About two weeks after my nude modeling for the photography class the girls took, my girlfriend, Anne Marie, and her bffs, Becky and Bridget, and I got together over drinks at our favorite pub. We squeezed into one of the booths along the back wall and ordered pints from Trish, our favorite waitress.
When the drinks arrive, Becky lifts her glass for a toast.
"To Owen, who is a great sport, a fantastic model and a well-hung stud." The girls laugh and I grin good-naturedly.
Becky pulls out a large envelope and asks if I want to see her favorites. Bridget is embarrassed, as usual. I say sure, "but I've seen it all before."
Becky opens the envelope and slides out about ten color 8 x 10's. One by one she guides them over to me, spreading them out over the table.
About half-way through, Trish stops by to see if we want anything. She startles at the pictures of a naked man, then does a double take.
"Holy Shit, Owen, is that you?"
"You betcha'," affirms Becky.
"Sorry, I don't mean to stare. I didn't know you were a model. I thought you were in financial planning or something," says Trish.
I answer I work in finance and am not really a model, just helping out. I try to look Trish in the eyes, but her gaze is fixed on the pictures. Trish is tall and lean with spiked blond hair, blue eyes and a pale complexion. She appears to have a tight body and her butt always looks great in her form-fitting jeans.
"God, I wish my boyfriend looked like that. He's only 24 and has a beer gut and a wee willie wiener."
The other girls laugh at that description.
"Well, that's not one of Owen's shortcomings," offers the usually quiet Bridget.
"Hell, no," pipes in Becky. "I'd say there are no shortcomings at all." As she speaks she runs a finger down one of the full frontal pictures that was strongly lit and shows my penis in fine detail.
"Well, if we all are through evaluating my boyfriend's physique, how about a couple orders of wings, Trish," says Anne Marie.
"What?" asks the waitress as she keeps her eyes on the tabletop display. "Oh, uh, sure. Right away. Anything else?"
We all shake our heads, and she disappears back toward the kitchen.
In the silence that follows, they all look at the nude pictures.
"You really do look good, Owen," says Bridget. "I think you were a great sport to do it and I hope we are not humiliating you."
I sip my beer and then shake my head. "Actually, it is kinda' weird to see yourself naked. I mean we all look at ourselves in the mirror, but it's not the same as seeing a photo that's professionally lit and holding a pose. I like these, and I'm not embarrassed. Now, that doesn't mean I'd want them plastered on the women's—or men's—room walls or distributed in my office."
"No chance of that," assures Becky. "I want these for my own collection. And, Owen, I'd never to anything to embarrass you."
Becky gives me a wink. Her wild red hair is a mess of curls. My mom would say she has the map of Ireland on her face, peaches and cream complexion with a band of freckles across her nose. She is an inch or two taller than Anne Marie's 5'7''. She looks to have a good figure, but not as heavy in the chest as Anne Marie.
Many people have compared Anne Marie to a young Sophia Loren. She is dark complected with full lips, deep brown eyes and a body that looks like it belongs in a Renaissance painting. She is religious with her workouts and her narrow waist and tight abs only help to accent her extraordinary breasts.
Anne Marie rearranges the display, then asks the other two, "Which do you like best?"
Bridget turns even a deeper red, but manages to make a selection.
"I like this one." The picture shows me sitting on the edge of a stool. One leg is on the floor and the other rests on the bottom rung of the stool. I have my right hand on my hip and my left rests on my knee. My stomach muscles are accentuated by the lighting and my penis and balls hang freely.
Becky joins in. "Yeah, I like that one a lot, especially since it shows the package so well. But, as much as I like looking at dick, this is my favorite."
The one Becky points to is a back shot. I am standing with legs apart and my fingers locked behind my head. The muscles in my back are stressed and look powerful. My buns are clinched and the dimples on each cheek are clearly visible. Looking more closely, you can see my balls and the tip of my penis through my spread legs.
"Yeah, definitely this one," asserts Becky. "Gets my motor running."
"Well, you both have chosen well," says Anne Marie. "Now, how about we put them away and enjoy our wings, which I see are coming. I think we've given Trish enough of a show tonight."
Becky slips them into the envelope. Trish arrives with the food. She looks disappointed that the pictures are gone, but doesn't say anything.
We order another round of beers and begin attacking the hot and spicy wings.
After a couple minutes,Becky excuses herself to go to the ladies, and Bridget says she'll join her.
Alone with Anne Marie, I turn and kiss her. She kisses back, her lips as enticingly soft as they always are. Her slight perfume, even in the pub with all its beer and food aromas, fills my nostrils.
"God, Anne Marie, you always smell so good and it turns me on."
"And, that's why I smell good, dear." She kisses me again, and sits back in the booth.
"I hope that was not too uncomfortable for you, all those photos, I mean," she says while holding her pint to her lips. I detect a slight hint of sarcasm.
"Well, I was surprised, obviously, but you know what an exhibitionist I am. I do get a bit of a thrill knowing that your friends are looking at pictures of me nude, and enjoying it."
"And, now, Trish is in on the treat," adds Anne Marie. "Quite the man, aren't you?"
"Anne Marie," I ask, "what's going on? You seem sort of pissed."
"I guess sometimes I think you take too much enjoyment in showing yourself to other women. I wonder if I am still enough of a thrill for you."
Anne Marie is the most confident woman I have ever met. She rarely shows any jealousy or a sign of insecurity.
"You are the most attractive, appealing and sexy person I know," I say. "I am totally happy being with you—period."
Anne Marie takes my hand and brings it to her lips. She looks me in the eyes and holds my gaze.
"I suppose I'm just being a little over-sensitive. I look at Trish, who is a lot closer to your age than I am, and I think that you probably want to jump her bones and leave me behind."
I squeeze her hand and tell her that she is all I need and that I don't want to get into another discussion about the difference in our ages. Anne Marie is in her early forties and I am 27.
"Yeah, I know I seem to be the only one hung up on my age," she says. "But, ever since I turned 41 I think about it more and more. Turning 40 was not traumatic, but realizing that the years keep coming and I can't say I'm in my 'late, late thirties' freaks me out sometimes."
"Well, it doesn't bother me," I assure her. "You are fabulous and I love you, and I want to be with you. That's as simple as I can make it."
Anne Marie leans in and kisses me. Her lips are warm and her kisses are the softest I have ever experienced.
She picks up her glass and sips some beer.
"Ok, I believe you. But, you cannot convince me that you don't look at other women, imagine having sex with them, and, as you have told me, even play around a little with them."
"Sure, but I thought that was all acceptable. I know you've had experiences with other people, because you've told me about them, in addition to Henri in Paris. I know he is your favorite and I accept that you really enjoy being with him when you are over there.
"I have never slept with another woman since we've been together, and I will not unless we discuss it first, and both agree on it. I expect the same from you."
