Well, this just escalated quickly.
Many men would go rigid at the sight of the smooth, toned work of art that is Carly, especially when it's undressing right in front of them. It's not like I'm completely immune to her charms; admittedly, my dick twitches at the sight of her pink nipples. But I don't have it in me to jump right on her. It goes beyond the fact that she's a close associate. I don't mind partying with her -- and, don't be wrong, I don't mind a woman being forward with what she wants -, but this? She literally hired me through my photography agency to do work for her.
I love pussy, but even I have to maintain some standard of professionalism. I'd definitely get chewed out if word ever got out about me and her having sex. Sure, there was no one else at the studio for the rest of the night, but Carly has this tendency to run her mouth when she gets a couple of glasses of liquor into her system. I'd much rather play it safe for now.
So yeah, my head was racing at the moment.
One minute, we were idly chatting about her birthday. I even secretly ordered her flowers, even though I didn't know exactly what she liked. She was casually sipping on some wine, which she'd bought to help her relax.
Her words, not mine, by the way.
The next thing I knew, she was tossing out flirtatious remarks, keeping the conversation going under the guise of 'catching up.' I still wasn't too uncomfortable, though, because Carly does have a reputation for being a harmless flirt. She kept sipping on that wine, though.
We managed to get some actual work done, sure. The job was to take photos of her wearing an expensive lingerie brand for their upcoming ad campaign. She kept taking little breaks, though, polishing off that entire bottle of very-expensive wine by herself, and removing more and more bits of that already-skimpy lingerie. Her excuse was that she was getting hot.
I wasn't worried about drinking much, either. She could get a little sensitive, but for the most part she could hold her liquor. Right now, the only real evidence she's drunk is a faint pink coloration on her skin -- well, and the fact that her flirting is getting bolder and bolder.
It's not like I don't enjoy sex, either. I just don't enjoy sex that causes headaches afterwards. Which was exactly what would happen if I relented and laid down with Carly.
For a number of reasons, I didn't want to go down this route. For one, she was linked to a high-profile client. I don't mind being associated with her, but fucking her? I knew it could get complicated if the slightest thing went wrong between us. The last thing I needed was my boss not only chastising me, but running to my aunt to gossip about her own nephew who couldn't keep his dick in his pants. Especially when it comes to something as crucial as business.
I need to play this smart.
Clearing my throat, I say, "Actually Carly, could we talk for a minute?" My voice halted her, just as she'd hooked her thumbs at the sides of her panties.
"Actually Carly, could we talk for a minute?" my voice halted her, just as she hooked her thumbs at the sides of her panties.
By now she was free of the mesh bra she'd been wearing, and had kicked off the glossy red bottoms from her feet.
Her head tilts. "Talk? About what? Is everything okay?"
"Everything is fine. I just wanted to be upfront with you before you got fully undressed," I say, trying for a friendly smile. "Since we, you know...can't do this."
"Oh," she says, her voice deflates. "You don't have condoms?"
I do, of course. Ever since I figured out there were other uses for my dick besides pissing, I'd almost always had one or more on me.
"That's not the thing," I reply. "I actually enjoy working with you, and I did enjoy our time at that party earlier this year. The flirting is fine, even. But I have to be honest: I just can't have sex with you. It would complicate things for me -and my boss."
Carly stands upright, but doesn't make any move to put her clothes back on. She doesn't look offended, so I guess that's a good sign.
She doesn't look offended, so I guess that's a good sign.
Unfortunately, her face screws up in confusion.
"So, wait, you don't find me hot?"
"Are you kidding? You're beautiful."
I meant it -- well, to an extent. Carly is classically beautiful; her jet black hair contrasts her clear, porcelain skin, and, drinking aside, she takes excellent care of her body. She's exactly the type that high-end brands want wearing their clothes, fragrances, jewelry, or anything else.
I've had sex with girls that looked a lot like Carly, and it was great. Still, I just can't fuck her. It's just too risky.
The trick is to avoid offending her. I've been a photographer in the fashion industry long enough to know that the women in it are rather sensitive. They need to be wanted. If they can leverage their desirability for influence, all the better, but the need runs deeper than that. Every once in a while, you can find a model with genuinely thick skin. Most of them are just pretending. Some of them can't even do that.
I sympathize with them; I really do. The modeling-slash-influencer business is utterly brutal. It directly links women's self-esteem and insecurities to their livelihoods. Plenty of them develop body dysmorphia or eating disorders. There are rewards, of course, but sometimes, the stuff I see, and some of the people I have to interact with, make me recoil. It's no wonder so many of the women are sensitive, but it can be so exhausting to deal with them. Hookups aside, I'd think twice about ever dating one.
Carly's one of the women in the industry who can't even really pretend to have a thick skin. I know I have to choose my words carefully.
