I put my head round the door.
'I'm just getting ready for my close-up'.
He looked at me quizzically.
'My close-up... you know, for a photo? I thought you said you wanted to take my picture?'
He beamed and went off to get his camera. I went back into the bathroom to inspect my face. My skin, especially my chin, was quite pink from his stubble and my lips had that bruised-by-kissing, swollen look. I smoothed my eyebrows down and ran my fingers through my hair. The 'freshly fucked' look, I thought. When I emerged he wasn't in the room.
'I'm in here' he called from the bedroom.
I went in and the lights were low and he'd arranged a chair by the window and drawn the curtains right back so there was some light coming in from the street. He was lying very provocatively on the bed fiddling with his camera. 'I've poured you a glass of.....' and he broke off as he looked up and saw me standing there in the kimono. A lecherous gleam came into his eye.
'Are we going to take the photos with the kimono on or off?'
'Well, let's start with it ON'
I took a few sips from my glass and settled down in my chair. He clicked away and I started to relax and enjoy myself. He asked me to look over my shoulder, look down or away. I had never done anything like this before. I felt wonderful and beautiful being contemplated like this, and painted, almost. I had read somewhere once about a model talking about looking into the camera and she had said that she looked right down the lens, really deep into it..like it were a tunnel that went on for miles..and I tried to do this. I tried to look deep down, along hundreds of empty miles to somewhere far away with him there at the other end, and as I did I felt something open up inside of me. I had no idea what I must look like but I knew that whatever the camera was seeing, whatever was coming through my eyes, was me.
I then decided I had had enough of the chair and it was time to get on the bed. I went over to it, loosening my kimono a little and sat down with my hands behind me, letting my knees fall slightly open. He took a few pictures and came over, spreading my legs wide apart. My stomach did a somersault. He opened the robe so it fell completely open and he took one of his deep in-breaths. I could see him hovering with the camera as if he didn't quite know whether to continue taking pictures or get down on his hands and knees bury his face between my legs. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, imagining him licking my pussy. He clicked. When I looked up I saw the camera wasn't pointing anywhere near my face. Well, that'll be quite a shot I thought.
'What exactly are you going to do with these?' I asked, suddenly felt a bit uneasy. 'No one will see these, I promise' he said seriously which I found reassuring.
I then wriggled back onto the bed and he came up behind me. He put the camera down on the table. His hands were now free, tugging my kimono off and roaming my entire body, pressing his body into mine. I could feel his erection pushing against my lower back. I turned and looked at him suddenly. 'What is it?' he said.
'As much as I want to, I don't want us to have sex. You know, penetration or even oral sex.'
He looked down.
I went on. 'This is about me and not you. I'm not trying to make a comment on you or your life but it .. I just...'
'No, it's quite fine, whatever you want' he said, squeezing me closer. 'I'm happy to just lie here and hold you, if you want to?'.
'YES.. I want to. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do just that but..'
' I don't understand'
'I want you to touch me... I just think it's better, better for me anyway, if we don't actually fuck..'
His hand then went down my body and he touched me between my legs. 'Oh god' I moaned as he started to rub me gently, in circles, up and down, back and forth, massaging me. It felt unbelievable. No one had ever touched me quite like that before, not even myself. He knew exactly what he was doing as his fingers went into my wet pussy, stroking my lips and teasing my clitoris gently. My legs curled around his legs and my arms circled his back and my face fell into his neck. I started to breathe into his ear moaning his name softly. He started to whisper sexy, naughty words back and I wondered how he knew all these words?
He tried to get me to join him in the sex talk and I felt myself draw back. I'd never said expressions like that outloud before. Tentatively, I started to say things.
I was rocking against him now, the rythmn building up, and hearing all this sex talk was turning me on even more but also frustratng me at the same time. His hand suddenly started to feel so inadequate and deep inside, my body was shouting for penetration. 'OH GOD' I finally came out with it. Gripping his back and squeezing him between my legs...I said 'I want you to FUCK me' and he said ' I WANT to fuck you' and that did it. Spiralling, freefalling into the warm water, wave after wave of ecstacy coursing through me. In my mind's eye, he was fucking me with his cock and in reality he was fucking me with his hand. I came, shuddering, quivering, my juices running into his hand, my scent filling the air.... exhausted, out of breath and deeply satisfied.
We lay there in each other's arms in the semi-glow and he kissed me telling how pretty that was.
Is there really any difference, I wondered? There is this idea that you can only really deeply connect with someone erotically when penetration happens. Or that it's a line that when once crossed.....
Why is being masturbated, or fucked with a hand, any less intimate or meaningful then being fucked with a cock? Should I feel guilty? I didn't. Just happy. In the here and now.
'I'll be coming back to Dublin in a few months if....' he started but I gently stopped him, touching his cheek.
'You have been like a gift to me, thank you.' I said. 'Let's just enjoy this for what it is'.
There was a momentary pause.
'Do you want to spend the night?' he asked.