Fun In The Sun Ch 01 1

This one has a lengthy introduction, to set the scene. Please don't get bored, because there will be plenty of fucking, sucking, and all kinds of sexy action which I hope you will find worth waiting for. This is a 10 story series, about an erotic photographer relocating to Spain, so there will be plenty of opportunities for him to have 'fun in the sun.'

When I was made redundant from my executive position with a major oil company a couple of years back, I was in no hurry to rush back into the jobs market. Since my divorce five years earlier, I had lived a pretty frugal lifestyle, my only extravagance being indulging my hobby of photography. I had made substantial savings and investments with an eye to just such an eventuality as redundancy, and I also received a very generous redundancy package so I could afford to take my time deciding my future.

Gradually over the years I had built up my photographic equipment until I had a range of cameras, lenses, and studio flash units that quite a few top-class professionals would envy. I wasn't an equipment freak, buying the latest, all singing, all dancing technological advances in camera equipment for the sake of it, and god knows, there are enough of them in the world of amateur photography. Along with acquiring the equipment, I had made a determined effort to improve and develop my photographic skills, through constant practice, reading as many books on the subject as I could, and attending weekend seminars, etc, to a level where I was winning prizes regularly in local competitions, and then nationally and even internationally, so even if I do say so myself, I wasn't too bad at what I did.

Photographically, I had two areas of interest, which were landscapes and people, especially women. I loved a good landscape photograph, and often went off to other parts of the country at the weekends with a friend (also a top-class landscape photographer) who owned a camper van. I paid half the fuel and a little extra for wear and tear, and shared the driving and cooking duties too. Being mobile was great because we didn't have to depend on hotels or B&B's, and if we needed to get up at 3.30am to catch a sunrise in the Scottish highlands or wherever, we were free to come and go as we pleased without disturbing anyone else, or requiring a pass key.

Being made redundant was the great game changer for me. Now I had the time, and money to sit back for a little while, and really think about my future and what I wanted to do. I had no ties. My ex-wife had already gone off with half of our assets years before, and although still on friendly enough terms with her, I owed her nothing. My parents were sadly both gone, and although I had a brother and a sister, they were caught up in their own worlds of family, children, etc. Yes, of course I loved them all dearly, my brother, sister and my little nieces and nephews, but now was a time for me to really take my life in a different direction rather than rush back into the corporate rat race.

In the following week, I formulated a plan. I didn't require a lot of money to live on. I had simple tastes, no drug habits, and rarely touched alcohol either, only rarely indulging in an occasional glass of wine if there was something to celebrate. I wasn't one for designer labels either and was just as happy wearing cheap jeans as an Armani business suit of which I had a few. Little by little everything fell into place in my mind until I had a plan for a complete change of lifestyle. I would strip everything out of my apartment that I really wanted to keep, furniture, pictures, personal belongings, put it all in storage until I needed it, and give the apartment to a letting agent to look after. That way it would generate an income, be as little trouble to me as possible, and if I wanted to come back to it at some future point, then I could. It was a nice apartment in a desirable area, so it should bring in more than enough for me to live on where I was going, and I had finally made up my mind. I was going to Spain!

I reasoned that if I was going to make a change of lifestyle, then I would just go for it and make a significant change. I planned to move somewhere like the Costa Del Sol, Southern Spain. Possibly Malaga, or Marbella. Somewhere like that would suit me very well, and they were not too far from places that interested me from my reading on history over the years, places like Granada, Seville, and Cordoba. There should be enough in that area to interest me from a landscape point of view, but the area also held other attractions, and that was where my other photographic interest came in, namely women.

I planned to look for a decent sized villa, with a swimming pool if possible, and use it as my studio. I could do photo shoots outside when sunny, and if the weather or light wasn't right, or if I were shooting a private client and needed privacy I could move inside. For private clients I would charge a decent fee, and with possible models which I could pick up from the night clubs, the beaches etc, I could sell photo sets to magazines and photo agencies with commercial 'lifestyle' photography, or just plain old glamour shots of topless and nude girls. Let's face it, they were sitting around topless on the beaches or by the swimming pools anyway, so they might well find it easy, even exciting to model for me, especially if they were getting a reasonable fee to do what they were already doing for nothing.

I knew it wasn't going to happen overnight, so I booked a last-minute package holiday, but it was going to be no holiday as such. I was going over to have a look around, try to find somewhere to live and work and put the first part of my plan into operation, but first I contacted my solicitor to ask if he had any contacts with a reputable solicitor in southern Spain. To my surprise and delight, it turned out that he did indeed have a contact, simply because he had bought a holiday home there himself quite a few years previously, and so armed with the Spanish lawyers address, and my 'Spanish For Beginners,' tapes which I planned to listen to on the plane, I set out to change my life.

The flight was uneventful, and I spent most of the time listening to my Spanish language tapes. I had studied Spanish at school many years before, but had barely used it again after leaving school. I was hopeful that some of it might come back to me, and I could build upon that as I got back into it and tried to speak it more frequently. Although I listened to the tape during the flight, obviously, I couldn't repeat the words and phrases aloud since I was on the plane, but I repeated them to myself in my head. I always reckon that the more shit you throw at the wall, the more of it will stick. It's a process of familiarisation, and constant practice and repetition is the thing that would make it stick. I also noticed another possible source of models as I sat there listening to my tapes, namely air stewardesses. Let's face it, they are generally attractive, well groomed, outgoing, and confident, which is just what I'm always looking for in a model. I thought I may as well start as I meant to go on so, as I was leaving the plane, I handed one of them a few of my business cards, letting her know I was on a business trip to set up a new business, and if she or any of her friends were interested, they should have a look at my website, 'address on the card,' and get in touch. If she would pass the cards around, I'd be very grateful, I said. She smiled in that charming, but professional way that air stewardesses do, and I thought I'd never see her again, but I'm glad to say I was proved wrong. Just let's say a seed was planted that grew and bore a bountiful future harvest.

The next two weeks were busy to say the least. The Spanish solicitor gave me a list of possible properties in the area, and I spent a fair bit of time in my hire car visiting the ones I thought suitable. Eventually I found one that was ideal; a good-sized villa, on a hill just outside the main town, with four large double bedrooms, and two smaller singles, which I could decorate to give a variety of different photographic bedroom scenarios. Another plus point was that being on a hill, it wasn't overlooked by any adjacent properties, so nobody could object to the possible sightings of scantily clad women round the swimming pool or garden. The swimming pool wasn't exactly Olympic standards, but it was big enough to suit my photographic purposes, a well-maintained walled garden, (privacy again) with a fair old bit of wilder uncultivated ground, about two acres, behind the house. It had a large and substantial double garage, separate from the house, with terracotta pan-tiled roof which immediately made me think, 'studio,' and I visualised that with a few additions of a shower-room, a mini kitchen, it could also be lived in for short periods if I hired out the house to visiting photographic parties, which was another of my revenue building ideas. There was also a large stone built cow shed further away from the house which I thought I could convert at a later date for further accommodation. I was initially thinking along the lines of visiting professional photographers, or film crews looking for a location, but naturally of course, that led to the idea of running glamour photography package holidays myself. I could advertise in the UK photo magazines, I'd seen similar adverts before, and run seminars on glamour and nude photography, lighting, posing the models, etc, etc. The possibilities were wide and varied and once I had thought it all out, costed it, etc, it could prove to be another revenue stream.

With the help and advice of my Spanish lawyer, Jorge Ramirez, we made all the checks required, and indeed necessary when buying property in a different country, and I signed the documents which made it mine halfway through the second week. With that done you may think I could relax and take things a bit easier, and even though a major part of my task was done, I did a little bit of sight-seeing as well. It was also a chance to familiarise myself with the town, and local area, checking out the various clubs, bars, hotels, etc. More about that later though. I think I was lucky timing wise, in that my plans to change career had occurred in what could be described as the off-season. I now had time to prepare, advertise, and generally bring the property up to scratch for the coming year. It was early December now, so it would be, 'all hands on deck,' after Christmas, which I spent with my sister's family, and a lovely few days it was too. I planned to move to Spain in the first week of January, and so I bid my family and friends goodbye, and that was it. A new life beckoned.

I spent the first three months of the year bringing the villa up to the standards I would expect myself - adding en-suite showers and toilets to the bedrooms, opening up and extending the kitchen, and generally decorating so the place looked good. I had a local architect draw up the plans for the conversion, just to make sure everything was done right and met all legal specifications. On top of that, the garage was cleared out, cleaned up, painted white internally and externally, laminate wooden flooring laid, and more electrical points were installed. They would be needed for the studio flash units, and I added a photographic background system, as well as odds and ends of furniture to use as props. A little bit of space was sacrificed there to install the mini kitchen, shower room, and dressing room, but it now meant that it could be advertised as a fully equipped studio. By late March, we were getting ready to roll.

However, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here, first I should tell you about meeting my first Spanish lady friend. Her name was Carla, and she spoke excellent English, which was handy, because I hired her to give me Spanish lessons. I had asked Jorge, my lawyer if there was anyone he could recommend to teach me conversational Spanish, and he had suggested Carla. She was an interpreter and para-legal who worked for him part time, especially when he was dealing with ex-pat Brits like me. I said that sounded ideal, so picking up the phone, he called her straight away. A torrent of rapid Spanish ensued, and he turned and informed me that she was on her way into the office to pick up some documents. If I wanted to go and get a coffee or something I could meet her back here in about half an hour. That was fine with me, so I thanked him, left his office, wandered down towards the harbour and found a little coffee shop, where I chose a medium sized latte, and drank it as I sat outside watching the world go by. There were certainly some real Spanish beauties to be sure, dark haired, dark eyed beauties with lovely golden skin in a variety of hues. I felt even surer now that I had made the right choice in coming here.

I eventually made my way back to Jorge's office, and as I entered the reception area, another one of those Spanish beauties, a dark leather briefcase in hand was chatting and laughing with the equally lovely receptionist. I estimated her age at late twenties, early thirties, about 5'6" tall. My first impression was of long dark shiny hair, and lots of it, sparkling dark eyes and a gorgeous smile that showed off her perfect white teeth. I have a thing about teeth, and hands too! Her hands were every bit as perfect as her teeth, elegant, long fingers, well-manicured. She turned and looked at me as I entered, and said my name with a question, and when I confirmed that I was who she thought I was, she thrust out the aforementioned hand and shook mine in a firm, confident grip. Her voice was low, and worth listening to just for the sounds it made, never mind what the words were. She gestured towards some chairs in reception and invited me to sit and discuss what I wanted. As she sat down opposite me, her short, but not too short skirt, rode up a little showing her beautiful shapely legs. She wore no tights, but very elegant, strappy high heel shoes, and I tried my best not to make it too obvious that I was admiring her legs.

We soon came to an agreement, and she agreed to come to the house for an hour every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon for the next few weeks. In the meantime, she added, as we both stood up to leave, with our business concluded, she was just going out to get a coffee, and if I wanted, I could go with her, and we could have a chat to find out just what level my Spanish was at. It seemed like an excellent idea, and she was very pleasant company not to mention beautiful and worth looking at for a little bit longer.

She asked me lots of questions about myself, (in Spanish) which I struggled a bit with, and soon found out that I had been married, but was now single. That I was intending to work as a photographer, which she seemed to find interesting, and asked me if I was a wedding photographer. I smiled, shook my head and to deflect her next question I asked her if she was thinking of getting married, whereupon, smiling, she held up her left hand proudly to show me her wedding ring, which I was already well aware of, but a little bit of banter never hurts. I pretended mock dismay, and said I was so disappointed. She laughed, it was a lovely laugh, and asked me if a was flirting with her. I held up my hand, first finger and thumb held about half an inch apart and said, 'poco.' Spanish for a little, she laughed again, but soon our time ran out, she had things to do, so we said our goodbyes and that was that.

Back at the villa, things were going well. Jorge had contacts within the building industry and mid-way through January four workmen had arrived at the door ready to work, and my god did they work? They were not your typical local workmen, who I had been informed were very much of the, 'manana' persuasion, and in no hurry to do things. These guys were Polish, and got stuck right in, knew what they were doing and did it to an extremely high standard. I told them what I wanted, showed them the architect plans, and went through it all with the boss, he wrote it all down, gave me a couple of catalogues with showers and bathroom fixtures, I decided which ones I wanted, he counted it all up, gave me a price which I agreed to, and that was it. A couple of weeks later they were gone, and everything was done to specification as he had promised, and I was getting ready to start shooting.

Bring on the girls - wait, no girls yet. A bit too early in the season, so I buckled down to some administration work. Arranging adverts in UK photographic magazines, shooting some architectural type photos of the house to 'show-case' every room and the facilities available. These would be used in adverts and also on my website. I'd update that regularly when I had some model pics in the same setting to show the house features to best advantage.

Before I left home I'd selected about twenty of my best pictures, and had them blown up as exhibition prints to hang on the villa walls as examples of my work. Mostly artistic nudes, about half in monochrome, commonly known as black and white, the rest in colour. Six of the colour ones were more what I would call 'glamour nudes,' and some of you may wonder what the difference is. Quite simply an 'art nude,' focuses mainly on the form, the play of light and shade across the planes and angles of the body. It's almost always depersonalised, no direct look from the model, and is often in black and white. On the other hand, 'glamour nude,' is more often in colour (but not always) with the model interacting with the viewer, a more direct sexier look, often with direct eye contact, perhaps wearing sexy lingerie, stockings, etc. Along with these I had four of my favourite landscapes enlarged - these were more for me than anything else, but also to show I was more than a 'one trick pony,' and I was also hoping to add some Spanish landscapes in the coming months.

Once I got into the lessons with the lovely Carla, my Spanish improved fairly quickly. She was a great teacher, and we got on really well. Of course, I still lusted after her, she was a beautiful young woman, but I never overstepped the bounds of teacher/pupil propriety. After all, she was a married woman, although I admit to flirting with her from time to time. She just laughed it off, and gave as good as she got, teasing me wickedly in return. I liked to think we were becoming good friends.

As things in the villa were reaching the finishing stages, I hung my exhibition prints proudly on the walls. I also had a quite a few smaller sized prints, which I hung in various places throughout the villa to give a bit of variety from the bigger exhibition sized photographs. Again, these consisted of artistic and glamour nudes, quite a few more landscapes, and in the bedrooms I hung a few of my more discreet erotic prints. The bedrooms after all seemed a good place for them, and they were more suggestively erotic than, 'in your face,' erotica, some with a fetish/bondage theme. I hoped any prospective model or client might find inspiration from my photos, and perhaps seeing the quality of my work, feel more confident in my ability to make them look the best they could be.

The very next time Carla came to the villa, she was on the face of it, slightly taken aback by my display of photos.

'Oh my,' she said, 'I didn't expect this, although these are quite lovely. You didn't tell me you were

this

kind of photographer. I was still thinking of weddings.' We both laughed.

'No, I've never photographed a wedding, although I have photographed quite a few brides in their wedding lingerie... and sometimes a lot less,' I added, trying to do my best and most devious, 'seed planting,' exercise She looked at me, a slight smile still on her face.

'Married women?' she asked, suddenly thoughtful, her voice going noticeably quiet, 'do they model... naked? What do their husbands think?'