The Spectator
This is a true story. Although not the first CFNM in my life, it's the first time that I experienced this in my long CFNM history. It happened in the late 1990s at the local nude swimming hole that was not far from my domicile. I had just moved into the area and recently discovered it. The place got closed down several years later when someone bought the land. It is the first time that I have written about it. The other incidents related in this missive are also true and I've never written about them before either. I hope it brings at least one or two smiles.
It happened many years ago and I still chuckle at it. I was at the local nude swimming hole, with the river running through the gorge, and the pools formed in the rocks by the river. I was on my bicycle and, while passing it, figured why not stop there, lay down for a while, and simply enjoy the bright sunny day.
As it was a weekday, no one was there. I was surprised at this; I figured someone else would be hanging out there too. I parked my bicycle underneath a clump of trees above a nice pool in their shade, went down to the au natural, and laid down to listen to the rush of the running water fill the silence and drown out the traffic noise from the nearby road.
I must have drifted off into a coma like sleep. Other voices suddenly jerked me back into the world. One of these voices was female; the other was male. I shook my head a bit to bring myself around and wiped my eyes to wake them up. There was a small ledge where I was sitting and I peeked over it. I was hidden by tree branches. A few yards away a young couple was setting up at another pool. They looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties. Both were dressed in shorts and tea shirts. She was very pretty with shoulder length brown hair. I watched them look around as if scouting for any signs of life. They must have not seen my bicycle underneath the trees. The rushing water muted their words, but I wondered if they were getting ready to do something that they might have planned for this swimming hole.
My musings were right in a way. Although I will never know the answer, she produced a camera from her bag and aimed it at him. They were both smiles. I saw her press the trigger several times. She moved around him, aiming and firing, catching him from all sides. I surmised that this was an authentic photo session. I thought, "go get him, girl." He was relaxed at ease, his long hair blowing in the slight breeze. I could almost see him getting turned on underneath the shorts. I smiled with him. I, too, have been a model for women and I know that feeling of a woman's camera circumnavigating me. I have always loved being a model; I still do and, in fact, still am one for a female neighbor who is a photographer. She likes to take me out on what she calls "adventures," where I am the subject -- as it should be -- but this started long after this event.
I felt that tension grow within me as I watched them. They were most likely a couple and had done this before. He seemed to know how to react to her commands. I knew those commands as well -- "arm up, move your leg this way," "eyes forward." He stood in the water, then, slowly, he stripped off everything. I am not an expert on the subject of male strippers, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He did it slow, so she could take pictures of it, focusing in on him as he dropped everything off. I was there with him, cheering him on. I, too, had been in his position, stripping for a female photographer while she incessantly pressed the camera button and gave commands. Then he faced her. Again, I am no expert on the male anatomy and its prominent apparatus, but he seemed like he was "big," as I've heard the ladies call it.
She was delighted by this. She panned the camera up and down him, put him into various positions -- in the water, back up, it looking like a periscope, kneeling on the beach, standing over him or underneath him. He seemed to be enjoying this as well. He moved to her commands with ease, like he had been well-trained, like he knew exactly what he was doing as a model. Since we both were models for women, I felt I could appraise his performance. I fought hard with the idea of emerging from my hiding place to join him. I saw the potential, the fun we could have in front in that lens. I thought back to that night night underneath a full moon on the beach so many years before. There were Peter and I, naked, in front of the Nikons of our respective girlfriends, Cheryl and Laurie. I thought of the sensuous poses they had put us into, how they had put us in the middle as one caught us from the front, the other from the back, and there we are standing side-by-side, the moonlight covering us, one facing one direction, the other the other direction toward the cameras flashing at us.
I wondered what he would do if I suddenly jumped up and offered my assistance. Would he enjoy not being naked all alone? Would he be angry at me and maybe get violent in some way? What would she do, with two naked guys before her? Would she be afraid or embrace the challenge? I watched them, the eroticism I felt within me as I watched them also showing, though only the birds flitting around in the trees could see it. I fought the impulse to jump up and join them. I longed to be there in front of that lens with him. Could my experience in his place help teach him some things?
They went on and on oblivious that they had a spectator. She was grabbing him and shooting herself doing it, catching that ecstasy on his face. He lay on his back on the ledge and she stepped on it with her foot, recording his reactions. Yes, I thought, I knew that position, with Brenda's foot on it as she shot my reactions to it in black and white.
Her hands and her lens went to work on him, reducing him to a slave of both. I watched her work in fascination, hoping not to betray myself. She knew what she was doing and the camera followed her handiwork. Then, with a groan that I heard even above the river, the inevitable volcano exploded to be duly recorded along with the aftermath.
They lay in each other's arms for a while -- him naked and her dressed. They packed up and left the swimming hole. I stayed there, waiting to ascertain if they had left so as not to spoil their moment before I made my own exit. I have never seen them again, but still think of them once in a while.
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