Thursday, October 12, 2017

Posing Part 7

I was stuck in the production studio for hours dealing with some faulty equipment while trying to cut a 30 second spot that normally would take a half an hour to knock out.  Earlier Kendra had called me on the request line during my air-shift wondering if I'd heard anything from the magazine, she was certain we should have heard something already.  She was nervous about the whole thing and I was blaming myself for her anxiety.  After all, I was the one that probably gummed up the works by changing the terms on her entry form.  Then, to make things worse, on my drive home there was a wreck that tied up traffic.  By the time I unlocked my apartment door I was in a foul mood.

As I got a beer from the fridge the phone rang.  I was known to let a phone ring until it stopped if I wasn't in the mood to talk.  I didn't own one of those new answering machines.  Why did people think you had to answer phone calls anyway?  Spend money on a machine that answered calls when you're gone? Crazy!  If it's important they'll call back.   But, it crossed my mind that the magazine had my phone as Kendra's contact number, so I picked it up.

Me: Hello.
Female Caller: Hello, may I speak to Kendra ______, please.
Me:  Kendra's not here right now, may I take a message.
FC:  Do you expect her in soon?
Me:  Well, that's hard to say, I just got home myself.


FC:  Do you mind if I ask who you are?
Me:  Normally I would mind, yes, but since the call is for Kendra...

I told her my name and, as she recognized that I was the photographer, she then identified herself as the assistant photo editor at the magazine.  She claimed that she'd been calling the number all afternoon. We continued our conversation.

FC:  I've learned to be careful... sometimes moms, dads, husbands, or boyfriends answer the number we're given and, well, often they aren't exactly up to speed on... everything.
Me: I can see that.  Kendra is actually on her way to a class right now so...
FC:  Well, you took the photographs, did you also help her with the entry form?
Me: Um, yes, we worked together on everything you received.
FC:  Ah, I see, well... here's the problem I  have.  I loved Kendra's portfolio and showed the prints and slides to my boss-- who also thought quite highly of them-- before I noticed that she had not signed our release.  So, now I'm in a jam-- we have photos of a potential G.N.D.O.T.Y. and no release.  If you and Kendra don't help me out...
Me:  OK, I get it.  But, even if I wanted to help you I can't... I mean, we're very close, Kendra and me, but I don't speak for her.
FC: Of course.
Me: And, besides, I think it really would be better if you had only one-time rights to use her photos and no more-- at least without further payment.
FC:  We've never done that. We've never done a special deal like that for this feature, at least not that I know of.

Me:  Look, I think Kendra would love to be in your magazine, but she doesn't want to be taken advantage of, you know.  May I ask you something?
FC:  Yes, Mr. Wilson, of course, we're having a friendly conversation. Ask away.
Me: Have you ever had a better example of Girl Next Door beauty than Kendra?
FC: We get lots of submissions from women every week.  Many are quite lovely.
Me: I'm sure, but have you ever gotten a set of pictures better than hers?
FC:  I believe that... over the years... we've probably had some that were better.
Me: So, Kendra is in the top two or three all-time for the magazine and she hasn't even had a professional photographer work with her yet.  Just imagine what her layout will look like when she knows how to pose and the photo equipment and processing is first rate.
FC: Well, you did a nice job with the photos you sent, but yes, I'm sure we could do an amazing layout with Kendra.  But I didn't say she was top two or three all-time-- exactly.  I won't run her down, Mr. Wilson, just to argue a point with you. Let's just say she has tremendous potential.
Me: I know you didn't say 'top two or three', I did, but you don't really disagree with me.  Why don't I have Kendra call you tomorrow.  You sound like a very nice woman and I'm sure she'll be happy to have a friendly conversation with you.  Maybe something can be worked out.  In any event I'm glad you think so highly of her potential.

The assistant photo editor told me the best times for Kendra to reach her at the office.  And then, just as we were hanging up, she asked if it would be possible for Kendra to call her at home tonight.  I knew she was coming over after school so I said that it was possible but it would be after 10 PM.  She gave me her home number and said she'd wait up for the call.  And then she said, very casually, that if Kendra didn't reach her tonight she should try that home number tomorrow evening or over the weekend.

"Look, Kendra, they're obviously eager to use your photos," I said after telling her the situation.  She had arrived at my place at 9:40 PM.  She couldn't believe that she was supposed to call the magazine woman at home so late.
"So, what do I say to her when she just wants me to sign their regular release?"
"Tell her that you can't.  It wouldn't be right to let them pay you once and use your pictures for the rest of time," I said, "that's what we agreed to, right?"
"Oh, garrhhh, can't you talk to her?"
"I'll be right here, sweetheart."
I punched in the number for Kendra on the desk phone in my bedroom.  There was no extension in the apartment for me to listen in on.  "I think I'm gonna hurl," she said.
I put my left hand lightly on her back just above the waist.  "Kendra, you can't lose.  Everything will be fine," I said softly.  I could hear a woman's voice say hello but I could only make out Kendra's side of the conversation clearly.

-"Hello, this is Kendra ____ I'm calling... 
-yes ma'am... 
-Thank you, I appreciate the kind words... 
-no, ma'am, never before...
-no, (she laughed slightly) I swear, never...
-very nervous, yes ma'am, I mean Carol...

Kendra had a slight accent indicative of the part of the South where she was born and raised but it wasn't nearly as pronounced as many others native to the area.  It struck me that as she spoke to the magazine woman from up North her accent became far more noticeable.  I was bemused by what she was doing, putting on some Southern Belle charm.

-Oh yes, I went through a lot of, um, indecision before we did the pictures, it seemed pretty crazy honestly, but after I saw how they turned out I figured I should just send them in and  go for it. You're only young once, I guess. And, I enjoyed the posing part more than I thought I would...
-Thank you, that's very kind... 
-yeah, I guess we didn't fill that part in...
-well, I guess 'cause the truth might sound kinda braggy...
-um, well, I sent the pictures because first of all I think people would enjoy seeing them, and I think I was a good example of the girl next door. See, like I said, that sounds awful braggy. But I don't really think I'm anything special, Wil made me look nice...
-Oh! well, yeah, I guess I imagined that some-- but if it looks that way I was just thnking about the photographer not a bigger audience...
-well, men mostly, I suppose...
-yes, all my life-- my accent's much less than lots of others around where I live...
-oh, thank you, well it's a very small town, not even a couple thousand people...
-I know it's a lot different where you are, Carol.  I'm in the biggest city around here right now, at     Wil's  place, it's what we think of as a big city anyway, but I know it's small compared to...
-No! Seriously?  
-Ma'am, You're kidding me, right?... 
-no, I'm sorry, I don't know who that is but Wil might...
-But what about your boss, Carol.  Wil said you told him he liked the photos too?
-Oh my goodness!  Really?  Oh, my gosh!
-Yeah, Wil's right here... 

She asked me to get her a pad and pen.  She wrote down a name and address that the woman on the phone gave her.

-OK, I have it...
-Yes, at this phone number, nowhere else...
-Right, this address too, right...
-Um, okay, uh, I'm kind of stunned... thank you ma'a, I mean Carol...
-Right, this same number we just called, OK we won't call any other number or do anything unless we talk to you first...
-Thank you, Bye"

Kendra hung up and plopped down in the chair at my desk. She just stared straight ahead.

"What happened, sweetheart, I couldn't hear any of her side of that."
"Well, Carol, that's her name, is sending the package back to us," Kendra said.
"Why?  What about her boss, they both liked the photos, at least that's what she told me.  Is it because I asked for too much.  I'm sorry if I screwed this all up for you..."

Kendra waved me off. 
"No. Get this. Carol's the only one there that even saw the photos!  She never showed them to anybody.  She took them home as soon as she got them. See, she's leaving the magazine and starting at another place in a few weeks.  The people where we sent the package-- they don't even know she's leaving them yet.  So, she wants us to submit the pictures in about a month to her new employer where she'll be in a similar job.  We're just supposed to wait until she gives the go ahead to send them again-- she can't just take them with her they need to have been sent by us to the new magazine so nobody can say she stole them from the old employer."

"Wow!  I guess that makes sense to her, but, wow!  So is this like a new magazine that somebody's starting? What's the deal?  I don't get it," I said.

Kendra looked at me.  "Carol is going to work at Penthouse.  She says she thinks I'll be a Pet of the Month next year... if I submit my pictures..."
"Holy hell, Kendra!  That's wild.  Crazy."  It started to sink in and I was nearly speechless.  We were both quiet for a while.
"You told her that I might know who she was talking about at one point, what was that about?"
"Oh, she said something about doing a professional layout right away but I'd have to send the pictures first so she could show them to Bob somebody or other.  Then she said she thought this 'Bob' guy would want to shoot me personally.  I didn't know who she was talking about but I guess I was supposed to be thrilled."

A chill ran through my body.  The idea of that guy pawing my girl made me see red.  Not just him but any sleazy guy having sweet Kendra move her leg just a bit so he can get a better shot of her pussy.  Dammit why did we go down this road in the first place?  It was just supposed to be a fun little adventure that we could have together and now it was turning into a major nightmare-- all because she might be too  successful!  I was torn in half by this news. 

I couldn't forbid Kendra from sending the pictures to Carol, if she really wanted to try to be a Penthouse Pet I wouldn't stop her.  But I couldn't help thinking that the clock had just started ticking towards an alarm ringing, signaling the end of us.  And, that I did not want.  I realized right then how much Kendra meant to me.  My head was spinning as she put her arms out for me to hold her.

"Wil, didn't you say there are millions of people who see that magazine?"
"Many millions, and the first thing all of them do is check out the centerfold, the Pet of the month," I said.
"That's silly, I'm not cut out for that!  I'm not in that scene.  I thought that, maybe, I would get $35 for a photo of me in a magazine with an alias and a goofy bio thingy that only a few people would see, none of them would know it was me.  We could look  at it and laugh,  Now she's talking about something from another world.  Millions of readers! That's crazy!"

"Well, it might be crazy, but you are definitely good enough.  Don't have any doubt about that!  If you don't believe me, believe Carol.  She took a risk to keep you out of one small magazine and in a major one-- she thought, no doubt, that you'd be happy.  If she didn't think, like me, that you have what it takes she wouldn't be doing this."

Now I heard myself talking her into posing for Penthouse! What the hell!  Talking her into hanging out with rich celebrities... and, ultimately, dumping me for an actor, rock star or some other asshole. Was I losing my mind?

Still, I was determined that it had to be her decision.  And, she needed all of the pros and cons.  After all with that exposure came money and the opportunity for even more money.

"Kendra, it's too late to think this through and we have a few weeks anyway so let's not kick it around now, OK"

"But Wil, there's nothing to think about.  I can't do that!  That other thing, the little magazine, we could keep that secret, I figured anyway, but this!  No I can't do that," Kendra said, "Mom and daddy would freak out.  All of daddy's buddies seein' it, givin' him the elbow, half of them lech on me already when they're over to the house.  No way!  I mean, you did a great job with the pictures but once we get everything back from her, that's it!"

"OK," I said.  She was really worked up.

"I just can't imagine thinking everybody I run into has seen me stark naked, Wil.  You know I'm not a prude. But this isn't like wearing my little bikini at Myrtle Beach!  I mean, gee, knowing that half the guys you see on the street have stared at photos of your cooch?! There's no hiding behind an alias... there's lots of pictures of your face and... "

"Well, if that's the way you feel about it, that's that."


The package arrived from Carol about ten days later.  I opened it and everything we sent was in there.  I put all of the slides we shot in a box, taped it shut, and put it on a shelf in the bedroom closet.  A few days later Carol called in the evening.  Kendra called her back.  Over the next week Kendra talked to Carol three times.  She never wavered, she was always polite, always calm, but the answer was always "no."

A week went by without hearing from Carol.  Then one evening she called when I was home alone.
Carol:  I'm not asking for her to call me again, Wil.  I want to talk to you about this.
Me:  OK.
Carol:  Does she know how big this is, how lucrative it could be for her?
Me:  You have to understand.  She only did the pictures because she got a little thrill from it but she knew that in your old magazine she probably wouldn't be found out.  That's why it's a "no" Carol.  Penthouse is too successful. When you argue about how big a deal it is you're actually convincing her that "no" is the right answer.
Carol:  God, Wil, she's fucking adorable!  We're getting deeper into film production, all sorts of things, I could see her, with that cute accent, playing in movies.  You know, not just eye candy but small speaking roles.  You see that, right?
Me:  Carol, to me, the sky is the limit for Kendra.  But, that's not what drives her.
Carol:  OK, just level with me, you're not holding her back because she might get away from you.
Me:  No, but that's a legit question.  Really, I just let her talk through it.  I can tell you, she hasn't moved a bit on it.
Carol:  OK, will you do one last thing for me?  We had a girl in an issue in '77 who will be Pet of the Year in the January '79 issue.  She's the same "type" as Kendra, killer bod, blonde, gorgeous.  But I think Kendra's even better than Cheryl.  If I send you a copy of the January issue when it's ready will you share it with your stunning, charming, thoroughly adorable girlfriend?
Me:  Sure.
Carol:  Just tell her that she could be... well, you say success isn't important to her... but tell her that could be her times two, ok?
Me:  I'll do that for you Carol.  You've been very kind to her and I know she likes you.  I'll show the magazine to her and tell her what you said.

In December I got the magazine from Carol.  Kendra looked at it and said, "Wow!  She's really pretty.  Look at her."
I relayed to her Carol's message.
Kendra laughed, "She's nuts.  I mean, I like her, but that Yankee girl is crazy!"

Kendra never appeared nude in a magazine.  Well, at least not yet.  Is there a MILF/GILF Next Door Contest?

By the way, I'm informed that the classy magazine referred to above now shows humans engaged in sexual acts.  Don't be alarmed, it was a more innocent time back in the 70s.  Back then the magazine only showed beautiful women naked.

Don't assume that any of the photos are of Kendra.  They are just here as illustrations.

Monday, October 9, 2017

Posing Part 6

There was a small screened-in balcony on the back of my apartment.  The space was just big enough for two cheap folding lawn chairs and a small square white plastic table-- furnishings from K-Mart.  Walking out onto the balcony there was a great view of the dumpster below but if you pushed the lawn chairs back against the wall and sat down all you could see was clear blue sky and the tops of pine trees.  Kendra and I sat out there with drinks and pretzels that Saturday afternoon.  I had the entry form from the magazine and a pen.  I used the copy of Gallery balanced on my knee as a writing desk.

Some of it was simple-- Kendra had already come up with her alias and we were using my address and phone for her contact information.  We got all of that and her vital statistics filled in. "OK, that's the easy stuff," I said, "The rest is less concrete."
"Why do they want all that info anyway?"
"Well, dear, when you win, somebody has to write up some junk about you so they need background.  You know, 'she loves walking in the rain, romantic meals at McDonald's, nooners, and her favorite TV show is Josie and the Pussycats...'"
"I loved that show!  I always pretended I was Melody when we'd sing along!"
"You scare me sometimes, K-girl. I mean, you realize she was a drawing, right?"
Kendra threw a pretzel at me.

"First one: Favorite band/ singer / musician?"
Kendra pondered a bit.  "Eric Clapton or Van Morrison I think."
"Both good. Pick one."
"Favorite movie?"
"Nothing we've seen lately was all that great.  I don't know, Close Encounters was pretty cool."
"OK.  Favorite song?"
"Everything is disco now. Hmmm. Can it be an oldie?  How about Melissa by the Allmans, I love that song."

We went through all of the favorite this and that and then it was time for the part Kendra had called 'naughty.'"  "OK, for the rest of these, let's come up with clever answers and not anything real," I said, "Like this one, 'where's the strangest place you've had sex?'"
"Yeah, I don't want to answer any of those!"
"Well, I don't want you to either since, like that one for instance, it probably wasn't somewhere with me," I said.
She threw another pretzel at me.
"So, this one about strangest place you've had sex, let's put Canada," I said.
"I've never been to Canada!"
I stared at her.
"No. I get it.  It's funny.  OK, go with that.  Or maybe West Virginia," she said.

"Describe your ideal romantic evening," I said.
"Oh gosh, I don't know...  arrgghhhh, this is tough.  How about, every night with you, darling!"
"Be serious," I said, "And, by the way, the guys admiring your pictures don't want to hear about your boyfriend, they want your romantic evening to be something they could imagine being a part of."
She thought for a few moments and then said,  "OK, a candlelight dinner with my favorite lover in a great restaurant overlooking the ocean.. followed by making love on the sand just below the restaurant windows... not knowing or caring if the people up there can see us and hear us... and not caring if the waves crash against us as we reach incredible brain-numbing orgasms at the exact same time."
I stared at her.  Again.
"Kendra, either you have a great imagination or you just told me something I didn't want to know about your past."  The last word wasn't out of my mouth when a handful of pretzels flew at me.
"How about I just put down, 'a candlelight dinner with my boyfriend at an oceanside restaurant."
"Fine!" Kendra said, pretending to be miffed.  I was pretty sure she was pretending.  Maybe.

"What famous person do you fantasize about?"
"Gawd, I don't know.  Are you famous?"
"Cute.  We can leave it blank."
"Sonny Jurgensen," she said.
"The fat, old retired Redskins' quarterback? Now you're just being silly."
"Put it down, Wil.  I loved Sonny when I was, ya know, first getting interested in boys."
"I don't want to know any more about it," I said.

"Last question, favorite position?"
"Does it say sexual position?"
"It says, 'what is your favorite position?'"
"Right fielder!"
"Excellent," I said.
"No wait.  Tight end!"
"I don't know, maybe that's too obvious."
"What position did you play in baseball?"
"Several but my favorite was first base."
"Put that down, First Baseman," Kendra said, "Plus, isn't 'getting to first base' when you feel up a girl?  Yeah, First Baseman.  Perfect."
"At least this time I know the real answer," I said.
Kendra grinned.

"OK, that's it.  The only thing left is to sign it, but I don't think you should, necessarily," I said.
"Why?  I have to sign the release for them to consider the photos, right?"
"Yeah, but it's like signing a contract and the terms are all in their favor."
"Well, it's $35 if they use a picture, $500 if they pick you as the best of the month, and $5,000 if the readers vote you best of the year, right?" *
"Right, but I'm talking about other terms, like about the use of the photographs.  The way it reads you basically sign away your rights to the photos you send.  Not only can't you submit them anywhere else, which is fair enough, but they have unlimited use of them.  So, let's say you win Girl Next Door for January.  They pay you $500 plus the $35 but they retain the rights to your photos to use again in this magazine or any other magazine they own.  And if they sell the company the new owners have the rights to your photos-- forever.  At least that's the way it reads to me."

"So, basically, I would get a one-time modeling payment and they own the images and can do anything with them?"
"Yeah, which might not be a big deal but, I'm sure you're good enough that you could get a better deal from a classier publication.  I mean, for all I know these guys own a magazine called, I don't know, 'D Cup Dolls' and they run a spread in there of all your photos without paying you another dime."
"Yeah, that would stink," Kendra said, "What do we do now?  Just skip it? Why did we fill out all the questions?"
"Well, I suggest we line out the part we don't like on the form and add a separate page of new language.  You sign that page but not the form."
Kendra thought about it.
"If you think that's the thing to do, Wil, I'll do it."
"But, what if I wasn't here, would you just send the pictures in and sign the release?"
"Doesn't matter," Kendra said, "'Cause we're a team on this crazy thing."

I wrote out my revisions to the entry form.  Typed it up and lined out the text on the form that we didn't like.  Kendra signed.  We decided on 12 photos to send and we packaged everything up without sealing it.  On Monday afternoon I went down to see Dave. I gave him the 12 slides and he had the lab make inter-negatives of all of them and print what we thought were the three best.  By the following Friday Kendra's entry in the GND contest was in the mail.  She came by the apartment that evening and I told her that it was too late to turn back.  She was so nervous about it all I thought she was going to get physically ill.

I didn't tell her that Dave graded my photography a C but gave the model an A+.  I agreed with the grade for my model.

* -- adjusted for inflation those amounts would be, roughly-- $150 for use of picture, $2,100 for winning a best of the month, and $21,000 for best of the year.

Do not assume the photos are of Kendra, they're for illustration only.

The final post in the Posing series will be here soon.

Friday, October 6, 2017

Posing Part 5

Monday after work I took the lighting equipment and my undeveloped film to Dave at the camera shop.
"How did it go?"
"I think it went well, but the proof is in these," I said as I put the 5 rolls of Kodachrome on the counter.
"Ah, the mark of the diligent amateur, unsure if he has the shot so he overdoes.  The pro knows he got it," Dave said.
"Well, I guess I can't argue with that," I said, stung by the implied criticism.
Dave shrugged.  "Not complaining, just an observation.  Besides, it's good for my business.  I feel sorry for your model though-- enduring so much with all the flashes."
"She seemed fine with it.  Actually she enjoyed the whole experience," I said.

Dave leaned forward and spoke softly as if outlining a conspiracy with me, "Confidentially, William, many women enjoy intimate modeling immensely.  An attentive photographer... the undivided attention... but also, sometimes perhaps, the possibility that...  others may look... and enjoy."
He drew the last word out and leaned back for a moment as I acknowledged that he may be correct in some cases.  Then he leaned forward again, and in the same conspiratorial voice while tapping on the film canisters, "Tell me, out of curiosity, are these destined for submission to a publication or are they just for, uh, personal use?"

"Well, we're not sure, it depends on how they turn out I suppose."
He nodded with a glum look on his face.  "Of course, certainly. My lab will do a professional job, as I told you they do developing and also darkroom work for every pro in the area.  The best.  You just want them as mounted slides, correct?" I affirmed the statement.  "And then, should you select a dozen or so that are the best, you will bring them back for inter-negatives and prints, correct."
I nodded.
"Now, I ask this only if you are going to submit them to a publication, do you want me to examine them with a critical eye?  I ask only because the model will not be a good judge, they never are, and the photographer may, may I say, be in love with his work."
"How about we narrow it down to a couple of dozen shots or fewer first," I said.
"Sounds good, William.  I'm glad it went well and, if you begin a second career as a photographer I look forward to the Mercedes I'll buy from your business," he said as he waved at the five rolls of undeveloped Kodachrome.

Driving away I thought that Dave's suggestion to have someone critically view our photos actually made sense-- especially if Kendra and I both thought they were all great.  But, if I told Kendra about his suggestion she'd probably be creeped out.  I suspected it was easier for her to think of the anonymous viewer of her naked self than of the specific old guy who owned the camera shop.  If we were doing the photos in black and white I wouldn't even need a lab, I could do it all myself, but there was no way I was going to develop color film myself.

Ten days later I got off the air and found a pink phone message slip in my mail cubby:  Mr. David Greenbaum called --the slides are in --p/u any time.  I finished a few things I needed to do at the station and then drove down to the camera shop.
"Hello, my friend!" Dave shouted as I came through the door.  He asked one of his assistants to cover the counter and led me back to his office.  A package wrapped in white butcher paper with my name on it sat on his desk.  Dave pushed it towards me as I sat down.
"You can open it here to make certain all is in order but I'm sure the lab got everything correct.  But, if you like, I can get a slide viewer and you can go through all 5 boxes."
"Nah, I'll go home and run through them," I said.
We settled up the bill and as I was getting up to leave Dave said, "My lab man said one roll was a half stop underexposed but he pushed it so they look like the others."
"Oh, ok, that was probably the first roll.  I got a slightly different meter reading after that and opened up a half," I said.
"Good.  Better to be under, they can't fix over so much.  Of course, best to be right and not need correction.  Anyway, he said your photos were, quote spec-tac-u-lar unquote.  I told him you were an amateur and he said, 'oh yeah, the photography was pretty good too.'  So, there's your first review William."
We both  laughed and then I hit the trail for home.

I got home, put the package in my bedroom, ate and then drove over to the school.  I got back home around 10PM and opened the package of slides.  I had a small light table big enough for about six slides at a time that I set up on the kitchen table. I began going through the slides box after box until I had seen all of the 180 shots I'd taken of Kendra. I shut the light box off, got a beer out of the fridge, and sat down in the living room.  I was stunned.  I had no idea how we were going to edit them down as I thought about 150 were great.  Of course I was looking at them with no enlargement-- blow the pictures up a bit and there might be flaws in all of them.  I finished the beer and went to bed, setting the alarm for 5AM.

I got out of bed at 5 and started a half a pot of coffee.  While that was making I got out the Kodak projector and loaded an empty 60 count carousel with the first slides.  The walls in the dining area off the kitchen were off-white and I turned the projector on splashing a bright, harsh light against the wall. I drank some coffee, the first sip is always the best, and fit the carousel tray on the projector.  I hit the advance button and the first picture of Kendra was on my wall.  I focused it until it was razor sharp. I sat there drinking coffee as I watched slide after slide of my girlfriend.  I found it kind of mesmerizing.  I put those 60 slides back in their boxes and re-loaded the carousel with the next 60 and when that was done I did it again until I'd seen all 180 shots blown up on my wall. I loved about 120 of them, a bit fewer than the night before but still way too many.  Checking the clock I saw that I was going to be late for work if I didn't get going.
Kendra came over the next night and we went through all the slides.  She was more critical of them than I was, seeing little flaws in herself that I didn't notice, but she still thought there were several dozen she was proud of.
"Gosh, Wil.  You did a great job!"
I started laughing. "Sweetheart, without you they're 180 pictures of a reasonably well-lit bedroom."
"So, what do we do now?"
"Go through them until we narrow it down to no more than 20," I said.
"Let's separate them by session, you know, by outfit," Kendra said.
There were roughly 100 in varying stages of dress of the first outfit and 80 in the second outfit.
Between using the light table and projector we got it down to about 15 slides from each session.
"Let's stop looking now and come back to it with fresh eyes this weekend," I said.
Kendra agreed, "Yeah, after a while you just go blurry-eyed."

We went into the bedroom, had a quick session of nice vanilla sex, and then she split for home.

Part 6 will be coming soon.  Have I lied about that yet?

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Posing Part 4

The next day after my airshift I went to my favorite local camera shop out on Route 51.  They advertised on my radio show and, being an amateur photographer, I frequented the store quite a bit.  It was always fun going to see the guys at the shop plus there were usually photographers, pro and amateur, hanging out there so you could learn things.  I was hoping that Dave, the owner / manager, would be there as I had a sensitive topic to discuss.

"Hey! There's my guy!" Dave shouted from behind the counter as I entered.
"Dave!  Good to see you.  How's business?"
"Please!  Let's not speak of the dead!"
"Better advertise on the radio more and the newspaper less, my friend," I said.
Dave waved dismissively, "Sheesh, even the disc jockeys are hucksters," he said, laughing.

I chatted for a while with Dave and various shop customers as they came up to talk to him.  When there was a lull in the action I asked Dave if he had a moment to talk in private.  He looked concerned but called one of his workers over and told him to watch the front counter.  He led me back to his tiny, cluttered, office-- a space just big enough for a desk, chair, and a side chair.  He cleared the camera catalogs off the guest chair and motioned me to sit as he closed the door.

"What's the problem, Wil?  I know I'm current with my media accounts," Dave said.
"Dave, when they send me out to collect accounts build an ark 'cause the end is near."
He laughed.
"This is a more delicate question-- about photography," I said.
Dave sat back in his chair and a slight smile came across his face.
"You wish to discuss how to shoot beautiful naked women properly and how to get your film developed  after you do, correct?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Well, first get a beautiful model who will take her clothes off," he shouted with glee.
"That much I have."
"Well then, Good boy!  That's the hardest part!" Dave laughed.
"Hold on. Are we speaking of the young lady you brought into my store on a warm Saturday dressed in shorts and halter top-- her, not you, I should add?"

I thought for a moment and realized that I had Marsha along with me one time I stopped at the store.
"Oh, no, no.  I'm not seeing her anymore," I said.
"Ah, this is too bad.  My memory is pretty good and she would be a worthy subject for such photography," Dave said.
"Well, the model I have for this project is way better, Dave."
"Aha, you celebrities! The money! The women!  Does it ever get old, I ask you William?"
"I wish it was like that. In reality, I'm poor... but fortunate that lovely women take pity on me.  Some day I'll explain the economics of the radio business.  Meanwhile, what do I need to shoot artful, tasteful, portraits, Dave?"

By the time we were done he had sold me a couple of trade paperbacks, a brick of Kodachrome, and rented me lighting equipment. He tried to sell me a new camera or at least another lens for the one I owned but I drew the line at that. As I left the store I realized that if Kendra got $35 from Gallery it wouldn't quite cover my expenses.  But, it was amazing and a bit exciting to me that she wanted to do it, so I was not about to complain.  Besides, shooting Kendra was going to be fun.  I loved photography and I was crazy about my subject.  How could it not be fun?

On Saturday, the day before the shoot, I drove out to the camera shop and picked up my lighting. By that evening I had everything set up and tested in my bedroom for our shoot.  Sunday afternoon Kendra was right on time and had brought a big purse, a suitcase and a hang-up bag.  She had arrived in cut-offs, flip-flops, and a big, loose t-shirt.  As soon as we got everything upstairs I asked her to get out of her clothes and into her robe.  I explained that we didn't want any marks or creases on her bare skin from her clothes when we started shooting.  When she came out into the living room in her robe I asked her to only sit on the soft couch cushions as all the other chairs might leave her bottom red.

"From looking at the GND entries from just that one month, well, there are a lot of poor pictures submitted-- girls standing barefoot in front of fake wood paneling in basements, or posing in a bedroom with a hamper full of dirty clothes behind her, and on and on.  My amateur camera work will keep our shots from looking too slick, but there's no reason we can't look more professional than most of those," I said, "And those were all entries that got $35, think how bad the rest must be."

"I can't wait to see how mine come out," Kendra said, "I saw all the lights and everything.  Where did you get that stuff? It looks like a studio in there!  Gosh, I'm getting so nervous!"
"Yeah, pretty exciting, isn't it," I said, "OK, so here's how I think we should do this.  It'll be kind of backwards in that you'll start without any clothes on and as we go we'll put stuff on until, finally, you're fully dressed.  That way there won't be any marks from tight clothes on your bare skin. Cool?"
Kendra thought it sounded like a good plan. "OK, so let me see all the clothes you brought, oh, and you should take off that necklace and ring since you always wear them-- someone could positively ID you by that."

We went into the bedroom and Kendra got out all the clothes she brought.  Our plan was to do a set with one outfit and then take a break before doing another set with her second outfit.  She had brought two complete changes right down to the shoes, bra and panties. "OK, one last thing," I said, "Open your robe."  She did and I told her I thought she should trim her bush. We went in the bathroom and she used the scissors I use to groom my mustache to trim until we agreed everything was perfect.  I wanted it right where the lighting could penetrate her pussy hair enough that the skin mag aficionado could almost see the crimson ridge of her outer lips.

Kendra wanted music on while we shot.  We were at it so long that we listened to Silk Degrees, Gimme Back My Bullets, Dreamboat Annie, Songs in the Key of Life and more.  Two long photoshoots with stops for makeup reapplication, lotion for glistening skin, changes of clothes, and cheap white wine.  Unlike with digital photography, we had no idea whether we had any decent pictures.  But I had shot 5 rolls of Kodachrome, 180 pictures, there had to be a winner or two in there.

When we were finished Kendra was full dressed in her second outfit, a short burgundy velour dress cut low in the back, with oxblood high heeled strappy sandals. No bra, just a pair of black lace panties.
"Are we done?"
"Yeah, I think so.  I still have more film but, unless you want to do some with your cut-offs and flip flops..." I said.
"Nope, I'm good," she said.
"Better than good," I said.
She came over to me and said, "Thanks, baby, that was a lot of work-- but so much fun!"
She threw her arms over my shoulders and gave me a deep kiss.
"Can we go get something to eat?"
"Sure, do you want to change first?" I said.
"Well, that depends Mister... what do you want me to be wearing when we come back here for after dinner sex?"
"Don't change a thing," I said.


(Do not assume that the pictures are of Kendra.  They are merely illustrations- Ed.) 

Part 5 will arrive soon.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Posing Part 3

"OK, Kendra, I am surprised.  I did not see that coming."

"Well, I wouldn't do it if you didn't want me to," she said quickly.
"Honey, I didn't say that.  But, let's talk this through. What makes you interested in trying this? I mean, you're pretty shy, right?"
Kendra spoke haltingly. "Yeah, that's true, but honestly, ever since I looked through those magazines Sunday I haven't been able to shake this idea.  I don't know, it just gives me a buzz thinking about it. A jolt... a little flutter thinking what it would be like to be in... I mean, you always tell me how good I look, and, well, I don't know how to say this..."
"Go ahead, take your time," I said.

She took a deep breath.  "OK, well, older guys started hittin' on me when I was a Sophomore in high school. Like in the summer... when guys would be home from college... they'd be calling the house... asking me out.  Mom and Daddy were freaking out, I mean, I was 15.  And then, working in restaurants the last couple years guys have always, um, well, propositioned me... usually it's just silly but sometimes it's pretty direct. I mean, I've told you that before, right? Oh, crap, I'm not sure I know what I'm trying to say..." Kendra was very nervous telling me this.
I nodded. "Sweetheart, it's OK.  Look, I think I know... see, whatever "it" is, you have it.  You have this sweet, wide-eyed innocent thing to go with your incredible beauty and, frankly, killer body.  A blind guy could see it.  And, while you're not a show-off, you also don't dress to hide how you look either. You're always classy, and fashionable... but seriously hot."

She smiled, "Aw, Wil, you're sweet, and you know, whatever it is you think I have, it won't last forever so I thought, maybe, this would be kinda cool.  But, if it was gonna come between us I definitely wouldn't do it."
"How would it come between us?"
"I don't know... what if I photograph well and they want me to do a bigger layout... I mean posing for you is one thing, but you might not like me posing for another guy."
"Well, first of all, I would be there watching him like a hawk.  And, by the way, when you're Playmate of the Year in a couple years I'll punch out any Hollywood star who gets too hands-on at the Playboy Mansion."
Kendra laughed.

"Kendra, I just want to clarify something, OK?" I said,  "Are you saying that since guys have always found you attractive you should turn that into a monetary reward?  Or is that 'buzz' you talked about  the real reason you would try it?"
"Oh, definitely the jolt," Kendra said, "maybe it's like if you had a shot at being a star baseball player-- you'd want to go for it."
"But, the difference," I said, "is that some people would hold it against you for posing nude.  Are you worried about that?"
"Would it be a problem for you?" she said.
"No," I said.  Although, I should have taken longer to consider the question.
"Well, you're a good photographer, will you take pictures of me for the Girl Next Door contest then?"
"You sure you don't want me to take the pictures and send them to the photo editor at Playboy instead?  After all, if they pass on them we could still try Penthouse.  And, your definitely first class."
She paused and bit her lower lip.  "I don't think so... just too many people would see it."
Her answer was what I expected but it bothered me a bit.

Kendra went into the bedroom and got the magazine.  I joined her at the kitchen table and we went through the entry form together, not filling it in, just going over it.

"It looks like I can use an alias but they have to have my real name and a copy of my ID," she said, "Can I use this phone number and address, Wil? I don't want anything mailed to the house or anybody calling there either. I can just see daddy getting a call from Gallery Magazine asking for his daughter."
"Sure, I'll be happy to handle all of your incoming calls," I said.
"Why do they need my social security number?"
"If you get a modeling fee it's income.  Hey, I like this next section, measurements! Do you know them or can I measure you."
"Oddly enough, I know all of those numbers," she said.
"OK. Spill."
"Five feet seven inches, one hundred and twenty pounds, straight out of the shower."
"36D, 23, 37"
"That sounds right. And perfect."
"Oh, they want to know hobbies, favorite movies, TV shows, career goals.  Oh this is good, 'Why did you submit your photos?' Whoa, they want to know some naughty stuff too.  Gosh, I don't want to sound like a tramp!"
"We'll work on some answers together. Don't worry about it.  When do you want to do your photoshoot?"
"Oh my gosh, wow, um, I guess Sunday afternoon is about the only time we can do it. Man, I just got butterflies."
I laughed and gave her a hug, "You better get dressed and hit the road. Your dad will be calling to find out why you aren't home yet."

Ten minutes later Kendra wheeled out of the parking lot of my apartment complex.  Twenty minutes after that the phone rang.  It was her dad.  He was only about twelve years older than me and we had a pretty good relationship.  I assured her that Kendra was well on her way home and I agreed that she was, in fact, precious cargo.

Part 4 will be along before you know it...

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Posing Part 2

I put the magazine from Moe in the closet, tossing it on top of the stack of Playboys. The next evening I thumbed through it before going to sleep.  I was torn.  Part of me wanted to shoot photos of Kendra, enter her in the contest, and show her off.  Another part realized it was her decision, not mine.  But then again, if I told her I thought it was a good idea she'd likely do it.  I finally decided that to just not tell her anything about it would be the best policy.

The next evening Kendra came over to the apartment around 10 PM.  As was our usual habit when she came over late at night we had a hello kiss and then went straight to the bedroom.  Hell, that was our habit whenever she came over in those days.  A few minutes after her arrival she was straddling me on the bed wearing nothing but her jeans.  She bent over and put her tits on my face.  I licked, squeezed, tugged and gently slapped her beautiful boobs.  After a bit she got off me, pulled her jeans and panties off, got back on the bed-- naked on all fours-- and I fucked her doggystyle.

As we were both catching our breath afterwards, for some reason I've never understood, I said, "Moe gave me a girly magazine full of pictures that you shouldn't find so intimidating."
"Oh he did, did he," Kendra said, "when did he do that?"
"Couple of days ago," I said.
"Now, why would he do that?"
I was silent for a few beats too long as my mind saw that I had probably blundered into a trap of my own making.
"Oh, you know, he buys a bunch of those mags.  Sometimes he gives them to me," I said.
"Oh?  Or maybe you told him that I had looked at your Playboys!?!"
"Well, I mentioned something about you being upset at how perfect they make the centerfolds look."
"So he thinks it's funny to give you a magazine of hags that even I look better than?"
"Whoa! No, no, no!  That's so wrong.  You know 'Special K' is his ideal woman!  Moe wouldn't do, think, or say anything mean about you.  I wouldn't either for that matter.  No, it's a magazine that publishes amateur photos every month submitted by women.  And, get this, it's called The Girl Next Door contest.  I had never even heard about it before."
"Oh yeah right.  I'm so sure!   Well... what do they look like?"
"The chicks in this magazine of his.  What do they look like?"

I got up and took the magazine off the stack in the closet and tossed it on the bed.  Before she picked it up she said, "Did you look at it?"
"Yeah," I said.
"And, are any of them pretty?"
"Sure, Kendra, some of them are OK... but none of them comes close to you."
She gave me a smirk while shaking her head, picked up the magazine, and started to thumb through it.

"Well, at least they look real and not plastic," Kendra said.
When she got to the page with the Girl Next Door photo contest information I said, "So, I guess women send in photos all the time, then the editors pick out a few of the best to publish each month and declare one of them the monthly winner.  It looks like they do a professional shoot of the winner. Then the readers vote on the winner for the year out of the twelve monthly winners."

"So, these were the best entries?  Hmmm.  There are some cute ones. The monthly winner is pretty.  But, I'm not sure I like it that when Moe saw these pictures I came to mind."

Kendra was freshly-fucked and nude on my bed when she said that and looking at her I agreed with her point but I defended Moe a bit, "Sweetheart, his point was that you are a Playboy centerfold quality beauty.  You way outclass the women in the contest."  By then she had flipped to the entry form and was reading it.

"How many guys read Playboy, Wil?"
"Well, they say their circulation is about 6 million, but lots of issues get passed around so I guess about fifteen to twenty million people see it, just guessing. 99% are men probably."
"Seriously?  You're saying that twenty million men see a girl's picture in Playboy?"
"More probably because people don't throw them out.  A certain number of them get collected.  Heck, boys as yet unborn will look at a woman in this month's Playboy."

Kendra was quiet. She looked again at the entry form in Gallery. Then she got up and walked over to the closet.  Kendra didn't keep clothes at my apartment but she did keep a robe in my closet.  It was a dark blue velour robe with beige trim that went to mid-thigh.  She put it on and tied the belt.  "I'm gonna make a mug of tea.  You want anything?  I told her no and she went out to my galley kitchen.  I pulled on a pair of jeans and went out and sat in the living room.  Soon she came out with her tea and sat down in a chair facing me.

"What about that other one?  How many people see that magazine?"
"The one Moe gave me?  I dunno, a couple hundred thousand...maybe more.  Why Kendra?"
"Well, I would love to be a model in Playboy or Penthouse... but there's no way I could keep that a secret.  So that's scary. And the idea that so many guys on the street might recognize me. Wow, too scary.  But, this other one, would anybody even know I was in it?  I mean, that would be kinda fun, right?"

I was shocked.  Completely shocked.  My classy, shy, gorgeous, sexually submissive girlfriend; the girl  I adored like no other woman I'd ever known had just shocked me. 

Part 3 will be along very soon...

Monday, October 2, 2017

Posing Part 1

Hearing a few days ago that Hugh Hefner died got me thinking about something that happened many years ago.  I'm going to publish this now while I'm thinking about.  I'll get back to writing about Marie soon.

When I got out of college I subscribed to Playboy for a few years.  I was a subscriber and monthly consumer of the magazine in that era after they began showing pubic hair and before the models were shaved bare-- yes, the bush years.

I know it's hard to imagine today, but there was a fairly long period where Playboy models were photographed in such a way that you had to imagine what was between their legs. The first issue of Hefner's magazine came out in 1953 but the first full-frontal nude centerfold wasn't until January 1972.  Long time, no hair.  It was, of course, the rise in popularity of Penthouse magazine that spurred Playboy to show the pubic area.  It happened fast too as Penthouse wasn't sold in the USA until 1969 and had always given the public at least a wisp of hair down there. This circulation battle was dubbed The Pubic War and preceded the race to show pink.

Hefner's idea from the start of Playboy was that the pictorials and even the centerfolds would be girl-next-door types but without some, or all, of their clothes.  The Girl Next Door, naked, was a powerful idea back in the 1950s, 60s, 70s, and, even 80s.  It still is, but now technology has cut out the middleman.  Today's next door girl photographs and videographs herself and distributes the pictures instantaneously around the world in seconds on multiple platforms.

That's today.  Allow me to tell you a very true story from a slower paced era, the 1970s...

My girlfriend, Kendra, had come over to hang out at my apartment on a Sunday afternoon. I had a ballgame on.  She was ignoring me and the game while paging through the stack of  Elle, Vogue and Cosmo she had brought with her.  Kendra was only a year out of high school and I was several years out of college.

We were going to go out for dinner as soon as the game was over but Kendra ran out of fashion mags before then so she wandered into the bedroom and came out with a half dozen  Playboys she had found on the shelf in my closet.  She had full run of the place.  She even had her own key.

"Wow, you're getting bored," I said when I saw what she was reading.
"Well, I've actually never looked at one of these."
"Really?" I was watching the game closely and didn't look at her as I said it.
After a while she said, "Hey Wil, do you think she's pretty?"
I looked over.  She was holding up an issue and showing me the centerfold of Debra Peterson.
"Of course, Kendra."

I went back to watching the TV.  But it was hard to concentrate while my stunning 18 year old girlfriend was looking at Playboy magazines at the other end of the couch.
"That's not a new issue, Kendra."
She looked at the cover, "It's from last year.  How old are these girls in here?"
"Most are about your age," I said.
"Well, some are. Some are older-- but not much.  I guess most models in Playboy are 19 to 25."
"There are a lot of skin mags, babe, Playboy's the classiest one, although Penthouse is in the same league."
"Classy? Yeah, I guess so... I mean, they are really beautiful girls..."
"The idea is that they're like the girl next door, only naked," I said.
"What does that mean, though, 'cause I've always heard that, 'the girl next door' thing but... what does it really mean?"
"Approachable, I guess.  Like some girl you would see on the street or go to school with or work with. You know, like when I met you-- the adorable 'girl next door'," I said.
"Ha! I've never lived next door or even close to you. Plus I'm not anywhere near as pretty as these girls."
I stared at her.  She was so wrong about that last part but I didn't say anything to contradict her.

A few minutes later she said, "Look, in the issue from this April they have 'The Girls of the New South'."
"Yeah, honey, I saw it," I said.
I kept watching the game but glanced over from time to time and saw her studying the pictorial of girls from her part of the country.
The game ended and I shut the TV off.  "Ready to eat?" I said.
"I'm starving!" Kendra said as she tossed the magazine on the couch and headed for the door.

In the car on the way to the restaurant Kendra said, "OK, the ones in that 'New South' thing weren't as intimidating.  Gosh, there were a lot of girls too.  I guess they don't have much trouble finding girls to take their clothes off!"  We were back to talking about nude girls in magazines.  A subject we had never explored before.

"Well, Kendra, the Playmate of the Month has hair, clothes and makeup stylists, lighting, and retouching of the photos," I said, "None of them look like that in real life you know. Those girls that you thought 'weren't as intimidating'... if they select one of them to be a centerfold she'll look completely different when they get done with all the tricks of the trade."

"Well, if they're supposed to be just like the girls you see every day they shouldn't do all those things to make them look better," Kendra said.
I laughed and said, "They do that to all the models in your fashion magazines too, you know."
She thought for a bit and then said, "It's different Wil, those magazines are for women and we know that the models are all fixed up.  But those others are for guys and you guys look at them and then you're disappointed in the real thing."
"Not me," I said, "my girlfriend is a stunner."
She harrumphed and said, "Introduce me to her sometime."

A few days later my work buddy Moe and I were sitting in a nearly empty restaurant in the afternoon.  Kendra's opinion of Moe was that he was a sweetheart.  He was, in fact, a really good guy but very awkward with women.  For his part, a couple days after meeting Kendra for the first time he told me, "Hell, buddy, you're dating Marilyn Monroe with Farrah's hairdo.  Don't mess up!"

I was telling him about her looking at Playboy and thinking it wasn't fair that they did all the airbrushing and stuff on the models.  "She's right!" he said.  "But, Kendra's always right if ya ask me. Except about you, she should flat dump you."
"Thanks, pal," I said, "Anyway, she did think the 'Girls of the New South' pictures were more natural... 'less intimidating' was what she said."

"Oh, April. Yeah, good issue. Lisa Sohm's hot," Moe said.
"Hold it," I said, "You got 'em memorized?  How do you remember that?"
"It was only a few months ago!  What's the big deal?  Besides, that's my social life.  Gimme a break!"
"You're making me so sad, Moe, thinking about you and your magazines.  Shit, cut it out."

"Hey, if Kendra wants to see 'less intimidating' models show her Swank, or Gent, or Gallery," Moe said.
"Seriously, Moe?  You think I should hand her a copy of Swank Magazine to peruse? Jesus. No wonder you're 'makin' the scene with the magazine' every night."
He shrugged. "I'm just sayin' boss, there's never been a girl in that mag ever that Special K should be intimidated by.  Maybe some could beat her up in a bar fight, sure, but you know what I mean."
Moe loved calling Kendra Special K.  He had such a crush on my girlfriend.
I picked up the tab, as usual.

Two days later in my mail cubby at work there was a plain brown mailing envelope with my name scrawled in magic marker on it.  I opened it and saw that it was the current issue of Gallery Magazine.  A note paper-clipped to the cover said,

Dear Great Photographer,

You and K will find this magazine very interesting.


I didn't pull the issue of Gallery all the way out of the envelope until I got home.  I flipped through it.  I was pretty certain I'd never looked at Gallery Magazine before.  It was definitely down market from Playboy and Penthouse, but it was OK, some of the girls were pretty.

Then I came upon the page that I was sure Moe wanted me to see:


The 2nd part will come along very soon.  I promise.

Friday, September 29, 2017

Overnight 2

"Fuck, baby... that's amazing..."
Marie pulled her lips from around my dick and said, "I wanna  slow down and make it last but I can't... if you cum how long 'til you're hard again?" She went right back to my cock without waiting for an answer.
"Two minutes... two hours... two days... I dunno..." I said, barely a growling whisper.
"You a swallower, Marie?"
She pulled back off her work again. "Of course, baby.  But, tonight,  I just wanna wear it." She put her hands on her face with her fingers spread wide.

That did it.  Hearing her smoky voice saying that she wanted to get her face covered in my cum made me stand up from the couch.  I pushed her back against the cocktail table.  She put her arms out like she was leaning back against a fence, resting them along the edge of the table.
"Look up at me," I said.  Looking down at her I was ready to blow my load.

Gripping my stiff cock in my right hand I stroked a few more times until the first white cord of cum shot across Marie's waiting face.  After the warm load hit her forehead from the hairline to the eyebrow she smiled beautifully. Another thick load flew across her right eyelid and nose. The next three slow strokes put cum on her cheeks, pretty lips, and chin.  I bent down slightly and rubbed the cock-head into her cleavage before wiping it through the load on her face.  Then I fed her cum off my dick and fingers.  She licked it all up eagerly.  I zipped up, and re-buckled my pants.

I stepped to one side, "Get up," I said as I helped her to her feet.
I reached around her and grabbed her ass cheeks.  In my post-orgasm come-down she seemed less fashionable, curvy and sexy to me. But I'd been fucking girls for almost ten years at that point and knew that my brain often got the sexual version of buyer's remorse.  I knew I'd still find her desirable once my brain chemistry leveled out again.

I brought both hands upward, together, smacking both ass cheeks firmly.  "You want that ass plowed tonight, Marie?"
"Oh gawwwddd," she said, looking down.  I thought maybe she didn't want me to look at her cum-covered face.  She was always so careful about her appearance.
"What the fuck does that mean?" I said after smacking her ass again.
"As long as you don't leave a mark... that people can see at the office... you can do anything you want with me," she said in what was almost a gasp.

I ran my left hand slowly up her back until my fingers were wound deep into the hair at the base of her skull.
"Let's go get you cleaned up."
I walked her to her bedroom which was really a suite that, with the bathroom and walk-in closet included, was nearly as big as the rest of her condo.  It was beautifully furnished and looked immaculate.

"Wil,  I won't be long..." Marie still wouldn't look at me.
"Take your time," I said, "Who knows, it might be hours before I can get after it again. What time do you need to be at work tomorrow?"
"Umm, well, I could call in sick.  I haven't taken a day in forever..."
"Yeah, good idea, you might be a bit under the weather tomorrow morning."

She closed the bathroom door. I went back out and took a leak in the small guest bathroom before getting another beer.  I played side two of the Steely Dan record.  As Skunk Baxter played I thought that it was kind of fun that Marie was play-acting at being sexually submissive.  It was cute that she wanted to do that. Did she just want a nice overnight fuck session or was something else going on with her.  Part of me was grateful for the effort. Part of me was wary.

But, eventually, Marie's real character would come out.  I wondered when she'd get tired of being dominated in her gigantic, luxurious bedroom.  I figured it would happen at some point so I better make the most of it while I could. 

As I leaned back and closed my eyes I pictured Marie looking the way I first saw her... olive skin, bright eyes, jet black perfectly styled hair, full red lips, tight black skirt and splashy print top separated by a wide black leather belt...  beautifully toned legs with black high heels... plump body with huge firm tits and that fine round ass sitting up high as she strutted along...  My thoughts turned into a dream as I fell asleep on the couch.


Wednesday, September 27, 2017


As we entered Marie's condo she tossed her keys and purse onto a table in the foyer.  Waving towards the living room she said, "Help yourself to something to drink, Wil...  I'll be back in a minute...  just have whatever you want."  With that she disappeared  through the door to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I looked around and saw a bar cart along the living room wall.  It was well stocked but I decided to pass on the hard liquor. Wandering into the kitchen I opened the fridge and pulled out a beer.  I found an opener in a drawer next to the stove.

So, there I was, sitting alone on the couch in Marie's living room, drinking beer. I imagined my prospects for getting laid were better than if I had gone to the bar with the gang from the school. But, then again, I was currently sitting alone in a condo that looked like it could be pictured in a magazine.  Everywhere I looked I saw stuff I couldn't afford.  I tried not to dwell on that sad fact.  After all, I was just getting started in the world and Marie was older and... how much older I wondered.  I assumed she was in her early to mid-30s but I had no idea really.  I decided I didn't care.

My mind ran back to Marie's body.  That was something worth pondering at length. I was hoping she wasn't changing clothes.  On the drive over I had imagined feeling her firm curves through that beautiful dress.  And now, once again, my mind was on that subject and how enjoyable it would be to feel her, hold her, and eventually undress her. 

I was nearly done with my beer. Still no sign of Marie.  Suddenly she burst into the living room, "Sorry, Wil.  Gawd, I'm a horrible hostess... there you are sitting all alone with a beer, poor dear... do you want a glass for that?... let's put some music on, OK?"

I didn't reply, but I was happy to see she was still wearing the blue dress.  Her shoes were missing unfortunately.  As she passed by me and went to the bar cart I could tell she had freshened up a bit--lipstick redone, hair brushed, and perfume was in evidence.  I looked over as she picked up a rocks glass from the cart and headed into the kitchen.  I heard ice cubes clunk into the glass.  All the while she was chattering away.  There were questions buried in all that chatter but I didn't bother to answer any of them. There wasn't any point.  If she really needed an answer she'd ask again.  Soon she was sitting next to me on the couch, her legs tucked under her as she faced me drinking her rum and Coke.

"Don't you want a glass?" Marie said.
I tilted the bottle up and drained the last of my beer before shaking my head.
"I really am a terrible hostess.  Here, let me get you another beer," she said.
I patted her thigh, "Stay put and relax.  I can get it,  I'm a big boy."
"Mmm, I know!" she purred, putting on an over-the-top lascivious attitude.
I shook my head and laughed.  Marie giggled and sipped her cocktail.

As I went to the kitchen and got another beer Marie called out, "Mind if I put on some music?"
"Fine with me.  For some reason I want to hear Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels," I said.
I sat back down on the couch as Marie put Pretzel Logic on the stereo.  The opening of "Rikki Don't Lose That Number" was playing as she sat back down next to me, her legs tucked under her like before.  She faced me and drank some more of her rum and Coke.
"Horace Silver's 'Song For My Father'," I said.
"It's Steely Dan," Marie said with a look on her face that meant "How don't you know that?"
"I know.  They lifted that riff from Horace Silver."
"Oh, just quit with all the secret DJ knowledge. Do you want me to start spouting legal stuff? And what was that Detroit thing you said anyway?"
"It was a joke," I said, "it was a reference to the song 'Devil With The Blue Dress On'"
She smiled.  "OK, I admit, that was pretty good." 

By the time Walter and Donald were half way through "Any Major Dude..." Marie's dress was off and she was kneeling on the floor in front of me, in just her bra and panties, unzipping my pants. 

When Side One ended Marie had a mouth full of hard cock and her head was bobbing up and down furiously.


Sunday, September 10, 2017

Oh Marie

On the day Marie called I stayed at the radio station until 5 PM or so.  From there I headed over to a little diner for a quick, cheap meal before going to the broadcasting school.  I worked at the school until 9:30 helping out with a class that was learning how to work in a radio studio. Back in those days that meant an analog control board, two open reel tape decks, a tape cartridge machine, two turntables, a microphone and headphones. One of the women in the class was someone I had barely noticed before, Becky K.  I didn't notice her that night because of her appearance, in fact she struck me as someone who tried to not be noticed by appearance.  What I did note was how much better she was than the rest of the class at audio work. 

I spoke to Becky briefly during the mid-class break and complimented her on how well she was doing.  Through that conversation I found out she had a BFA from a good university but had decided to try broadcasting.  An arts degree made sense to me-- she dressed in dark vintage clothing, wore no makeup that I could tell, smoked constantly, and drank black coffee at 8 o'clock at night.  Her hair was permed into a frizz-- she was a skinny, pale English / Irish girl with a dirty blond Afro.  At one time Becky would have been called a Bohemian, or maybe a Beatnik.  Everything about her look was muted.  But, one thing was sure, she had voice talent.  Of course I immediately saw her as someone who could replace Marsha on commercials where I needed a female voice.  But that's where the similarity ended.

After class was done that evening a few people were talking about going out for a beer.  I told them I'd meet them at The Town Tap, one of the nearby watering holes.  I had parked in the lot behind the school and when I got to my van I noticed Marie's T-Bird sitting next to it.  As I got near she powered down her window.

"Hello William," she said quite formally.
"Hi, Marie.  I'm surprised to see a woman of your standing in the community idling about in a parking lot at 9:45 at night."
"Funny," she said, "I'm here to proposition you. So much for my 'standing in the community.'"

I stood at the driver's side window of her car my hands on the door leaning over slightly.  From that angle I could see from her eyes down to her knees in the light from the overhead lamps ringing the lot.  She was wearing a dark blue well-tailored dress.  From my point of view I saw bright eyes, full red lips, a big firm bosom, and thick shapely legs visible from mid-thigh.

"What's your proposition, Marie?"
"Come to my place.  You can stay as long as you want," she said.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I said, my brain forming words that the boner in my pants objected to.
"What could possibly be bad about my idea?"
"Well," I said, "You're somebody that wants everything to go your way and I'm somebody that wants everything to go my way.  It seems to me like that's a recipe for conflict."
"Afraid of a fight?" Marie said.
"No.  But I'm not looking to be perturbed either."
"You use such interesting words, radio guy.  Are you saying that you like to be dominant in your, ahem, bedroom relations?"

I didn't say anything for a moment.  Mainly because I'd never thought of things that way.  I just was who I was when it came to sex.  I had never thought of it as far as a role one played.

Marie turned in her car seat so her body was twisted towards the door.  She folded her arms on the door sill and looked up at me with her eyes without tilting her head.
"Well, is that our issue, Sir?"
"Maybe it is, Marie," I said, "I never thought of it as being 'dominant' I just know how I am and what I like."
"Oh, do I know that!  You do like to get your way, Mr. Wilson, I've learned that.  So, may I remind you that the one time we were together, um, sexually... you bent me over and did me from behind while spanking my bottom.  Remember?"
"You make a solid point, counselor."
"Follow me to my place?  You can park in the garage right next to my car.  That way you won't have a long walk if you ever decide to leave."
I nodded and got in my van. 
Somebody else was going to have to pick up the tab at The Town Tap.

Friday, September 8, 2017

Old Weakness

Marie was a talker.  She chattered all the time I was fucking her from behind. 
"Mmmm, fuck that pussy!... ya like that, baby?... ooo do me!... yeah, smack that ass!"

The first time she stopped talking was when she squealed, moaned, gasped, and came. 

Marie's cumming triggered me to unload.  As I pulled out of her some creamy slop dripped on her leather sofa, but she apparently didn't notice as she spun around, grabbed onto my ass, bent over at the waist and took my dick into her mouth-- guzzling the last cum and then licking up pussy juice and jizz until I was squeaky clean.  Without another word she gathered up her shoes and pantyhose and scampered into the master bathroom.  I found my way to a guest bath near the front entrance to her condo and got cleaned up.

I was sitting in a comfortable chair appreciating how Marie made her pussy grab onto my cock like a hand gripping a ball bat when she reappeared in the living room looking completely put together as if nothing had happened.

"I'm sooo late getting back to the office, babe. Gotta scoot!  Do you mind walking back to your car? It's just a couple blocks over there."  She waved in the opposite direction of where I knew my car was parked.  No sense of direction apparently.  Or, maybe she didn't give a shit.

I thought for a second.

"Yeah, I mind.  But I'll walk back so you can get to your office two minutes quicker," I said.
She looked at me. To see if I was joking, I supposed. 
I wasn't.
"Oh, alright," she said, heaving a mock sigh, "I'll drop you on the way."
"No," I said, "No, you won't."

She didn't have anything to say as we went down to the parking garage.  I was silent as well.  As she was getting into her car she called out, "I'll call you, OK?"
Without turning around I said, "Sure, you've got the request line number."
As I was walking down the sidewalk I heard her tires squeal and the engine on that big ass T-Bird roar.  I noted that she shouldn't drive that fast in such a lovely residential area.

Driving back to the station I wondered what the hell that rendezvous was all about. I came to the conclusion that Marie was probably in the habit of playing fuck and run with men.  That's fine as far as it goes, I thought.  As for me, I wasn't over Marsha.  I admitted that to myself even if I never would've said anything to anybody else about it.  So some of it was "any port in a storm" from my point of view.  Still, there was no way I could see much long-term happening with Marie. I wasn't sure why, but I felt we wouldn't get along over time.

But, it would be interesting to see if she would call again.  I figured she wouldn't.  I couldn't call her even if I wanted to.  I didn't know where she worked and I didn't have her home number.  How strange, I'd been in her home and I didn't have her phone number.  In fact, I'd been in HER in her home and didn't know how to get her on the phone.

 Nearly two weeks had gone by when I answered the request line just after noon.
"W___," I said.
"Remember me?" Marie said.
Her voice nailed me again.
"Hi Marie.  How have you been?"
"Lonely," she said.
I laughed, "I doubt that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You seem like someone who has lots of friends, lots of work, and not much lonely time," I said.
"Well, that's true, I guess.  But I'm lonely for you, Wil"
"You don't even know me, Marie.  Hang on, I have to do some spots."
I did an ad break that ran two minutes and then intro'd a record.

This time Marie didn't hang up.
"Why did you get so mad at me that afternoon, Wil?"
"I wasn't angry.  But, you treated me poorly,  you put getting back to the office first and I was just supposed to get lost.  I don't go for that stuff," I said.

"Can I make it up to you?"  Marie said in her most seductive voice.
"You don't need to, Marie.  But if you want us to get along better just ask me to forgive you and tell me you won't act that way again.  I have no problem with forgiving a transgression."
The seductive tone disappeared, "Hmmm, not sure I can do that."
"OK then, thanks for calling," I said.

I executed a perfect segue from ELO's Telephone Line to The Joker by Steve Miller. 
I hoped that Marie was listening.  I could have played Afternoon Delight by The Starland Vocal Band but the music director might have required mandatory counseling.

Friday, September 1, 2017

Off To See Marie

Moments after I got off the air at 2 PM I dropped in at the Program Director's office.

"I need to take care of a couple things this afternoon... I'll come back tonight and knock out those spec spots for sales, OK?"
"Yeah sure, no problem," he said, "good show today."
"Thanks," I said as I started to leave.
"Kinda lost some energy in the last hour but, otherwise, good."
"Yeah, I thought so too.  Sorry the audience noticed though," I said.
He shrugged.  "The last hour of an air shift is the toughest.  You'll get it."
I nodded and headed to the parking lot.
"Dammit, this Marie chick is already messing up my work, " I  said to myself.

I didn't need to get to the soda fountain rendezvous until 3:30 so I zipped home and took a quick shower and put on a pair of pants that weren't jeans and a shirt that had buttons down the front like adults wear.  I wiped the dust off a pair of dress shoes and found a belt that matched.  The image in the mirror was presentable.

There was still time before I needed to leave.  I ran a million things through my head as  I sat there. The general subject was me and women.  Why was I even meeting this woman?  Was it a reaction to, let's face it, being dumped by Marsha?  Was I used as a stepping stone by Marsha or did she dump me because... something else?  Hey! What's this Marie's angle?  Are all women users?  Am I an asshole? What am I looking for?  That last question was simple yet complex.


I drove over to the Manor Theater area and as I went by on ______ Road I saw the drug store.  I drove a bit farther and then made three consecutive lefts through a spectacularly beautiful neighborhood that brought me to the parking lot in front of the drug store.  I found a slot and as I walked to the front door just before 3:30 I tried to guess which car the female lawyer was driving-- assuming she was on time for our meeting.  My guess was the fairly new T-Bird.

The soda fountain was at the back of the quaint drug store. Even in the 70s having a lunch counter was a retro thing.  As such, it was very cool.  There were about a half dozen stools at the counter.
They were those fixed pedestal ones with a round seat on top that could spin.  There was an old guy drinking a cup of coffee sitting at the left end of the counter and a woman sitting at the other end.

I had just cleared the row of hot water bottles, canes, and trusses when the woman slowly spun counter clockwise a bit and looked straight at me.  She was a plump woman with olive skin and jet black hair well-styled and about shoulder length.  She was wearing a black skirt and a splashy print top with red the predominate color. Everything fit her plump frame tightly.  Her breasts were large and her hips wide.  Her waist was cinched by a wide black leather belt.  She had on black heels.  Her left shoe was hooked on the foot rest ring on the pedestal of the stool and her right leg was crossed over giving a great leg show.  She had a white Styrofoam cup in her hand and her bright red lips were wrapped around a white straw.  She looked at me and continued to suck on the straw.
"Marie?" I said.
She opened her lips, moved the cup away and said, "You must be Wil."
Between hearing that husky, accented voice, and seeing the red lipstick ring on the straw I felt my cock twitch to life.

I sat down and we began  a conversation over cherry Cokes.  I felt we had been talking for about ten minutes when Marie pointed out that it was already after 4.  She said she needed to get back to the office.  I said that I too needed to go back to work.

I walked her to her car, the T-bird as I had suspected.  We talked a bit more standing next to the car and then Marie said,
"So, what do you think?  Dinner some night soon?"
"Oh, did I pass the test?" I said.
She laughed that sweet, lilting laugh of hers.  "Oh yeah, Wil, you passed."
"Good.  I'm glad to hear that.  Honestly, Marie, with my schedule I don't do much dating."
She frowned.
"Does that mean you don't want to go out with me?"
"I'm not saying that. Just..."
"Because I'm not a skinny little thing?"
"No!  Believe me, that isn't what I'm saying. You're..."
"OK, so why not go out?"

"All I said, Marie, was that I don't date much.  It's hard for me to get more than an hour clear to do anything. But, I'd love to spend time with you.  And, by the way, I love women with curves.  Lots of men do.  You know that, I'm sure, with the way you look guys must hit on you all the time."
"Well, I wouldn't say that, but, so, um, let's see you want to spend some time together... but you might only have an hour or two... well, what do you recommend that we do together, Wil?"

Her question hung there.

After taking a couple beats trying to determine what she was implying I said,
"Well, Marie, I get phone calls all the time, like every other guy on the radio, from women.  I never, ever, meet them no matter what they say to me.  But, your voice just got to me.  So, I showed up here even though I thought it was probably a crazy thing to do.  But, then I got here and I see this knockout woman behind that voice. And well..."

"Wil, I have a small condo a few blocks from here.  I can take another hour off from work, what about you?"

Ten minutes later Marie's tight black skirt was pushed up over her fine round ass.  Her pantyhose and shoes were thrown across the room and she was bent over with her hands on the leather couch in her living room.  I was right behind her, burying my cock in her surprisingly tight snatch.

Friday, August 25, 2017

On The Radio

Before I write about Becky...

From the first days I was on the radio I would get calls from interesting people.  I got calls from guys who would correct my pronunciation of someone's name-- sometimes incorrectly, by the way.  I would get calls from people who would help me with the peculiar local place names. Often these callers were kind, sometimes less so.  Others would call to argue about innocuous things, things upon which I had offered no opinion.  It's hard to believe these days but back then you could be on the radio successfully without offering an opinion on anything-- controversial or otherwise.

I also got calls from women.  When I worked out west at those small stations where more cows and sheep were in my listening area than people I would get some calls from women.  Most of them just wanted to talk to the voice on the radio. Some wanted to meet.  Some gave off a dangerous vibe.  Most wanted me to read the lunch menu for the local school.

Later, when I was doing overnights in a bigger market with a signal that covered several states after sunset I would get calls from people working the night shift, insomniacs, and lonely people.  The oddest of those was a woman who would call every night and try to keep me on the phone.  One night I was trying to get her off the phone politely when she said, "I'm always in the same place when I call you."  I didn't say anything.  "Don't you wanna know where?" she said.
I muttered an OK.
"I'm always sitting on the toilet.  I put my radio on the tank lid so you're right behind me."
"Well, I'm sorry I make you want to, ya know, take a dump," I said.
"Ha! That's not what I'm doing, naked, on the toilet. I get soooo wetttt!"
"Records over, gotta run!"
I hung up and she never called back.  At least not without doctoring her voice.

When I moved to mid-days on that same station almost all of my calls came from women.  I was on the air from 10 AM to 2 PM and our target demo for that day part was stay-at-home moms.  Once they got the kids off to school many of them, apparently, had time on their hands.  Remember, there was no Internet and most people only had 4 TV channels but I was always there M-F, 10 to 2.  I'm pretty sure I couldn't have competed with downloadable porn for their attention.  Thankfully I never had to.

I had been doing mid-days for about a month when I got a call from a woman with a terrific voice. She sounded like a young Suzanne Pleshette with just a hint of the local accent.  It was like she was forming her words with warm Tupelo honey.  There is a "truth" in broadcasting and that is that when you hear a caller like that you think you want to meet her but you don't.  You really, really don't.  I knew that and I believed it to be true.  Still, she had such a great voice and she never wanted to hang on the phone forever like most of the lonely / stalker callers.

Her name was Marie and I noticed her calls always came between noon and 1 PM. One day when she called me in the studio I said, "You must not be busy today."
"I'm very busy.  I just like to chat with you when I take my break."
Admittedly, I pictured her doing housework. (Hey, it was the 70s, give me a break.)
"What are you busy with today, Marie?"
"Well, I'm working on a case I can't talk about."
After a pause she added,  "I'm a lawyer, Wil."
"Ah, I make it a habit to stay away from lawyers," I said.
"Oooo, that's too bad!  I'm really a very nice person...who just happens to be a lawyer," Marie said.

We talked a bit more and then she said she needed to get back to her work.  Of course I was actually at work myself and these conversations often got pretty disjointed as I would put her on hold to talk on-air, cue records, fire spot carts, and so on.  But I always enjoyed talking with Marie and, on those days when she didn't call, I noticed.

One day when Marie called she seemed less relaxed than usual.  After a few of our usual pleasantries Marie said, "Wil, I know you have a very busy life but you must take time to eat dinner.  How about we go out for dinner some night?"
"Can you hold on a second?  I've gotta do a spot break," I said, and put her on hold without waiting for a reply.  At some point during the break I noticed the blinking light on her line went out.

A week went by and Marie didn't call.  First I felt badly about having to put her on hold.  Next I decided that she had to understand that I couldn't have dead air on the station while planning a date with her.  Finally I decided that she must be just another flaky caller, probably a real mess, and that I was lucky that fate stepped in and disconnected our conversation before something stupid happened. Good riddance!

When Marie did finally call me again I immediately went back to my first position, the one where I felt bad about putting her on hold.

"Miss me, hon?" she said.
"Of course!" I said, "Now where were we in our last conversation anyway?"
She laughed a lilting laugh that was very close to perfect.
"Wellllllll, I had just gotten up the courage to ask you out to dinner.  And you hung up on me."
"That isn't my recollection.  Not at all.  I believe I put your call on hold, to do my job, and when I returned to your blinking line it was no longer blinking.  To wit, counselor, the party of the first part, aka Caller Marie line 5, hung up on the party of the second part, hereafter known as disc jerky."
"I think I'll hang up now," Marie said.
"Again?" I said.
Marie harrumphed.
And then she said, "So, dinner?"
"Hmmm,  how about drinks after work?  I can be anywhere you choose at 5:30 tonight," I said.
"Can you take some time this afternoon for coffee instead?  Say, 3:30?"
"Um, yeah, I'll have to come back here afterwards... but, yeah, ok, where?"
"Cool.  Do you know where the Manor Theater is?"
"I don't have time for a movie, Marie."
"Shut up, there's a drug store two doors down from there.  They have a neat old soda fountain in there.  That would work."
"That's a pretty ritzy part of town, Marie.  I hope nobody throws me out.  How will I know you?"
"I'll be the only one in the place that looks like a lawyer.  See you at 3:30!"

She hung up.

Dread swept over me.
I immediately thought it would have been better to just be phone pals with Marie.
Getting together was a big mistake.

At least it was just coffee in the middle of the afternoon.

That afternoon!