"I don't think they put as much chocolate on those biscuits as they used to."
Sal had bumped into Mrs Riley at the local supermarket. They had gone around together pushing their trolleys. Later at the greengrocery section Sal had been more than a little amused as Mrs Riley picked up a cucumber, turned it slowly and winked at her.
"I was ever so pleased with my photographs. Your really are most photogenic, my dear, a lovely liquidity to your movements. I did tell Mr Riley all about it and..." The movement was suggestive. It is remarkable how suggestive a woman's hands can be upon a cucumber or banana. Clearly, she was reminding Sal of the photo session the week before, "... he saw my photographs of course. He said he'd wished he'd been there."
The question was obvious, but Mrs Riley forestalled it. "He's not much of a photographer. He just wanted to watch -- the bad man!"
Sal was not at all sure the meeting had really been all about photography, even though Mrs Riley went off into the rather technical aspects of photographing skin tones and focus. Sal had simply been the model not the photographer. She had posed atop the table. The ever-popular photographic subject of the nude -- in that meeting there had been studies of both the female and male nude. Only it had been rather more than that. The female and male nude together -- very together. Considerable opportunity had been given to photograph the male sexual organs -- with penis both flaccid and erect. Moreover, the photographers had been able to compare male and female genitalia in various studies. Admittedly it had only been the single set of female genitalia -- Sal's -- but a good number of the men had agreed to pose with her and permit a close comparison. Liquid is always an interesting photographic study, perhaps particularly in black and white. The photographers had been delighted in how liquid Sal had been, her thighs and sex had run in rivulets -- and the men had provided their own liquid to add to the compositions.
She could well understand Mr Riley would have liked to have watched. "Would he have posed for the group?"
"Oh, I don't think so. No. He is a rather shy man. He won't even pose for me naked at home. I like photographing the nude, Sal, but I have to wait for the club's meetings. You were so natural, so easy. "I couldn't do what you did. I really couldn't."
Sal rather thought what Mrs Riley meant was she would really like to! Mrs Riley had mentioned how she would like, Sal recalled, a private photograph session, just Mrs Riley and Sal -- and Mr Riley. Would it be polite to recall Mrs Riley's words and offer? Was that what she was seeking, a hidden implication of her words? Perhaps Mrs Riley might be prepared to pose with Mr Riley. Sal would like the opportunity. She had not had the chance at the club -- being the model.
"I was wondering," said Mrs Riley, as she collected fruit, "... these pears look nice -- I was thinking of suggesting the club had an outing on the theme of the nude in the landscape. You know, the contrast of soft skin and hard landscape. Take a minibus and have some members posing in the all-together by lakes, rivers or in woodland scenes. Trying perhaps to have the naked body blending into the scene."
"That'd be good. I'd enjoy seeing how that worked. I can see myself trying several different filters."
"Perhaps, Sal, though I should imagine club members would rather like you to pose for us. But we might try the idea out before suggesting it. A practice run if you like. Perhaps I might persuade Mr Riley to drive us, even model for us."
Sal wondered if Mrs Riley would be successful with her husband. How shy was he? Would she casually mention it to him; would she have to cajole, or was it perhaps a persistent Mr Riley who kept asking about the photo sessions at the club, so intrigued by what Mrs Riley told him and the photographs; or was it something whispered in his ear whilst they were passionately engaged in bed? A little difficult to imagine Mrs Riley passionately engaged. Seeing Chloe and Paul had been one thing but Mrs Riley and Mr Riley?
However Mrs Riley broached the subject, and whether she had to use her powers of persuasion Sal did not know. Perhaps she was particularly caring of Mr Riley -- perhaps she sucked his cock a lot -- but the outing happened. Sal, complete with two black bags of photographic equipment slung around her, was picked up. Mr Riley proved a dapper little man. Shiny bald head and a little moustache, somewhat portly and, as Sal found rather quiet. Sal sat in the back of their car as Mr Riley drove and Mrs Riley did pretty much all the talking.
Sal was a little surprised when Mr Riley reached down and picked up a pipe. She was suddenly alarmed the car was going to be filled with fragrant or more likely acrid pipe smoke. Sal was not a smoker herself -- never had been except once or twice behind the bike sheds. It had made her feel sick.
Mrs Riley turned around and said, "don't worry, Sal, Alfred hasn't smoked for years and years. He just likes something in his mouth." There was a pause and then she winked, "Like you."
Sal gave Mrs Riley a look. Did she mean what Sal thought she did? A sudden hint of Mrs Riley's tongue across her lips. Clearly, she most certainly did! There was rather more to Mrs Riley than met the eye. There was clearly more to her than a house-proud (Sal assumed) middle-aged woman. Had she looked longingly at Sal's young black friend's mahogany truncheon in all its manly tumescence there upon the table at the club's meeting, the club's photographic lights arranged to give deep shadow and bright prominence, emphasising the shape of the young man's impressive organ? Had she wished to suck that as Sal had sucked? Alfred Riley might like his pipe but what of Edith Riley? What would the young man think of that? An older woman fellating him, the keen club members perhaps asking him to simulate sexual intercourse and Mrs Riley deciding to make it real? What would Mr Riley think if he saw the resultant photographs, his wife 'speared' by a penis like that!
"Where are we actually going?" Sal asked.
With his pipe between his teeth, it waggling up and down, the usually taciturn Alfred Riley spoke. It was a disused quarry. A pretty place, but not much visited. A bit out of the way. The whiteness of the rock created a rather impressive mirror effect in the water. The water would look very blue, Mediterranean blue indeed, reflected from the sky. The surrounding trees so green. It was all very photogenic. Good scenery for photography he supposed. The water rather too cold really for swimming. The water was deep, very deep. It was not wise to go swimming. A risk of difficulties with the cold water.
The car pulled up on a quiet by-road amongst trees. Sal lifted her camera bags and got out. It was a little odd following the Rileys down a path. Pleasing to see no other cars parked. Mid-week and not early in the morning. People working, and possible dog walkers no longer out and about. Mr Riley in neat chinos and jacket, carrying his wife's camera bag and one of Sal's. Mrs Riley beside him in her usual floral dress, her brown permed curls contrasting with Mr Riley's baldness. He had put on a hat, a trilby, even though the sun was filtered by the overhanging branches.
The setting for the photo shoot, when they reached it, was simply excellent. A sheep grazed view out across the old quarry, the old quarry road leading into it and a good level area by the water with its high sides rising up beyond. All around the trees and quiet. No one could be seen, no walkers, fishermen or people with an interest in photography -- apart from Mr and Mrs Riley and Sal. Stone had not been extracted for some fifty years, nature had largely reclaimed the landscape. It almost looked natural not man made.
