Laura Undone

My downward spiral to shame and degradation began one April morning when I discovered that my son, Kevin, was in possession of a new computer game. I had been cleaning his room and sorting out the dirty clothes that he had just left in a heap on the floor, when I came across "Grand Theft, Auto 5." It still had the price tag on the back, £29.99, from the Computer Games Shop in town.

Now this discovery made me mad, because his father and I have recently been quite concerned about his obsession for games like this. I mean an 18 year old boy shouldn't be getting involved in such violent and moronic activities. And the other thing that struck me was...Where on earth he had got the money to buy it? As far as we knew he was stony broke and had already spent his pocket money weeks in advance. I know we didn't give him as much as his friends, but, like a lot of parents we wanted him to appreciate the value of money and restrict his spending, especially on items like this. Hence our "meanness" in his eyes.

So, as you can imagine, there was a confrontation waiting to happen when he came in from college that day. I was bristling with annoyance and a bit worried in case he had been shoplifting or stealing.

I was working in the kitchen when he tried to sneak past me up the stairs. "Just a minute young man" I called out as I cornered him, "I think you have some explaining to do."

As I got on to the subject of his new video game, he started to blush and fidget: A sure sign of guilt. I knew my son well and was determined to get to the bottom of things. At first, he tried to fob me of with the usual type excuses, but, he could see that he wasn't going to get off the hook that easily. In the end he just came out with it. "I sold something" he said.

"Sold what?" I asked him, thinking then that he had sold off some of his old toys and discarded rubbish. "I sold a photograph," he said looking down at the ground. It was then I realised that he had been very worried about whatever it was he had done. It explained his morose behaviour and the recent non-communicative attitude towards me.

Anyway, one more probing question and it all came gushing out, as if he wanted to get all the guilt off his conscience once and for all.

"I took a video of you," he started nervously "and I sold a photograph off it to Mr Creasey down the street for £30."

"What video?" I asked, puzzled and curious, "I don't remember anybody taking a video of me."

"Well, you didn't exactly know about it." He smirked.

I flared up at this "You had better explain yourself young man, before I get very annoyed with you."

"I used Dad's camcorder. You know. The one he's never used since he bought it. I was playing around with it, just to see how it worked and it was just boring mostly, but, when I set it at the back of your wardrobe under some clothing, I got you looking at yourself in the mirror. You were fully clothed, well the top half anyway. You were about to put on a skirt or something and...that's where I got the photograph from. It was easy just to run it thought the computer, frame by frame and pick off what I wanted."

"Wait a minute...I was going to put on a skirt? You mean I wasn't fully dressed?"

"Sorry Mum" he said, dismissively.

"Why did you do that...hide a camcorder in my wardrobe and take a video of me?"

No answer.

"I'm waiting."

"Well you know...to see you get undressed and that."

I was annoyed, flattered and embarrassed all at the same time. My own son wanted to see his 39 year old Mom naked? His answer had stunned me. I didn't know what to say...

All I could do, was get back to subject of the photo, he said, he had sold.

"I want to see this photograph, is there a copy?"

"Sorry no, I just erased everything after I did it. Why would I want to keep a copy?"

"And you sold it to Mr Creasey, you say, that lowlife up on the council estate? ...Kevin, how could you?"

"Mum, I wanted that new video game, desperately, you know the one you and Dad wouldn't buy me for my birthday. Everyone I know has got it now. I mean everybody... It just seemed like an easy way to raise some money."

"But, I'm your Mum," I retorted angrily, "not some page 3 pin up girl you can trade photographs of."

He twisted his face in an expression of regret, but, otherwise said nothing.

"And why him," I persisted, "why should he pay money for it?"

"Well...the lads at school reckoned that he has a bit of a thing for you. Apparently, some visitor or other noticed that he had a few some snaps of you pinned up on his wall. I haven't seen them myself, but there's at least one of you in a bikini. So, I got to thinking he might cough up a bit for other photos of you. I sorted through all our albums and took a few to let him see. But the new one was the one he really wanted."

I was getting more shocked and agitated by the minute. "Kevin," I shouted, "do you realise what an evil and inconsiderate thing you have done? You have sold out your Mother to some... pervert...in order to fund your selfish pleasure."

"It was only a photo Mum," he said, trying to mount a defence.

"Nevertheless, I am shocked and more than a little disappointed in your behaviour. You seem to have no respect for me. Didn't you think it was morally wrong to sell something very personal and private like that, without my knowledge?"

I paced the floor as he hung his head in what I hoped was an onset of guilt and regret.

"And where did this sordid little transaction take place?"

"Down the shops at the council house estate," he muttered. "I didn't think he would pay as much as that, but he did."

Then, as the seconds ticked by, I tried to come to terms with the fact that Tommy Creasey, of all people, had a semi naked photograph of me pinned up on his wall like some kind of sick trophy, a photograph, that until a few minutes ago, I hadn't even known about.

"You're not going to tell Dad are you?" He bleated.

"Serves you right if I did," I responded. "He would go utterly berserk."

"What are you going to do, then," he asked, "relieved now that his biggest fear had rescinded."

"I don't know," I said honestly, "I'll have to think about it. In the meantime, you are grounded for the rest of the week. And, you will have to promise me that you will NEVER and I mean, NEVER, ever do anything like this again."

"I promise, Mum," he said, rather too quickly. ..."Just promise me you won't tell Dad."

I gave him that promise and it was something that I later had reason to regret. I should also have confiscated that computer game. Looking back, that was exactly what I should have done, rather than do what I eventually did. Despite all appearances, Tommy Creasey was a devious and clever man and I should never have got involved with him. As it was, I blundered on like a lamb to the slaughter...and played right into his hands.

You see for some reason, I couldn't get that damn photograph out of my mind. What was it really like? And what was I wearing or, more to the point, not wearing when the camera clicked or whirred or whatever it did. And, was there something my son was not telling me about?

Subsequent questioning never got me any further on that subject. He was just incredibly vague and non-committal. So, of course, my imagination filled in the gaps and curiosity got the better of me. If I wanted to see the photograph, I knew where it was. On Tommy Creasey's wall or in his bedroom or something like that, somewhere, where he could drool over me and do goodness knows what while he was doing it.

And so, after several days of agony, I made up my mind to approach him, Tommy Creasey that was. I would just walk up to his door and confront him about it. The odds were that he would be at home, because, it was a well-known fact that he was permanently unemployed. From what I could discover about him, he supplemented what benefit money he got by a shrewd knowledge of dogs and the dog track. Oh yes, I knew about Creasey alright, knew about his lazy lifestyle and reputation. I had been in the same class as him at school, all those years ago. I had even been out with him a few times, until my Mum had put her foot down and forbade me seeing him. "I know his type," she had told me, "a womaniser and a low life and you'd best keep well away from him."

So, I had gone on to University and met my future husband, while he continued to waste away his life at pubs and dog tracks. In recent years, my husband and I had met him on a few fleeting occasions, but, the two men just hadn't got on. The funny thing was that when we returned to my home town and bought a nice house on private development, I found that Creasey was living quite near to us on a nearby council estate.

The idea that he still had lustful feelings about me filled me with nausea and disgust, as did the idea that he collected photographs of me. Then I got to thinking, was he a stalker? Did he follow me around? I must confess that my mind was full of all kinds of possibilities. It positively unnerved me. That's why I refused to allow myself to back out of what I intended to do.

My strategy, when I got to see him, was quite simple, I would offer to buy the damn photograph back or otherwise shame him into giving it up. Hopefully, he would be shocked and guilty about what he had done when I confronted him. I even thought about taking a friend with me, for support, but, in end decided against it. The subject matter was just too embarrassing and besides, the fewer people who knew about the business the better.

As with all things one would rather put off, I had to steel myself to do it. Then I played out the scenario and all the various permutations. What I would say? What he would say? What I would say in response to what he would say etc, etc? You could say I got quite nervous about it. I'm not very good with people I don't normally associate with and particularly people from the wrong side of the tracks like Creasey. That doesn't mean I'm a snob you understand, it's just that I'm much more comfortable with my own friends and people of my own class.

Then, I got quite concerned about what to wear. I always have concerns about that. I'm fairly tall you see at 5ft 8. A leggy blonde... that's how people describe me. I've always had a good figure, ever since I was at school. And even though I'm now 39, I keep very fit and watch what I eat. "If you want to look good in clothes you have to make the effort." That's what mummy always said and that's what I've tried to live by. So that morning, I went through my wardrobe and finally settled on a jacket, blouse and skirt. I wanted to look business like, but, the woman in me insisted that, at the same time, I looked attractive. At the back of my head, I knew that Creasey had a thing about me, so, it was a sort of challenge to live up to this kind of standard. Crazy, I know, but then a woman's mind works in such a peculiar way.

So, just before setting out, I combed my shoulder length blonde hair, carefully applied my make-up and checked how I looked in the full length mirror. Ironically, it was the same mirror that Kevin had said I was standing at when he picked out that photograph. This time, however, I was fully dressed and looking very smart and attractive. I could see a fairly tall, good looking woman, in her late thirties, with a splendid figure and long shapely tanned legs. At the last minute, I wondered whether my skirt was perhaps a shade too short, but, vanity or pride made me flick my blonde hair into place and head out of the door. I was a great believer in making a good impression and I suppose I also thought that if I could make his eyes pop a little, I could gain the upper hand. So, taking a deep breath, I headed up the road towards the council houses where Creasey lived.

I remember self-consciously striding down the road in my high heels and turning into his half open gateway, a rusty looking thing that was broken on its hinges. Knowing his reputation, I wondered just how many tarts had preceded me as I walked up the short path to his door. His place looked a right dump with things on the front lawn, such as a broken down fridge and bits of cars that had no business being there. All the same, my knees were trembling a bit, as I timidly knocked on his door. I gave it a decent interval then knocked again, harder this time.

As my heart pounded away, I was ready to flee, when the door opened and Creasey appeared. With brazen cheek, he just stood staring at me, a pair of braces over a bare hairy chest and a fag stuck in the corner of his mouth. It was also obvious he hadn't shaved that morning.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Miss Goody Two shoes herself," he muttered sarcastically. Am I a lucky man, or what?"

"Please come in" he said, standing to one side and giving an exaggerated welcoming wave.

I hesitated about going in, but, curiosity got the better of me. After all, I wanted to see if it was true about him having photographs of me pinned on his wall. Also, I wanted to get my hands on one photograph in particular. So, I followed him in to what obviously passed as his lounge. On the way, through an open doorway, I saw a mountain of washing up still to be done and dirty clothes lying all over his kitchen. "Excuse the mess, please do," he added cheerfully, as I wrinkled my nose in disgust. He offered me a seat and after careful consideration I perched on the edge of his settee.

"Would you like a coffee?" He asked and I agreed for two reasons. One I had made up my mind not to have any alcohol and secondly, while he made the drinks, I could snoop around downstairs, at least. As he talked aimlessly about the weather and the state of the roads, I started to look around the walls. Then I spotted something in the corner of the room, and, curiosity made me move across to it. It was a notice board splattered with photographs.

As he poured out the coffee and asked me politely why I had come to see him, my jaw dropped open. For there on the board, for anyone to see, were 4 pictures of me including THE one I was looking for. I was seeing it for the very first time. Suddenly, I went red from the neck upwards and covered my mouth with my hand in shock. All I was wearing was my silver grey blouse which hardly reached the waist and a pair of black high heels. I was naked from the waist down i.e. not wearing panties. Stunned beyond belief, I stood there open mouthed, my mind in turmoil. I stopped listening to Creasey, whatever he was saying, for all I could think about was that my shaven pussy was clearly visible in the photograph. And, as I continued to stare at my own image, I couldn't help but notice how curvaceous I looked, with narrow waist, shapely hips and a splendid pair of legs. It was stupid, I know, but, I was secretly pleased with how the camera had caught me.

Then another thought hit me. My own son had seen it...had looked at my nakedness before he had sold it. Oh my God!

Then I jumped in alarm as Creasey came up behind me and put his hands on my hips. "You've got a gorgeous ass, love, has anybody told you that recently?"

"Mr. Creasey," I cried in alarm, "I am a respectable married woman. Would you please take your hands off me and not make such remarks"

Reluctantly, he took his hands away. "You get better with the years, girl, more curvaceous, more fuckable and still with those fantastic legs?"

"Why have you got these photographs of me here?" I demanded getting him away from his inspection of my body. My heart thumping madly.

"Cos I fancy you love, that's why," he growled. "You've always known that. And you're still the leggy blonde that drove me crazy all those years ago."

"When did you take these photographs?" I pressed, ignoring his cheeky response.

"Well let me see," he said stroking his unshaven face. "This one of you in a bikini, I took of you in your garden when I was buying an old fridge from the lady next door. You looked so delectable and I was going to ask permission but you were having a bit of a snooze on that sun lounge...and this upskirt one was when I caught you climbing up the stairs at the railway station last month. She's showing a nice bit of leg there, I thought."

"The other one, I took of you walking around town. Nice little collection isn't it?"

"And what about this one?" I said pointing distastefully at the latest one.

"Ah yes, well, I don't know whether I should..."

"You bought it from my son, didn't you?"

"I must confess that I did. The young whippersnapper drove a hard bargain, I must say"

"I want to buy it back," I said firmly.

"Ah that would be a problem, love, cos actually, I don't want to sell it."

"I'll pay you more than you paid for it...how about £50?"

"No" he said firmly

"I must have that photograph" I said desperately. "It's... It's ...obscene."

"You mean it shows your little tushy," he laughed, "but that's what makes it so special and why I won't part with it."

Then he put his hands round my waist and pulled me close. I got feel a hard bulge pressing into me through my skirt. "Of course I'd really like to get my hands on the real thing," he breathed into my ear, "but, a photograph is better than nothing."

A little shiver ran through me as I struggled to break free.

"Mr Creasey," I spluttered, "how dare you make such remarks to me? I thought as a gentleman you would do the decent thing and give it back to me. Obviously, I had no knowledge of the photograph or of my son's sale of it to you. He knows I am so angry at what he has done."

Creasey stood stroking his chin for a while and frowned.

"What's all this Mr. Creasey business, by the way: Its Tommy, remember? ...we used to go out together. A long time ago, I know, but still..."

I turned my head away and bit my lip. I didn't want to go there...not now.

"O.K." he continued frostily, "you can have it back, providing I can take a snap of you before you go. I've got my camera in the drawer here somewhere."

I was pleased that he had changed his mind, but, wary of the sort of photograph of me he wanted to take.

"You really must stop this business of taking photos of me," I said to him, "it's positively unhealthy and besides I object to it in the strongest terms. I don't know what my husband would say if he knew what you do. I have a good mind to tell him anyway."

He chuckled as he watched me with his arms folded and leaning against the wall. "Same old Laura eh, you haven't changed a bit...still walking around with your nose in the air and looking down on the likes of me."

"That's not true," I retorted angrily, but, deep down, I knew there was something in what he said.

"Anyway, do you want the photograph or not?" He asked, "Because, if you do you will have to let me take one in return. That's my terms, take it or leave it."

"What sort of photograph would you want," I asked warily.

"Just stand here in the lounge and pose for me, maybe show a little leg?"

He saw the angry look on my face and played a trump card. "If I keep that photograph of you, I thought I would take some copies and pass it around that posh golf club where you and your husband are members. Maybe put it up for sale at their next charity auction."

His threat hit me between the eyes, if I didn't co-operate the evil man was going to blackmail me. And I knew it was just the sort of thing he would do. He was well known for his practical jokes. At school, he had delighted in tormenting and teasing me. Now he was at it again. I was horrified to think of that snooty lot at the golf club sniggering behind my back if they saw the revealing photograph. I sighed and felt my opposition crumble. "All right," I muttered. "Where do you want me?"

Then he took charge and had me standing with my legs apart pulling up my skirt, higher and higher...

"Just an inch or two more," he grinned. Then the cheeky devil knelt in front of me and under the guise of adjusting my stance, ran his hands up the inside of my stockinged thighs. Gasping at his effrontery, I kicked him off me, but not before his knuckles had grazed against my panties. "Stop that," I cried. "I said you could take a photograph, not paw me all over."