The Dutch Photographer

(I submitted the original version of this story several months ago. It portrays events that led to a significant impact on my life but, having reviewed it, I came to the view that it didn't adequately portray those events. For that reason, I've filled in some gaps and done a little editing of the text, for my own satisfaction as much as anything else. -- GillianBX, April 2019).

*

I've never been particularly enthused by weddings but I never turn down an invitation. That's because, surprisingly often, there has been the opportunity for an encounter with someone that interested and attracted me. This story is about the first of those though it turned out to be far more than interesting; life-changing would be more appropriate.

I'd flown back home to Cape Town from London, where I had been studying and working for more than ten years, to attend the wedding of Lydia, a girl with whom I had grown up. It was also an opportunity to catch some spring Cape sun before the dreaded English winter settled in. Through our early teens Lydia and I had been inseparable (no sex involved) and we'd kept in touch through the years. Though our lives had taken very different paths, when we met again it was as if I had never left. But this story is not about Lydia, it is about a photographer called Ciska.

Ciska was from Holland but had based herself in Stellenbosch, a small town in the heart of the Cape Winelands around 50km to the East of Cape Town, "... because the ambience and vibe suits my style," she was to tell me. I first met her when I participated in a pre-wedding photo shoot, the Friday before the wedding. Fortunately, the early morning cloud had dissipated and it had turned into another beautiful day. There was myself, Lydia and her fiancé Jacques, and Ciska. The location was The Vineyard, a beautiful hotel in the southern suburbs of Cape Town, at the back of Table Mountain, where the wedding reception was to be held. That was one of the reasonx I had decided to stay there and how it was that I participated in the photo shoot.

I took to Ciska straight away. I put her at around 40, 10 years or so my senior. She was a little taller than me as are most people, slender body and dark blond hair plastered back and tied in a little pony tail. Her skin tone and features, especially her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes and cheek bones, betrayed a somewhat ethnic, Asian influence though she had a sharp nose. The effect was rather exotic but by no means enigmatic thanks to her expressive eyebrows and a quirky smile. As is the case with many Dutch people, her English was totally fluent with hardly a hint of an accent.

She'd arrive in a pick-up and when she pulled back the tarpaulin it was clear that this wasn't going to be a quick point and shoot exercise. There were lights, reflectors, boxes of film, camera bags, a tripod and metres of coiled extension cable.

This all took place in the late 1980's, before digital photography, but Ciska was ahead of her time in her approach. She didn't just want to take pictures on the wedding day of the couple and the guests; she wanted to create something that would capture the mood of the whole occasion from the point of view of the couple.

"You're going to need a hand with this lot," I said, looking into the contents of her pick-up. "Point me in the right direction and I'll help you move it."

She'd already cleared things with the hotel management and she'd done her preparation having planned where she wanted to shoot and how she wanted it to be set-up. The gardens of the hotel stretched out beyond a swimming pool to a wooded glade and that's where she wanted to start. Lydia and Jacques were busy preparing themselves in my room so it was just Ciska and I who lugged the equipment to the back of the gardens.

"Normally I'd have an assistant," she said, "but he called in sick this morning. I could hardly postpone the wedding so I was fully prepared to do all this by myself. If you'd been in my place, I think you would have done the same, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course" I replied, laughing.

"Well thank you for all your help," she said when the work was done, reaching out to squeeze my arm.

Having found a power point for the lights and with Lydia prepared, the shoot began. I moved lights and reflectors as Ciska directed and Lydia tried to strike different poses. It was something she wasn't at all used to and I was cringing a little at what I was seeing. I think Ciska could see it as well.

"Do you want me to loosen her up?" I asked.

"Please, go ahead," Ciska responded.

I took Lydia through a shake-out and stretching routine and then showed her a few poses that would look natural and attractive. I then reminded her of the time we had been under-age but drinking too much beer and she was desperate to pee but her jeans got stuck and she ended up wetting herself. She broke into fits of laughter but eventually calmed down enough for the shoot to continue. Whilst all of this was going on, I knew Ciska was shooting, and Jacques had appeared with a very bemused look on his face.

After a few more shots of a more relaxed and natural Lydia, Ciska asked me take some shots of her at work. We went to a spot that overlooked the gardens, she adjusted the camera settings and handed it to me.

"When I get back there, just try to frame the picture so that you've got an onlookers view of what is going on and take 4 or 5 shots," she explained, handing me the camera. "You can move around a little to change the angle. Then move that inside ring back one notch and do it all again. Are you OK with that?"

I confirmed that I was and did what was required. After that, Ciska called a halt. Jacques got involved, moving all the equipment single-handedly to a new location, Lydia went to my room to change and freshen up and Ciska and I took a breather.

"You were brilliant," she said. "I shot the whole thing and I think I've got gold dust on all that film. You must have done this before."

"I've been in front of the camera a few times," I said.

"And?" she queried.

"I did around three years at the Royal Ballet School in London," I answered.

"OK," she said, "now it starts to fit together."

As the day progressed, it became apparent that Ciska was most interested in taking un-posed and candid shots: Jacques strolling ponderously through the gardens, Lydia and Jacques in animated conversation over coffee at an outside table, Lydia checking her make-up in a hand mirror. Not only that, she was using unusual angles, sometimes almost lying flat on the ground, other times standing on chairs or tables. For all that it was intended to be casual, it was actually meticulously set-up with Ciska searching continuously for just the right light. " ... I've only got one chance to get it right," she explained. For me, there had been plenty of chances to stand back and watch her body move, appreciating her bum and hips in her tight-fitting jeans, with what could only be termed salacious thoughts.

By 5 o'clock, it was all over. The four of us had packed the equipment onto Ciska's pick-up and Lydia and Jacques had departed. It was time for Ciska and me to have a couple of ice cold beers at the poolside bar. She had been very intense and focussed but her demeanour changed quickly as she began to relax.

"I think that was what you can safely say was a good day's work," I said.

"Without you I couldn't have done half as much. I can't thank you enough," she responded looking into my eyes with sincerity.

I thought that I could readily tell her of ways to thank me but instead I asked her about herself. I discovered that she had married in her early 20's to a guy who turned out to be "an abusive asshole" and left him six months later. After the divorce, she decided to make a new life in South Africa, "... without any men getting in the way."

As for me, I told her about how I had left ballet school in favour of a business related degree, posed for some rather explicit photos, heavily disguised with make-up and a blond wig, in order to pay my way and that I was working for the consultancy division of a large auditing firm in London.

"So you did some nude shoots, naughty girl," she said with one her quirky smiles.

"Well it paid off because it kept me going, I got my degree and now I'm doing OK," I responded.

"Next time, if you should ever do something like that again, I want to be behind the camera," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"You can be sure I'll bear it in mind," I responded, smiling.

"Are you actually South African?" she asked.

"I'm half Brazilian, half English but I was born here," I replied.

"I knew there was something different about you," she said. "I've noticed you as much as you have watched me. Perhaps we could be something more than just passing friends?"

"I'd like that very much," I responded, "but I don't have much time left here. I'm scheduled to fly out on Monday evening."

"Wow, that's not much time at all and right now I really have to get on the road before it gets too dark. It's too dangerous at night and I live in a place that is a little secluded," she said. "Then I have to get moving early because I need to get to Lydia's place to get some shots of her getting ready. And I need to be wearing something that is more wedding-like. Then it will be back here tomorrow evening for the wedding reception."

"Can I help?" I asked.

"It's OK," she said. "It will be pretty straightforward, mainly hand-held stuff and I think my usual assistant might be back, but thank you for offering."

"Look," I said, "I have a room here. Why don't you pack an overnight bag and use my room as your base? After the church we could come back here, have some lunch and some time together, then after the reception you'd have somewhere to sleep with no driving."

"That would be just perfect. I'd absolutely love to," she said.

We quickly hugged and exchanged a brief kiss on the cheek.

"What do you think it will be like?" she asked with one of those quirky smiles as she turned to leave.

"Blissful," I answered, assuming she was not talking about the wedding.

"Me too," she replied.

*

Saturday morning seemed to last forever. When I arrived at the church, Ciska was already busy so we just exchanged a brief greeting. In a very smart outfit of an expensive looking, cream blouse and a black skirt, she looked stunning. She must have shot many rolls of film and her assistant was forever occupied indexing used film and reloading cameras, but for all her busyness, she was quite unobtrusive.

The wedding passed as weddings do, Lydia looked gorgeous and of course I was happy for her. For all that, there was only one thing that was truly on my mind and that was about how the afternoon with Ciska might unfold.

I got back to the hotel ahead of Ciska and the first thing I did was check out my room. As usual, the maid had left it looking fresh and all that was needed was for me to close the curtains. On the patio outside the restaurant I waited for Ciska with a glass of wine and my anticipation was at the point where I had needed to stuff my panties with a handful of tissues. She arrived soon enough and her first priority was to give me a hug followed closely by ordering a beer for herself.

"It's been a long morning," she said, "and thank goodness I didn't have to drive all the way back home."

"And it will be a long evening as well," I said.

"Yes, but I'm going to have a lovely break now. I was thinking about you last night," she said, reaching across the table to stroke the back of my hand.

"I was thinking about you a lot as well, but perhaps we'd better eat," I responded.

We ordered toasted sandwiches, Ciska asked for a second beer and I had another glass of wine. We didn't talk a lot but the mutual anticipation was almost palpable.

At the time, it was still the era of apartheid in South Africa and there were laws against same sex as well as inter-racial encounters of the physical kind so we went to my room separately, just in case we were noticed. I went first and Ciska followed a few minutes later. I'd left the door ajar so all she needed to do was tap and walk in.

Having locked and bolted the door, we took each other in an eager embrace and our tongues swirled together in that dance of desire. It was the first real sense of each other and our hands roamed, feeling and stroking as they went.

"Are you as wet as me?" she asked.

"Feel me and see," I replied.

"What is that you've got there?" she asked as her hand reached up to my panties.

"It's a handful of tissues," I replied, "otherwise it would already be running into my shoes."

"Let's just get undressed," she laughed, and so we did just that.

For me it was quick and easy, just a summer dress, bra and panties. For Ciska she had to undo the dozen or so buttons of her blouse. I was able to stand back and watch as her body was gradually revealed, all olive skin, small high-riding breasts, the little hollows of her hip joints, the smooth curve that began at her waist and flowed down the length of her thighs, and then, as she removed her panties, the small patch of light brown pubic hair and a glimpse of the globes of her jutting bottom.

We sat side by side on the side of the bed and resumed our embrace, this time deliciously flesh to flesh. Gradually we found the middle of the bed and I straddled her. Her body felt as though her very being was living just a millimetre beneath her silky skin with its aromas of jasmine, herbs and citrus.

"My nipples need your lips," she said, and that is where they went.

"Gently," she said, "they are very sensitive right now."

I was aware that the nipples of small breasts were often sensitive, particularly my own, so I caressed them in the way that I liked for myself. They were light brown in colour, quite large considering her breast size and very hard and erect. I alternated between them, cupping the breast and nuzzling lightly with my lips and the tip of my tongue. She responded with purrs and moans, and I was very aware of the occasional quiver since my body was against her abdomen. I wondered how far it might go and eventually I had an answer.

"Go lower," she said.

I worked my way down kissing as I went and enjoying all the contact with her beautiful, sensual body. I worked the balls of my hands into the hollows of her hip joints, gently circling and stretching the skin outwards so that the sensations would transmit to her pussy and she responded by rhythmically arching her pelvis against me.

The more I delayed, the more I wanted her pussy and I finally gave way to that perverse pleasure of denial and un-straddled myself. As I moved by her side supporting myself on an elbow, she spread her thighs. Her pubic hairs were short and silky and dead straight, not a hint of a curl, and extended in a perfectly trimmed line between her legs to outline her vulva. The tip of her clitoris and its engorged stem were plain to see. I ran my fingertips from the crease just above her bum, up and along her outer pussy lips, across her tummy and back down the other side. Engrossed in the intimacy and the sensuality of her, I continued the stroking, taking in her inner thighs and all the time with my gaze focussed on that engorged, demanding, pink clit.

My desire for her orgasm finally took over and I moved my fingers into the swollen folds, exploring every slick crevice. Her opening was there too, seemingly inviting penetration, but that was to be for another time. I bent my neck forward to give her clit a few licks and a gentle suck but I had another idea and it was the perfect opportunity.

I had spent a month on a short assignment in Brazil and discovered a clit gel. It wasn't a lubricant but a stimulant. Just a little on a finger tip rubbed onto a clit would create a tingling warmth that brought all the nerve endings to a new level of sensitivity. I'd left the tube on the bedside table so it was just a matter of reaching over and applying a smear onto my middle finger. It took less than 20 seconds for Ciska to realise that something different was happening.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "That feels amazing." Then, "Go a bit harder."

I did as she asked, circling and rubbing, and soon she began to pant. Her hips were rising and falling and her abdomen began to tremble. She orgasmed with guttural moans, her body jerking against me and her thighs quivering. As the tremors calmed just a little, I eased myself up so that I was beside her face with my hand cupping her pussy. I kissed her cheeks and whispered into her ear how beautiful she was, that I wanted to do so many things to her, to make her cum and cum again, that it had just been the beginning.

"Do it again, hard and fast," she responded.

Her second orgasm flowed from the first with the same response and it was almost as if her orgasms had been mine, but only almost. Most of all I felt exhilarated by the way she had responded to me.

"That was just what I needed," she murmured. "So intense ..."

I looked into her face and her eyelids were drooping; post orgasmic perhaps but I thought it was as much tiredness from her morning's work that I knew she would have treated with the same dedication as on the previous day. I urged her up the bed so that she could rest on a pillow and, since the air conditioning was making the room cool, I draped a cover over her.

"Sleep," I said, "and don't worry, I'll wake you in good time."

*

She wanted to be ready and out by 6 o'clock to meet her assistant so I gently woke her at 4.30 with a few soft kisses.

"I've got coffee ready to go," I told her. "Tell me how you like it."

I'd bought my own instant espresso style blend rather than using the sachets of Nescafe that the hotel provided and, as she requested, I made it strong, sweet and black.

"I'm so sorry," she said, sitting up in the bed. "After all that you did for me, I neglected you totally."

"Well, I have to tell you that I did dip my fingers while you were sleeping," I admitted.

"That's even worse," she responded, "because I couldn't even watch you."

"Maybe we'll do it together some time," I offered.

"But you are leaving on Monday," she said.

"It's 48 hours from now," I said. "I don't want to go but I have to. If I check-out of here in the morning, could I stay with you tomorrow night?"

"Yes, of course, I'd love you to," she answered.

"Well, I have to visit a few people to say good-bye and I could do that through the day then get to your place perhaps by mid-afternoon. How would that be?" I suggested.

"Whatever works for you will work for me," she responded, wrapping me in her arms. "You said it would be blissful and you made it exactly that for me this afternoon. Tomorrow it will be just for you. I want to discover all of you and that will be blissful for me yet again."

"I'm already getting turned-on with the anticipation," I said. "There's always tonight but I expect it will be late and we'll be too tired. On Sunday you can do whatever you want."

*

It's always been a strange thing that, when men draw maps for me, I often get lost, but when it's a woman's map I find where I am wanting to be quite easily.

On that Sunday afternoon, Ciska's map had me outside a largish property, surrounded by high walls topped with coils of razor wire, at the end of a gravel road on the outskirts of Stellenbosch. By what looked like an automated gate was a stylish plaque that read "Ciska Hofmeijer Studios". On the other side of the gate was a sign which read "SZA Guarding - Armed Response", that was not at all uncommon in South Africa. She'd told me to pip three times and that's what I did. A few seconds later the gate swung open for me to drive in.

Ciska was standing outside a single storey house which, by the standards of the day, was of an ultra-modern design. The gardens had an arid look but were beautifully landscaped with sandy coloured rockery and feature plants. Beside the house in front of an open garage was a black Porsche. She was dressed in a mid-thigh, transparent top with just a black bikini bottom beneath. Her hair was hanging loose which softened her features and framed her face perfectly. I couldn't help but notice her exposed legs and the sexy definition in her thighs and calves. What I saw that day was to serve as one of my greatest inspirations and, if nothing else, I wanted that Porsche. And then I resolved to strive to look something approaching Ciska when I also reached 40.