that."
"I guess they can't help but end up catty and bitchy," I replied, "but it doesn't make them any less of a pain to work with."
"Not the unending flesh feast you thought it would be?"
"They do sexy for a living; they only going to put out for folks with a yacht and a Manhattan condo. I never had any delusions about hooking up with models. For me its always been about getting a good paycheck, and that's about it."
"I guess that's for the best, then," she shrugged.
"Yeah, I guess." I almost resumed my walk down the beach, but she playfully blew me a kiss. My curiosity about this unusual creature was getting the better of of me. She looked to be in her late twenties, with a cute, round face, a friendly smile, thick chestnut curls that cascaded over her shoulders. She was definitely fat, but not unattractive. The way she was sitting her belly had folded over against itself several places, but her round torso, huge tits and soft, padded thighs were youthful looking, thanks to skin that was smooth, cellulite-free, and a clear indication that this not her first time at a nude beach-a deliciously uninterrupted, all-over tan invited my gaze to roam freely over every inch of her ample curves.
"Although, I have to say, it sure seemed as though you were thinking about more than a paycheck a few minutes ago." I glanced to see her smirk coyly. Unlike the models' expressions, her playfulness was clearly genuine.
"Well, Angie, the darker one, is a lesbian. She was trying to grope the blonde, who's a bit uptight. I hadn't seen that sort of seduction during a photo shoot before. It was..."
"Exciting?"
"Yeah."
"Frustrating to have desires you can't act on, huh?"
"I suppose so," I nodded.
"I know what it's like." She held her book up for me to see the title: THE DAMP FIRES OF PASSION. "When you're my size, the only partner you can find most of the time is erotic fiction...and your finger." I realized that her other hand was wedged between her thick thighs. "Or maybe a dildo if I'm home in bed."
Her frankness was disarming. I found myself perfectly at ease, and it felt right to open up to her. I squatted down next to her. "To be perfectly honest, there are plenty of nights that I jack off while mentally replaying what I've seen throughout the day."
"I can understand how arousing that would be." The woman stretched out her legs. "I can even get turned on by just being out here on the beach, seeing so many naked bodies around." I noticed the hand between her legs was rocking back and forth slightly. "I imagine them as the characters in my books."
"Do you read romance novels often?"
"Every day. I'm absolutely addicted to them. I mean, I make it a point to read other stuff, too, but the sexy, erotic stuff is what I gravitate toward. I love getting turned on. I can't get enough."
"Do you also jill off at the beach a lot?"
She sheepishly pulled her hand from her crotch. "Sorry, it's a bit of a habit."
