Black and White Photos

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Cameron Black here. About a year after Miss White (I later learned that her name is Mara) and I had sex in the boys’ locker room at my old high school, I was taking a photography class at the local community college. I had changed jobs and my new boss insinuated that learning how to handle a camera might open up possibilities for advancement. Two years or so out of college and I was looking at a salary that made me think I could live on my own. It’s not that my roommates were bad guys, just that everyone wants their own space, eventually.

So, I was taking that class. The projects had been fairly simple things and I had an easy A. But there was one problem: All of the partner projects left me in the cold. Most of the kids and the handful of adults (other than me) taking the class had enrolled with a partner ready-to-hand. I had not. So I was always scrambling to find someone to help me out with the assignments. Family and friends had stepped up to the plate, but I figured that no one was going to help me out on the final: artistic nude.

Now Mara and I still got together every morning and evening for our runs (this was between her 5K and 10K) and I lamented the sorry response I was receiving to my pleas for help with my photography final. Mara laughed and teased the whole morning run. She had gotten to me so much that I almost skipped our evening run. Turned out I was glad I showed up.

“Any takers on your offer to let them strip for you and have that documented?” She was teasing again, I could hear it in her voice.

“No. I might just have to do like that guy did on that one old TV show.”


“The one where the guy just snaps a pic of himself in the nude. I don’t remember the show’s name.”

She laughed, a contagious sound that had me joining her, and our laughter devolved into panting as we worked through a rough run.

When we got back to her house, she asked if I wanted some water. I check my bottle, realized it had gone empty, and thanked her for the offer. She motioned for me to follow and we went through a back door into her kitchen. The room was simple. A plain wooden table in a neutral shade with chairs that pretty much matched sat near the window. Solid colored curtains that were more for decoration than function were gathered to the sides. Stainless steel refrigerator and stove kept immaculate. There was nothing descript about that room. It could have been a model home, for all the personality that it seemed to have. Mara took my water bottle and filled it at the refrigerator door, then passed me another bottle of water from inside the frig.

“You haven’t asked me.”

Her comment came out of nowhere. I had been wondering about the lack of magnets on her frig when she spoke, so it took me a minute to parse what she had said.

“Asked you what?” One day, my mouth will wait for my brain. It will be a glorious day. That day was not it.

“To pose for your nudes.”

Having seen her nude, I knew that Travesti what was under her running clothes was well to my liking. But that could be problematic, since I liked what was under there so much, I might have trouble focusing on posing her or even pressing the shutter button. I just was not sure that I could complete my assignment while looking at her in a state of deshabille. Apparently, my brain and mouth had conspired together to let all of those thoughts slip out without my notice … until it was too late.

“Tell you what,” she said, “you come by with your camera and we’ll figure out how to get you focused when we need to.”


We scheduled our shoot for my next day off. I would bring my photo gear and drop it at her place before our morning run. When we got back, we could both get a shower (since her house had two showers) and reconvene.

The days between passed in a bit of a blur. Wake up, run with Mara, work, run with Mara, sleep. There were a couple of nights out in there, since the time straddled a weekend, but not much. One of my roommates had tried to set me up with a friend of his lady over the weekend and all I could do was compare her body to the body I would be seeing in a few days. That girl lost.

I showed up that morning with my camera bag slung over one shoulder and my gym bag, stuffed with clean clothes and toiletries, over the other. I dropped both in her guest room and we went for our morning run. It was a brisk morning; the kind that novelists and poets write about with words that make you feel the cool air on the skin of your face and the sharp burn of cold air over sweating skin. I am neither a novelist or a poet, so that description will have to do.

Mara was in her actual running gear: form-fitting pants and a running tank with a hoodie thrown over it. Her red-brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and I realized that that week was the one before her 10K. She was over-distancing during our runs, but she was making sure she got re-acclimated to her gear before the event. Since this was about her event, she took the lead and I loped along behind her, appreciating the view and grateful that her lead meant I was less likely to run into oncoming traffic, distracted as I was.

We made it back to her place as you would expect: panting, our breath misting in the morning air, bodies gleaming with a thin layer of sweat that gave us both gooseflesh when the cool air stirred over it. We ducked into her house and she gestured for me to go get my shower.

It was déjà-vu. I ran the cold water over my body in a vain attempt to regain control. My erection had been obvious from the moment we started running and seeing her nipples pressing against the fabric of her top (even though I knew it was because of the cold) when we finished had done me no favors at all. I soaped up and rinsed off and toweled off and realized that I had forgotten to bring my clothes in with me. I wrapped the towel around Ankara Travesti my waist, a protrusion in front bearing witness to my appreciation of Miss White’s physique, and walked out the bathroom door.

I walked into Mara. I stammered an apology for bumping into her (though I would have liked to bump into her repeatedly and without the towel in the way). She smiled, the expression impish, and grabbed my erection through the towel. She turned and, without a word, began walking back toward the guest room.

“You don’t have to lead me by the penis.” I said. “I’ll come with you.”

“If you’re lucky.” she tossed back over her shoulder.

My cock pulsed in her hand, throbbing its readiness. I could have sworn that I heard her give a self-satisfied chuckled at my cock’s response to her.

In the guest bedroom, she fairly danced onto the white sheets of the bed and lay back on her elbows, thrusting her small breasts up and out.

“How do you want me?” she asked.

Fuck. The answer to that question was not what flooded into my mind. She was asking, some part of my brain registered, about posing for photos. She needed to know where I wanted her and in what position. Fuck me sideways (wonder what that would be like…), even my own way of framing the question and situation was laced with innuendo.

“I’ll get my camera.” I managed to speak clearly and get all the words out. Score one for maturing.

I turned and rummaged through my bag until I found my camera. I checked it to make sure everything was in order. Then I turned around to find her body pressed against mine.

“Not what I meant.”

I felt my prick being a little jig under the towel. She had meant the innuendo. Boom! She took the camera from me and set it down on a side table. When her hands came back, she loosed the towel and wrapped her arms around my back until my prick was pressed against her stomach. Her hands caressed my ass (so that’s what that feels like) and tossed the towel off to the side somewhere.

Her hands came up my sides to cup my face and turn it down so my eyes met hers. “Again… how do you want me?”

I leaned down to kiss her, the passionate kiss of familiar lovers. Her tongue found mine readily and both writhed together in a way that I hoped – in that dim corner of my mind still capable of coherent thought – presaged what was going to happen. My hands rose from my sides and slid up her thighs to cup her buttocks and pull her hips against me. My body; my desire was not satisfied with that and urged more, but did not suggest what shape that more should take.

I broke the kiss to place my mouth against her ear and growl, “I want you writhing underneath me.” I returned to the kiss, only to break it again and move to her other ear. “Screaming.” Suddenly, I understood that I needed to get her to the bed somehow. My hands, still fondling her buttocks, grabbed and lifted, pressing her breasts against my chest and raising her istanbul Travesti hips to almost level with mine. She wrapped her legs around me and dug her heels into the small of my back, not uncomfortably, but enough to stabilize her and help her get some leverage to lift herself upward.

I shambled to the bed, the dumped her on it unceremoniously. Her exhalation was somewhere between a huff and a squeak and a coo. All three possibilities spurred me on. I was bent over her so that our kiss remained unbroken, but now I traced a line over her jaw and down her neck. I spent some time sucking and licking and generally giving oral attention to her nipples while one hand found its way to her clitoris and began to flick and rub and gently pinch.

My wish was granted. She writhed underneath me like a snake trying to slither away. Her panting moans were punctuated by staccato gasps of pleasure. I left her breasts and kissed my way down her stomach. When I reached her clit, I spent a few minutes licking and sucking it before licking her labia until the entire area was lubricated with a viscous mixture that tasted like both of us simultaneously. Without preamble, I took my mouth from her labia and clit, positioned my cock, and began thrusting. I lowered my mouth to hers and we kissed as if she was trying to lick away all taste of herself from my tongue. My fingers found their way back to her clit and rubbed it gently, almost in cadence to my thrusts. Some distant corner of my mind noticed that the mattress springs squeaked in time with my movements and this inflamed me still more. Anyone who might hear could have no illusions about what was going on. My climax arrived so quickly that I had no time to warn her. One second I was thrusting away, urgently trying to cum and the next I was spending myself inside her. Her orgasm hit her in the middle of mine and we stayed locked, our bodies sending us into paroxysms of pleasure.

I finally pushed myself off of her and went in search of the towel. I wiped my prick clean and handed it to her. She just folded it up and draped a leg over it, settling into a pose that looked contented as a cat in the cream.

“Think you can focus enough to get some pictures now?” Her satisfied purr stirred up the embers of my arousal.

“I think so.” I replied.

I found my camera and snapped some photos of her in that satisfied posture. When she rolled over languidly, I was there with my camera. I took three rolls of photos (yes, it was a film photography class). I had just put the fourth, and my last, roll of film into the camera when she moved lithely over and began sucking my cock. I was holding my camera, so I began snapping photos. I put the camera aside and we engaged in a more leisurely session of intercourse than our first. I did not realize, until I developed the negatives, that she picked up the camera and took photos from her point-of-view. I ended up with pictures of what it was like to have sex from her perspective.

The final project, needless to say, earned me an A+ – highest grade any of the finals received. Some of the photos hung, framed, on my walls when I got my own place and Mara got a look at how I see her when she saw them. That is another story for another time.

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