I spent a few weeks after my shoot with Yuko trying to figure out how to kick my own photos into high gear. Night after night I wondered how I was supposed to find a model. Yuko had just walked up and asked me. Could I do the same thing? Or would they just think I was weird? In the end, I decided to take Yuko's assertive approach, but first I had to find a girl to ask. There was this brunette I had always had my eye on in my English composition course. Her face looked familiar, but I couldn't place it until the third day of class: she was the girl from my tour group. She sat in front of me; one row up, and one chair to the right. A good thing too, because it allowed me to stare at her—which I found myself doing often—without getting caught. The most I knew about her was her name, Jennifer, and that she didn’t shorten it to anything. She never got too dressed up for class, but I'd never seen her in sweatpants either. Her outfits of choice consisted mainly of shorts and summer dresses, depending on the day. During one class period, the teacher had us read essays about our interests. Jennifer's essay focused on how she and her friends went skiing every other weekend at Wolf Creek last season. She had a tender and sincere voice. I wondered if skiing was the only workout she needed to maintain her lithe figure. I volunteered to go next, reading my essay about photography. When I mentioned focusing on people and needing models for my work, I looked up and noticed that Jennifer was staring at me intently. I gave her a quick smile, but she looked away. I was walking back to my dorm about halfway through the semester when I saw Jennifer tanning across the quad. Heart pounding in my chest, I walked right up to her. She was lying on a blue blanket and I could hear 90’s pop music from an iPod speaker next to her head. “Jennifer?” I stood between her and the bright sun. She looked up at me wearing a question on her pretty face. "Hi?" I smiled and backed up slightly, rubbing my sweaty palms on my shorts. “Hey, I’m in your English class." "Oh," I could see the recognition light up her face. "Right, right. You're that photography guy." "Yeah. Actually, I’m an art major and I have this photo project I need to do for class. This might be weird to ask, but you would be the perfect model for it. Do you think you could?” Jennifer sat up; her smooth, toned, bronzed legs looked even longer bare. She took the giant sunglasses off her heart-shaped face, revealing her green eyes. She looked me up and down as if appraising me. “Sure.” Jennifer shrugged. "People always tell me I should be a model. Maybe this would be good experience." She put her glasses back on. “When and where?” I felt like my entire body was warmed by her sweet smile. I couldn't believe she had accepted so easily. “I live in King Hall, second floor, room 211. Are you free tomorrow around noon?” I pointed in the basic direction of my building and she nodded, licking her pink lips. “Yeah. I'll see you then.” She lay back down on her blanket and I looked her over one more time, drinking in her beauty. “Okay, see you tomorrow.” I walked away from her. She waved lazily at me with a smile before pursing her lips and returning to tanning. That night, I signed out what I needed to borrow from the photo department for the shoot. I took two studio flashes and some warming gels for the lights. I had a black sheet set in my dorm room that I figured I could use as a backdrop. I came across some white lace fabric tossed randomly aside in what seemed to be a discard pile from a textiles class. Imagining Jennifer's body wrapped in lace for me, I snagged some of the fabric, just in case. Just before noon the next day, I heard a quiet knocking. Opening the door, I found Jennifer in a pair of faded cut-off shorts and a white tank-top. Her tank-top was tight around her perky breasts. As she cautiously stepped into my room, my eyes were fixed on her shorts that barely covered her ass. The outfit was not exactly what I had in mind, and I realized suddenly that I hadn't told her what to wear. Either way, I decided, I could work with it. She held a medium-sized leather bag as she looked around the room. My windows were blacked out with my sheets meeting in the far corner. The two lamps sat on both sides, pointing towards the middle. “Wow. This is cool," she said, still examining my room. "I brought some extra clothes; I wasn’t sure what you were going for.” She set her bag down on the floor, for a second hesitating where exactly to put it down. She looked to me for reassurance that the spot she had picked was okay. “Yeah, that’s good," I said. "The shoot will be pretty basic, so it doesn't matter too much. I have some lace here, I figured we could use that.” I held out the lace for her. She took it from me and unfolded it. "This is so pretty!" she said, her smile widening . "I'll get ready." She walked off into the bathroom. While I waited, I plugged in the lights and set up the flash cord and shutter speed for my camera. I heard Jennifer's footsteps as she came back. Without looking up, I said, "Okay, if you're ready, we can—” My voice died in my throat as I lifted my head up to see Jennifer. She stood in front of me practically naked, with lace tied around her waist like a belt, covering nothing of importance. She had wrapped lace around her neck like a halter-top, having it under her tits instead of over them. The effect reminded me of a push-up bra, making her breasts seem even perkier. Not reacting to my jaw-dropped shock, Jennifer rubbed her shoulders and smiled. “Should I sit or stand?” "S-stand," I stammered, staring at where her thighs touched, longing to pull them apart. I was practically salivating, so I snapped myself out of it and regained my composure. She stood in front of the backdrop, waiting. “That’s great,” I said, breathless, but she didn't seem to notice. Suddenly it hit me how warm the room was. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, but if she noticed my blush, she didn't say anything. “Just stand on the black and you can start out with your hands on your hips and I’ll take front and side photos.” I took a lot of photos of Jennifer. I wanted to keep the poses natural, but also make sure that I had clear shots of her exposed body. For one shot, she sat back, and while I was instructing her on her pose, her vagina came clearly into view. "Actually, like that's fine," I said, an erection begin to strain against my pants. "Maybe, with your hands, um…" She followed my suggestion, letting her fingers trace along the inside of the thigh until they were almost at her vulva. I took a few pictures before instructing her to cross her legs. Otherwise, I would have really started to lose it. “What time is it?” Jennifer asked. She looked up at me, waiting. I set my camera down and checked my phone. “It’s almost two.” “I'm supposed to be meeting my friends at 2:30...” “I have enough shots if you need to go,” I said, shrugging and turning on the room's lights. “Are the photos any good?” she asked as she stood up, her tall shadow looming on the backdrop. “Yeah, they’re great. Thanks a lot.” I was amazed that such a goddess could think she would look anything but gorgeous in any photo taken of her. Jennifer bent over to pick up her clothes, and I watched her round ass all the way to the bathroom. If only I could have touched what I had just seen. When Jennifer came back out, she was back in her shorts and tank top. I could faintly see her lacy push-up bra under her shirt. As disappointed as I was to see her in clothes again, she was still just as gorgeous as she was before. “That was fun," she said, smiling at me. “Or at least I had fun. Let me know how you do on your project. ” Jennifer walked out waving. "See you on Monday!" After the easy photo shoot with Jennifer, I realized I wanted to specialize in nude photo projects. For the rest of the year, I yearned to get a couple more girls to model for me. I asked one girl in my philosophy course but she just blushed, smiled nervously, and declined. I asked another two girls in freshman comp, a class where we share a lot and get to know each other, but each said no. I wondered if word got around from Jennifer. Maybe they just sensed my desperation. Either way, even though I saw Jennifer around, I never had the nerve to ask her to model for me again. But, even to this day, I still look at those photographs with pride and nostalgia.
Forward My name is Luke Hurst. I’m a very successful and somewhat well-known fashion and beauty photographer in New York. I photograph beautiful models every week. I’m often asked what happens between model and photographer that the camera doesn’t capture. I usually tell people that I’m not much for workplace romance and leave it at that. But, people are attracted to each other in the workplace all the time. Sometimes the attraction is mutual and those people end up acting on their attractions. When the workplace is the set of a photography studio and one of those people is a comely model, attraction happens as often as you might imagine. The model is attractive by definition, and the camera gives the model a kind of validation that becomes a powerful attraction towards the photographer. These days, I wouldn't dare enter an intimate relationship with a model. I don't want a reputation as a womanizer, or overstepping the boundaries of appropriateness. But I did. The truth is, a lot of sex happened between me and the models. At one point, I was drunk with lust and power, and “helping myself” to whatever I pleased is putting mildly. It wasn’t always that way. I began my photography journey as an introverted art student and was a virgin until my freshman year of college. This is my story. The names of people and places have been changed to respect privacy. Chapter 1. College It was my senior year of high school, and the decision of picking a college was weighing heavily on my mind. In my search, I stumbled across Santa Fe College of Art and Design. I clicked aimlessly through the website, until I hit a page for one of their drawing classes and paused, struck with what was on the screen. A nude, female model was front and center in a spotlight. Her back was to the camera and she was being drawn by a class of art students, their easels clustered together in the dim background, with their faces out-of-focus. Of course they have art classes with nude models, but I was surprised that they used an image from this class to represent the art department. There was something about this girl. It was the most unchaste image I could imagine in a college advertisement. Even from the back, she radiated sexuality through her pose. She looked like a centerfold; relaxed, unashamed, and free. I envied whoever had captured this breathtaking image of her. That night, I dreamt of the art class model, alone with me in the figure drawing room. She posed, curving her statuesque body. I was transfixed by her perfect teardrop-shaped breasts and velvety, bronze skin. My mouth went dry as she as she parted her lips. I had never seen a woman like this before. Her fingers moved to my zipper, her body pushed me to the floor, and I was instantly inside her. Her body shivered on top of me as she dug her nails into my shoulders. I woke up the next day sexually frustrated and late for school, knowing I would have to visit Santa Fe. Finally, the day of the campus tour arrived. The first thing I noticed about the campus was its earthy tones — greens, maroons, and mustard yellows, all against the pale blue sky of Santa Fe. It was hot, it even smelled hot. Everything seemed brand new, right down to the smell of fresh paint. “Luke Hurst,” our guide said, looking up over her clipboard that read “Santa Fe College of Art and Design.” As she lowered it, her blonde hair swept over her shoulder, and the fabric of her white blouse pulled tight against her breasts. I could almost taste the bead sweat running through her cleavage. The campus ambassador took us through the gym and stadium to get us excited about the football team, but I couldn’t care less. I wanted to see the art department and especially see the room from the brochure where the figure drawing class met. As we went through the gym, she remarked, “It’s not all just football either, there’s archery, volleyball, and gymnastics. I’m a gymnast!” She continued naming sports but those words blurred like nameless faces in a crowd behind her original statement. As my eyes studied her tight little body, the words “I’m a gymnast” echoed through my mind. In my head I could picture her flexible legs lifting to the sky like an eagle spreading its wings. "And this here is the Student Center," our guide said, but my focus was on the swaying of her hips as she walked. While she spoke, I thought of how much I wanted to grab her and push her firmly onto the grass, peeling her shirt off and tossing it to the side. She, of course, wouldn't be wearing a bra. I'd fumble around with her pants but she, being more experienced, would push me off and take care of it herself. She would pull my pants off, and start running her tongue up and down me. Of course, all of this would have required speaking to her. Even as she revealed that she was a sophomore at the school and asked us about our plans, I could barely bring myself to mutter more than a few quiet words. There was something about the atmosphere of the school that made me know I belonged there. I could picture myself sitting on the edge of the fountain snapping pictures of the bustling student body while listening to the soft, constant trickle of the water behind me; an image lived in my mind for years before it became a reality. After a couple of hours into the tour, I realized how friendly and passionate the students were, while the teachers seemed as if they genuinely cared about student well-being. It wasn't long before my freshman year became an exciting time, with new and interesting people walking into my life one after the other. I was walking home from class one afternoon when a blonde girl doing cartwheels on the grass outside of the gymnasium caught my attention. It only took me a second to realize that she was the campus ambassador who had led my group. I paused for a moment and watched her. She was wearing a tight, pink blouse and short shorts that barely covered anything. Watching her do a backflip, I swore it was the hottest thing I had ever seen. Her body stretched, shirt rising up to reveal her flat, smooth stomach. She more than fascinated me with the rhythm of her movement, the patterns of her muscle, and the sun back-lighting her shape. After a few cartwheels, she sat down on the grass, breathing deeply. Her chest rose and fell with a tantalizing tempo. “Can I help you?” She raised an eyebrow as I came closer. “Oh, sorry. I couldn't help it. Cartwheels and back-flips—you're really good.” “Um, thanks? Do I know you?” “You were a campus ambassador when I toured the school.” “Oh. Well, there were a lot of tour groups that day.” She sighed, looking down at her phone. “Okay. Well, I heard about the figure drawing classes and I was wondering if you know anyone who has done some modeling for it? Have you ever modeled before? You've definitely got the looks for it.” She looked up from her phone, her shoulders tensing slightly. “What?” “Yeah, I mean, you're hot. You could totally be a model.” “A nude model? Gross. Keep it in your pants, kid.” She huffed, her face red as she stood abruptly and walked into the gym. Her hips still swayed the way I remembered. “Real smooth.” I grumbled to myself. Dejected, I sulked all the way back to my dorm room. In my Intro to Printmaking class was a petite, Japanese exchange student named Yuko. Although she hadn't quite mastered the English language yet, she understood me well enough when I spoke. Or, I assumed she did, since she was always hovering around me. Yuko smelled of lilac shampoo. She would always walk up to me as if she had something she wanted to say but couldn’t put the words together. I had a hard time understanding her, and it made me nervous when I was around her. After all, I had a hard enough time holding a conversation without a language barrier. Each time she would come within a few feet of me, I would pretend I forgot something across the room or in a different class. “Do you hate me?” Yuko asked one day, following me as I was scurrying away. The guilt trip worked and I stopped to talk. “Of course not!" I reassured her, but I wondered how true my statement was. I didn't know her well enough to hate her, but nothing attracted me to her either. "I'm just busy!” A couple of months into the semester, Yuko caught me by surprise. While I was cleaning paint brushes in the back of the painting studio, I felt a small poke on my right shoulder. I turned around to see that petite dark-haired girl whom I had spent the last couple weeks avoiding. "Hey, Yuko," I muttered, still skeptical about her intentions. "Hello," she said, her accent thick, but her words still intelligible. "I want to ask something." "Yes?" She lifted up the camera around her neck. "Please help with my project," she said. "It's photo project." I couldn't stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief. That's all she wanted? Help with a project? "Sure thing, Yuko. Do you want to go now?" I asked. She nodded. After I finished up with the brushes I followed her back to her dorm. It was a tiny, crowded space, much like my own. It smelled like patchouli, which made me smile. I noticed she had covered up the windows with blankets and set up a couple lamps in front of them so she could easily manipulate the lighting in the room while photographing. Positioning me in front of the lamps, she tugged on my t-shirt. "Off." I squinted my eyes, the light from the lamps so intense that I could barely make out her tiny figure. She then motioned to my leather jacket, “On.” I slipped off my shirt and took the leather jacket from her hands. At first, it was cold against my bare skin, but the lamps behind me quickly warmed me up. After a while, I could feel the moisture beginning to gather on the surface of my lower back. She adjusted the shutter speed and aperture on the camera and then snapped a few pictures. Her face scrunched up into a look of uncertainty. "Not right,"...
It was my senior year of high school, and the decision of picking a college was weighing heavily on my mind. In my search, I stumbled across Santa Fe College of Art and Design. I clicked aimlessly through the website, until I hit a page for one of their drawing classes and paused, struck with what was on the screen. A nude, female model was front and center in a spotlight. Her back was to the camera and she was being drawn by a class of art students, their easels clustered together in the dim background, with their faces out-of-focus. Of course they have art classes with nude models, but I was surprised that they used an image from this class to represent the art department. There was something about this girl. It was the most unchaste image I could imagine in a college advertisement. Even from the back, she radiated sexuality through her pose. She looked like a centerfold; relaxed, unashamed, and free. I envied whoever had captured this breathtaking image of her. That night, I dreamt of the art class model, alone with me in the figure drawing room. She posed, curving her statuesque body. I was transfixed by... This is from an erotic novel I am working on. If you'd like to read this whole chapter, and other parts, please PM me so I can give you access to the protected entries. Make sure to state that you are an adult.