This is not my first time at CFNM, but it is a time I especially remember it because it was the very first time for her. She had not been used to anything like it in her life. This is a shortened version of a longer story.
It was about twenty-five years ago and to this day I still think about it. I have not seen her in all those years, since life forced us apart, yet I still see her in almost every lady that I have met since then. I see her, I see us, in my mind’s eye from long ago and wonder what would happen if this lady that I am chatting with now was her. Would I have done what I did, what would her reaction be, would she like it or not? Several times, I have almost copied that moment and have had to catch myself in reminding myself that this or that lady was not her.
It was on a Saturday evening at dusk. That I do remember from that long ago. Her name was Brenda; we had met at a local ski area where I work and that meeting had turned into what they call, for better or worse, a relationship. Neither of us had anticipated it or had particularly been seeking that in each other, but we wound up there anyway and we enjoyed it. Brenda was thirty-three then. She was a divorcing mother of two kids. Their divorce was like trench warfare, with the kids stuck in the no man’s land. She had married young. Like so many of her sisters stuck in rural areas, she had let the sweet promises convince her only to discover when it was too late that they led into a trap. It had been a means of escape from waitressing or some other dead end job. Now she was trying to extricate herself from that mistake and, in a way, that led to what transpired on that Saturday.
Brenda had picked up the hobby of photography to help take her mind off the warfare of their divorce. It was her mother’s suggestion. She was taking classes in it at the community college. Her ex ridiculed her for it, but, after we met, I encouraged her and encouragement from a guy was not something that she was used to after the years in her bad marriage. It took her a long time to get used to this.
At first, I had not thought about posing naked for her. But as we got going with each other, I began to think that it might be possible. I had experience in modeling naked for a woman’s camera, thought it had been a long time before this. I had loved it then, and could almost recall each pose and I had even been the one to initiate some of the sessions where I was naked and she was dressed as she shot me. Maybe, I thought, just maybe, I could rekindle this and open Brenda up to new possibilities. As Brenda began to warm up to the idea of actually snapping a picture of a guy, I began to think that it might be possible. Whenever her kids were away at their father’s, Brenda would snap pictures of me. She was nervous about it as we started out and I avoided trying to be too assertive about it.
One that Saturday we had gone to a little league game. Her son was playing in it. The kids were going to their father’s place after the game. It was a holiday and we knew that we had a three day weekend, so we had the next day and a half to ourselves before we had to retrieve them from the father’s place. We walked around town doing photographs. I was the model; Brenda was the photographer. We were just goofing around. She was laughing a lot, enjoying a certain sense of freedom from the divorce and the responsibilities of being a single parent.
It was dusk when we returned to her place. The plan was to get ready to go out to dinner someplace. I was doing the dishes that we had left when I heard a snap behind me and felt a streak of white pop across me. I turned to her and saw the lens pointed straight at me, a mischievous smile on her face.
Then, it came to me that the time was right. There was the moment. I’m not sure where this thought materialized from, but it came to me. Should I grab it? While I thought I knew her, I wondered how well I knew her. Would she mind it, especially as she had not asked me? She was still nervous about her role as a photographer and asking a man to do this or that for her lens. I had understood this and I always tried to give her latitude for it. If I took this risk, though, I knew that there was no idea to fathom the answer.
I went for it.
I gave her a big kiss, then stepped away, and began disrobing. I had done it before for Mona, just like that, and now I did it for Brenda. I thought of those times as I was doing it for Brenda. As it was late spring, there was not much on anyway, and it was soon on the floor. I have not forgotten that look of stunned surprise in her eyes, as if someone had struck her from behind with a bat. The camera merely stood at parade rest around her neck and as she tried to take in what was happening in front of her.
A few seconds later, I stood before her completely naked. Then some compulsion made me turn around and walk away. I was walking toward a set of stairs leading up to the second floor and the bedrooms. In some picture I had once seen a naked lady with her back turned toward the photographer. She was throwing a look over her shoulder of “are you coming,” “I’ll be waiting,” or something of like mode. I do not know why that flashed into my mind, but it was there and I used it. I was as naked as that lady, and there was a photographer fully dressed behind me. I felt more feminine than masculine as I threw that inviting look over my shoulder and said that “I’ll be waiting and bring the camera,” at a woman almost paralyzed with astonishment.
I walked up to the bedroom and sat on the bed in front of the mirror to wait for Brenda. I heard her footsteps. Then her arm appeared from behind the open door, still covered in the sweatshirt she had on, and finally her whole self, still dressed. She sat beside me, the lens still resting on her chest.
“Go ahead,” I told her.
“Are you sure?” she asked me, as if afraid to proceed for some reason.
“Yes,” I told her. “Look in the mirror how I am naked for you and your camera. Enjoy it.”
With one hand, I guided the lens to her eyes. She looked at me with a quizzical expression, then realized the extent of the beautiful truth facing her and she pointed it down below the waist at a prominence that was certainly sticking up. She fired.
We were on our way. I would not get dressed again until we had to retrieve the kids and Brenda was hooked after her first adventure with it. She could not get enough of it.
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