Thanks for the comments! As a result I have edited this story better, and added a few more delicious details. Hopefully I caught all my spelling errors.
All characters in this story are over 18... but just barely.
High School was never this fun for me! I hope you enjoy!
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© 2010, C.B. Summers
"How 'bout this?" she asked as she coquettishly tilted her chin down, staring up at me with her oceanic eyes. My heart skipped a beat.
"P-perfect" I stuttered.
I looked at her for a few moments through the safety of the lens, soaking up the power of that gaze. Then I took the picture.
Normally, Rona Barrett wouldn't have talked to nerd like me. She hadn't made eye contact with me for as long as I could remember. Although we were both eighteen, she just seemed older than me somehow. But I guess that was because she was Rona Barrett, the most popular girl the senior class, Student Council President and lead soprano of the Glee Club. She was a radiant creature and boy did she know it. But here she was, sitting before me, looking at me like a lover... or at least looking into my lens like a lover. That's probably how she thought about it. But for me my camera lens might as well have been a third eye. It had opened the world to me in ways I had never thought possible.
Before I'd joined the camera club I'd been a nonentity at Malvado Playa High School, but now the popular crowd knew my name, for the simple reason that they liked to have their pictures taken, and I was pretty good at it. My dad had given me an awesome camera, much better than the ones they handed out to the other kids in the club, and it had opened doors, on occasion, to the world of the popular. And now it had granted me an intimate moment with the great one herself. Allowing me to gaze fixedly at her glorious smile and cascading auburn hair. Sigh. I was enjoying every minute of it.
Don't get me wrong. Rona wasn't one of those mean girls. But she was 'above it all' nonetheless. She'd been elected Student Council President on beauty alone and would probably end up being the Prom Queen in a few months time. She had some pretty mean friends, however, and the guys she hung out with were for the most part jocks and chisel chins. She didn't have a steady boyfriend so my nerdy friends and me assumed she was sleeping around with the popular guys. Any other girl and that rumor would have made her a slut, but everyone liked Rona too much to think of her that way. Instead we thought anyone lucky enough to be touched by Rona Barrett was blessed by the encounter.
Not that Rona was perfect. Her worst quality was vanity, although somehow she made that sin seem adorable. She loved herself with such abandon it was kind of cute. Well... to me anyway. My nerdy friends might mock her a bit, but I knew they secretly wished they were one of those good looking boys who were invited to weekend parties at her parent's lake house, about which rumors of wanton orgies abounded.
"Do I look okay?" she asked. "I want to look beautiful."
"How could you not? Of course you do. You look perfect," I replied.
"I dunno... I'm worried about this stupid stripy sweater. I only wore it because my mom gave it to me a few days ago. I forgot I was having this photo taken. It looks awful, doesn't it? Stripes make people look fat, don't they? Tell the truth."
"Well..."
In fact, I had no frame of reference to answer that question. What did I know about fashion? To me she would have looked beautiful in a potato sack. Actually, I liked the way the stripes accentuated the shape of her tits. But is that the kind of observation you can share with a girl? My pause only served to confirm her bad opinion of the sweater.
"Fuck!" she shouted. "I hate this stupid stripy thing! I don't want this to be the way people remember me for the rest of their lives whenever they look through their yearbooks!"
My heart sank. I thought she was going to cancel the photo shoot.
She huffed, "I want this to look good. The Student Council President shouldn't look like crap, y'know. Do you have any outfits or anything?"
"I don't know. Let's see." She followed me over to the photo studio closet. We looked through what was there, but it wasn't promising. It was mostly overcoats, band uniforms and letter jackets. But then she saw something.
"Yeah, this is it!" She pulled something fuzzy out of a cardboard box on the floor. It was a weirdly shaped wrap, made of feathery white fur. I remembered seeing it used in some of the older yearbooks. They used to put it on the girls for their senior photographs to give them an elegant look, as if they were all rising out of a white cloud, exposing their youthful shoulders and clavicles for the first time to the prying eyes of the boys, as a sign of impending adulthood (my interpretation anyway). But it hadn't been used for years. Rona clapped with glee and ran back out to the chair she'd been sitting in. "This is awesome!"
She put the wrap over her shoulders, but her striped sweater was still completely visible. I'm not sure how it was used in the past, but no other clothes are visible in the fur-wrap shots.
"You need to make the fur tight around your neck to cover the sweater," I said.
"But I want my shoulders to show." She pulled out the neck of the sweater trying to expose her shoulders, but it just didn't work. It wasn't nearly stretchy enough. She looked ridiculous. As soon as she had one shoulder uncovered, the sweater neck would pop back onto her shoulder. She kept doing it again and again, as if somehow repetition would alter the course of the future. I casually reached over to the camera and switched the dial from photography mode to movie mode, and pushed the record button. I thought it would be amusing to show the guys in the camera club what an adorable dope Rona Barrett could be.
To my surprise she said, "Oh, the hell with it. I'm going to take this stupid sweater off." She snapped her fingers at me and commanded, "Turn around!" I thought she was joking. She snapped her fingers again and I realized she meant it. In shock I turned away and all I could think was that if Mr. Hanners came in right now and saw her disrobing in the studio, he'd have a coronary. "Hold on," she said. After a while she said forcefully, "Don't turn around, or I'll kill you." Finally, after what seemed like far too long a time to take off a sweater, she said, "Okay, I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille."
I turned and busied myself with the camera, too intimidated to look at her directly. I realized the camera was still in movie mode, so I switched it back to photo mode and looked at her through the lens. She was nervously clutching the center of the wrap to hold it closed, but loosely so her shoulders were exposed. I was dumbfounded by the beauty of her naked shoulders, which were only marred by subtle red marks in her perfect flesh. It took me a few moments to realize the marks were from the bra straps she'd slipped off her shoulders.
"How does it look?"
"Great", I replied. I didn't comment on the bra lines, because I figured I could easily Photoshop them out later.
She went into the same pose as before.
"Uh, I can see your hand," I said. She moved her hand down a little, but it was still in the frame. "I can still see it". I took a picture of her looking down in annoyance.
"This thing doesn't have a clasp."
"That's probably so it can fit anyone."
"Well, how the hell is it supposed to stay on? Damn it! Turn around again while I figure this out."
This time when I turned I kept my hand casually on the camera and took several surreptitious snapshots, hoping she wouldn't hear the faint snapping of the shutter. I listened to the sweet sounds of her rustling movements and grunts of frustration. I couldn't imagine what was taking so much time, but I figured there might be some funny photos in there somewhere. Maybe even a shot of her in her bra. That was an exciting thought! After a while, and over twenty secret shots later, she said sweetly, "Okay, I think I've figured it out. Take a look."
I turned and was just as dazzled as before, but it certainly looked better. Now she had her arms crossed under the fur, so she could neatly pull the tips of the wrap in front of her, forming an elegant line right along her collarbone. I could see her belly button under her crossed arms, which was pretty darned thrilling for a virgin like me. I made sure to take a few wide shots including her belly button before zooming in so the bottom of frame was all fur. She went through a variety of poses and facial expressions while I snapped away. She was clearly trying to look intelligent and wise beyond her years. "Do I look like a Student Council President?"
"I guess so." I replied, although, in fact I thought it was a pretty undignified pose. "Sure, why not?"