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She was high – high on pot, low on life, fed-up and miserable. She wasn’t sure if she was depressed or just bored. Either way, it didn’t matter. Losing her job a month earlier had thrown her life into a tailspin. Downsizing they had told her. Following that, a weak economy where she was just one of thousands looking for work. Whatever. Something had to give and fast. Something needed to change before she sunk deeper into her depressive state. So, she’d left her place, smoked a joint, walked on the beach and settled on swings in the neighboring park, where she was now swinging lazily, lost in her own head space.
And then he walked into her life. A man hidden behind a camera, a dark silhouette with the sun blazing behind him.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
She jumped in reaction. “Jesus. You scared me. You a photographer or something?” she asked, eyeing the camera.
“Amateur. I saw a shot. Do you mind?”
“Sure. Go nuts.”
“A minute ago you were perfect. I would have taken a picture but wanted your permission.”
“You could have. I wouldn't have cared. Perfect how?”
“Lost. Oblivious to everything around you. Natural. Whatever you were just thinking about, go back there. Forget I'm here.”
“I was thinking how much I needed this,” she replied quietly.
“This?”
“Getting out of my house.”
“Rough day?”
“Rough couple of weeks,” she replied quietly.
Laying her body back, she relaxed. The only evidence of his presence was the repeated clicking of the camera. When his camera wasn’t obstructing the view of his face she stole several glances. He had the look of a stereotypical artist – a relaxed demeanor, disheveled hair, stubbled cheeks and wrinkled clothes.
“I hope I captured your look of interest in that shot,” he remarked casually.
“What look of interest?” she asked, playing dumb.
He ignored her.
Scowling, she said, “You’re arrogant.”
“Yes. But I’m right. And that expression was wonderful. Very sexy,” he replied.
“What's your name? Do I get to see these pictures?” she asked, as he stopped to fiddle with his camera.
“Troy. Yes you do. Yours?”
“Autumn.”
“Unusual,” he commented.
“I get that a lot. My mother’s favorite season.”
“Autumn. Do you like chocolate?”
“Love it. Why?”
“There’s a dessert place not far from here. Within walking distance.”
“Sure. Why the hell not. I’m not doing anything else,” she replied, jumping from the swings.
With a hopefully generous piece of cake coming to her, they sat in a booth at the cafe, where he was now close enough to study in detail. He was good looking in a Johnny Depp, Joaquin Phoenix, movie-star kind of way. He had the eyes that women always went for – large and welcoming. His short brown hair was tousled and spikey, like he’d just gotten out of bed – but it suited him.
“You’re studying me. Ballsy. I like that. I like your smile,” he said.
“Thank you. My middle name is Juliet. My mother also loved Shakespeare,” she said, changing the subject and throwing out a random detail.
“Clever.”
With her cake now in front of her, she spooned a morsel in her mouth, letting the icing melt on her tongue, relishing in its richness.
“How is it?”
“Bliss,” she purred, closing her eyes.
With empty plates and coffee cups now in front of them, Troy glanced at his watch. “Shit. I have to go to work.”
“Thanks for the cake.”
“No sweat,” he said, smiling cutely, handing her his business card. “Come tomorrow. The prints will be drying in my darkroom.”
“I will. Take it easy.”
She watched as he left and paused at the counter to pay the bill. Yeah, she could have some fun with him she mused, checking out his ass.
*** The next day, standing on his doorstep, ready to give up as she’d knocked twice, he opened the door just before she started her retreat.
“Sorry. I was in my darkroom. Come in.”
“No worries,” she replied, playing bored, like she could care less anyway.
“I just hung up the pictures.”
The pictures were excellent. He’d caught a likeness of her that she’d never seen – relaxed and appearing very much how she imagined others must see her.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Are you sure you’re an amateur? These are great. I’ll sound vain but I didn’t realize I could look that pretty.”
“Hardly vain,” he said, studying her again. “I would like to see you in less. I imagine you can be very sexy.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Well, I do have sexy underwear on,” she teased.
“I insist on seeing them,” he joked, playing the artist.
In a black camisole and black and pink lace panties, she was in fact, quite sexy. Standing in front of her reflection before a full-length mirror, her smile beamed its approval.
He moved in circles around her, his face once again hidden behind his camera as he snapped shots.
“More of the tattoo,” he said, referring to the dragon she had on her lower belly, barely visible above the top of her panties. “Pull your shirt up. Panties down. Just a touch.”
This wasn’t quite how she saw her afternoon going she mused. Regardless. This was hot and exactly what she needed.
“How do you feel about taking off your shirt?” he asked, after snapping more shots.
“Sure,” she purred, hoping he was going to make that suggestion.
“We’ll develop the pictures together. I won’t show them to anyone unless you say its okay,” he explained.
She removed her top with little hesitation, although shyly covered her breasts with her arm. He snapped a picture as she bent to drop her shirt.
“I wasn’t even posed.”
“Those are often the best shots,” he muttered. “Eyes on me – always on me. Back to me. Now. Twist your waist, cup your breast and look over your shoulder. Perfect. Hold it. Are you okay with this?”
“I’m more than okay with it.”
“Great. Hook your thumbs through your panties as if you are pulling them off but don’t. I want just enough to tease,” he explained casually.
“You don’t like full nudes?”
“Not usually. Stop talking. We’re almost done.”
After packing up his camera with an almost compulsive precision, on his couch, she lay covered by a thin blanket, waiting for him to finish.
He sat beside her, cutely tugged on the blanket, and let it fall to the floor. He looked her over again, as if she was newly naked to his eyes, his eyes roaming over her, straying longer on her belly, hips and thighs – an artist studying his model. His hands hovered over her waist, as if unsure of where to settle them.
“I need to see the rest,” he murmured, as his fingers hooked around her panties and pulled them slowly down her legs.
She closed her eyes, lay back and relaxed her body as his hands started their exploration. Fingers grazed her neck, nipples, belly and inner thighs, calves and toes, chin and cheek. Slowly he pushed her thighs apart. Again he teased – fingers grazed her clit, moved to her now moist slit. His fingers moved in circles around her opening but didn’t enter. Then back to her clit, nipples and neck. His patience was incredible. Her patience was growing tired. His tongue and teeth joined in his ministrations, nipping at the skin of her neck, her belly and hips.
“Sit up,” he whispered.
She moved with him as he guided her to how he wanted her – sitting up against pillows he’d pushed behind her back with legs spread slightly.
And he continued, focusing more on her sex and breasts but still straying elsewhere to tease. He was tuning her like an instrument, plucking and penetrating, nipping and sucking until he got his desired reaction. Fingers inside, lips on her clit, more fingers exploring around her puckered hole. She was lost – feeling too many sensations at once to establish which she was enjoying more.
She climaxed in grunts and whimpers, flailing and shaking legs, nails in his scalp, hands gripping furniture. Still, he was merciless, now finger fucking her and licking her clit with a vengeance, stopping only to pull his shirt off.
Reaching down to grab at his belt she met resistance, his wet fingers curling around her wrist and guiding them to rest beside her.
“No. I need no stimulation. I want all my attention on you,” he said, with enough force in his voice to know he meant it, a condom appearing in his hand seemingly out of nowhere.
His thrusts were quick and short, deep and hard, soft and long, alternating until he developed a rhythm she responded to best, until he came, quietly compared to most, and then he snuggled up beside her.
Afterwards, they’d smoked a joint, ate and fell asleep. Yes. This was exactly the sort of distraction she had needed.
And that’s how it went for a while. There were never any expectations between them. They never needed to have the relationship status discussion. They got together, some times fucked, some times didn’t, some times got high, some times didn’t, and discussed politics, religion, art and their favorite kinds of cereal.
Troy accepted an offer to display his work in a gallery he had been coveting after for years. They began as lovers, and parted as friends, their affair ending in a night of fevered sex that she would remember for the rest of her life.
*** © 2008 Jordana Winters
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is a thirty-something Canadian writer of women’s erotica. Jordana’s print credits include Ultimate Sex, Best Women’s Erotica 2008, 2007 & 2006, Sex & Seduction, Uniform Sex and Erotic Tales. Her online credits include Tassels & Tales, Forbidden Publications, The Erotic Woman, Ruthie’s Club, Oysters & Chocolate, Extasybooks, and Thermoerotic. Jordana likes working out, chillin’ out, tattoos, doing as much and as little as possible, drinking coffee and tea, bubble baths, and anything that makes her think. When not hiding behind her computer telling filthy tales, Jordana is an often-disenchanted administrative whore. Jordana isn’t much into falling society’s rules and rarely does as she’s told. She admits to being jaded and cynical about almost everything and wonders if life will ever make sense.
For more information and updates on Jordana's writing, please visit her web site: http://jordanawinters.tripod.com/
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Erotic Fiction 
