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A story about a photographer searching for the everyday housewife. Please note the story title and the category that it was submitted in.
Chapter One: Looking for Mrs. Natural.
I watched the woman get out of her car, a ratty looking old Mazda that had seen better days, and tentatively make her way up my driveway. She was moving very slowly, probably debating whether to run back to her car and go back home, or keep going up to my door.
The location certainly wasn’t sinister, as my house was a neat split-level ranch in a comfortably middle-class neighborhood, and looked like all of the others.
The owner, me – Ken Langer, wasn’t sinister either. Just a typical guy closing in on fifty who was divorced for a few years, and was now able to spend time on his hobbies.
One of those hobbies was photography, and I had set up a nice little studio in the downstairs area of my house. Nothing overly elaborate, but a very cozy and comfortable area where models could feel at home in.
That was where the woman approaching my doorstep fir in. She was a model, or might become one if she ever made up her mind and rang the bell that is. I enjoyed watching her get ready out there; taking a deep breath and fussing with herself, and I was tempted to open the door and tell her that she looked fine, but instead I waited.
To the average person, the woman outside was no model. and perhaps to most people, model would be the last word used to describe her. That was perfect as far as I was concerned, because the ads that I had put in the local alternative weekly made that point clear.
I was looking for women to pose for photos that weren’t models. The scrawny, anorexic type need not apply, and the same went for the waxed and silicon-ed Barbie dolls as well. I was looking for the normal everyday housewife woman. The one you would run into in the grocery, or sit next to at church.
Not a raging beauty? Not a problem. Think you might need to lose a couple of pounds? Think again. The ad made that clear. I didn’t need what Madison Avenue wanted, or what Hugh Hefner demanded either. There was only one qualification that I was looking for. Natural.
Today, that model seems to have gone out of fashion. To most women, the thought of not being shaved or waxed from the neck down is appalling, but thankfully, not to all of them. Hopefully, not to the woman who was still out on my front steps.
The woman, who had claimed to be around 40 on the phone, might be just on the other side of that, but not more than a couple of years. She seemed to be around 5’5″ and had wavy dark brown hair that went down to her shoulders.
She had thick, bushy eyebrows as well, which got my attention right away, and wore glasses that gave her an interesting look. Facially, she reminded me of that woman that plays in that TV show Ugly Betty, and that was alright by me.
Her body was tough to determine, as she was wearing a rather shapeless sweater and blue jeans, but she seemed to be fairly average weight-wise. Maybe a few pounds extra, but there was no way I would ever find out at this rate, so I slowly opened the door and greeted her before she had a chance to bolt on me.
“Laura?” I asked in a friendly voice, and although she was startled to have the door open up, she recovered and nodded to me. “Like to come in?”
She nodded again and stepped inside as I held open the door for her, and I led Laura upstairs to the kitchen where I had a pot of coffee waiting.
“Not what you were expecting?” I said after watching Laura look around the house before sitting at the table.
“No,” Laura admitted, taking the cup of coffee I offered and splashing some cream in it. “Sorry. I’m nervous. Never did anything like this before.”
“I know,” I said, reaching over and patting her hand briefly. “Most of the women I shoot are nervous and have never done this before either. That’s what I’m looking for.”
“And by the way,” I added. “You really undersold yourself on the phone. You’re a very attractive woman.”
Laura blushed, but I was being honest. She was strangely erotic, at least to me. She had gone on about being drab and homely, but she had an earthy quality about her that I found intoxicating.
“Now here is the release form that you have to sign,” I explained as I put the paperwork in front of her. “I also need to see proof that you’re 18 years old. It’s the law.”
I knew that she was at least twice that, but I wasn’t taking any chances, and as I jotted down her drivers license number on the form, I learned a lot.
Mrs. Laura Peterson was 41 years old, 5’6″, and the address listed was in a shabby little city across the river. Her hands were trembling when she handed me the card, and I could see the deep imprint left by a ring that wasn’t being worn any longer.
“Haven’t been proofed in a while,” Laura said, and I chuckled along with her.
“Now, did you decide on how far you wanted to go with this?” I asked, and she nodded.
“All,” Laura bahis firmaları said grimly.
I offered two pay rates. One, for what basically was swimsuit modeling, and the other which for what Laura called “all”. That meant total nudity, and while it meant much more money, it also meant that everything came off.
“Obviously, I’m happy you made that decision,” I told her.
“I don’t look like women that do this, you know, like pose naked in magazines” Laura said. “I mean, my body isn’t very attractive.”
“I’m not interested in women that look like the women you usually see in magazines,” I assured her. “If you looked like that you wouldn’t be here. I’d have no interest in you.”
“Not that way,” Laura said. “I mean my body isn’t…”
“I’m sure I’ll be a better judge of that than you are,” I told her. “One thing I do,” I said in reaching for an envelope. “So you don’t have to worry, I’ll pay you now. I find that helps people relax.”
As I counted out the crisp twenties, I watched Laura’s eyes widen as the pile got fatter.
“This is between you and the IRS,” I said as I pushed the stack of bills toward the center of the table. “This will be waiting for you here when we’re done.”
“Lot of money,” Laura said softly. “To take pictures of somebody like me.”
“I think you’re going to be well worth it.”
I had found that it did ease some of the tension, and also made the woman realize that she was committed. She could always leave the money and flee while taking the long walk down to the studio, but that hadn’t happened yet, and I hope it wouldn’t happen now.
“The studio is downstairs,” I said after as the papers were signed.
“Can I use the bathroom first?” Laura said, and as I directed her down the hall I watched her butt on the way. A little full back there, but nicely so.
Laura didn’t take long, to my surprise, and had a grim look on her face as she joined me at the top of the stairs.
“Ready to walk The Green Mile?” I said, smiling as I led her down the stairs to my studio, and as Laura solemnly nodded we went down the steps.
Chapter Two: In the studio.
As I ushered Laura into the room, I could sense her tense up. The room was friendly enough, atmosphere-wise, but it still brought them to face the fact that they were going to be taking off their clothes in front of me.
That was part of the rush I got out of this. These weren’t hookers, or strippers used to taking it off at the drop of a hat. These were women, like Laura, who hadn’t taken off their clothes in front of anybody but their husband and their doctor for years.
The room was very warm, by design, as it made getting the clothes off easier if the room was comfortable. I fiddled with the lighting for a moment while Laura stood by the door, petrified.
“I don’t bite,” I assured her.
“Sorry,” Laura mumbled. “I never did anything like this.”
“I know, Laura. You told me that already. Why don’t you just come over here and relax for me,” I said. “Besides, you never did tell me what name you wanted me to use with your photos. You can pick whatever name you want, and be from wherever you want.”
“Can I just be Laura?” she asked, walking in front of the lights as I adjusted them.
“You can be whomever you want and from anyplace in the world,” I explained. “You want to be Bertha from Australia? Fine by me. It’s just that some women put another name and place on their images, just in case somebody they know ever sees the pictures.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “No woman has ever said they had, but that’s the Internet for you. You’ll never know who sees you. Maybe nobody. Maybe a million people. Maybe your next door neighbor or your priest.”
“That’s scary,” Laura said.
“If you’d rather not do this,” I told her, “I understand completely.”
“No, I need the money,” Laura said, and I recalled from talking to her on the phone that her husband had recently left her, drained all the money out of their joint accounts and left her pretty much high and dry.
Her story had touched me, because I had been on her end of a break-up myself. Fortunately, I didn’t find myself in the financial situation Laura was in, and that might have been why I had sweetened the pot a little bit for her. Still and all, even though I wanted to see her clothes come off, it was a decision that she alone could make.
“Can I be Angela, from New Mexico?” Laura asked.
Chapter Three: “Angela” gets comfortable.
“That’s it, nice and slow,” I told Laura as she unbuttoned her sweater with trembling fingers. “Smile for me honey.”
Laura nodded and tried to smile a little wider for me, and while it was still a forced smile, it was an improvement. As she reached the bottom button, I encouraged her to take it off like she was moving in slow motion.
As she did, I got a glimpse of what I had hoped to see. Laura was wearing a white tank top underneath the sweater, and when her arm lifted ever so slightly, kaçak iddaa I saw what seemed to be an abundance of hair under her arm.
“Very nice, Laura,” I said as I clicked away. “I’m glad to see that you are every bit as natural as you said you were.”
Laura glanced over and saw the hairs peeking out from the fold of her lowered arm, and I smiled when I saw a bit of redness color her cheeks, which looked sweet on her.
Laura’s arms were nicely toned, neither bony nor plump, and the light beige shade of her skin made the faint down on her forearms show up nicely. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and I could see the fat pegs of her nipples through the fabric of the tank top.
“Lift your arm for me,” I encouraged her. “Show me how beautiful you are. That’s it, Laura.”
With a slowness that nearly drove me insane, Laura lifted her arm upward, and as she did I was treated to the erotic sight I was hoping for. Her armpit was full of the densest growth of dark chocolate-brown hair I could have ever dreamed for.
“Spectacular,” I muttered. “Put your hand behind your head and leave it there for a minute. Run your other hand through your armpit for me and fluff the hair up a little. That’s it.”
Tentatively, Laura raked her hand through the lush jungle, her cheeks now full of color while I clicked away. The hair sprayed up almost to the inside of her bicep and grew down to where the fabric of her tank-top began.
“Sweating,” Laura muttered softly, while she kept running her fingers through her underarm hair.
“We’ll dry you off when it gets noticeable,” I assured her. “When was the last time you shaved your armpits?”
“Uh… probably five years ago,” Laura said. “I was in a wedding and the dress would have showed it, so I shaved them. My husband didn’t talk to me for a week after that.”
“So it was his idea for you to let the hair under your arms grow?” I asked after telling Laura she could do the same thing to her left armpit.
“Yeah, he always said he liked it,” Laura lamented. “Guess not enough though.”
“His loss, Laura,” I told her, trying to keep her spirits up.
As Laura slowly ran her fingers through the dense thicket, I concluded that I had rarely seen women with the profuse amount of hair under her arms that Laura had, and I tried to casually re-adjust my underwear to make a very obvious erection less so.
“Can you reach it with your tongue?” I asked, and much to my surprise Laura not only could reach, she didn’t hesitate at all.
“My husband – he used to like me to do that,” Laura explained. “Keep calling him my husband for some reason.”
“Did he used to lick your armpits himself?” I asked, and Laura nodded.
“Can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Laura mumbled in embarrassment.
“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir here,” I told her. “He’d be a damn fool not to. It’s a very sensuous part of the body for everybody. I used to lick my wife’s armpits whenever we made love.”
I neglected to mention that my wife was an ardent shaver despite my many requests for her to be like Laura and let it grow, but that was for another time.
“Now, why don’t you lift up your tank-top for me,” I said. “Very slowly, and when you get it up over your head, stay that way for a minute.”
Laura took a deep breath before crossing her arms in front of herself and grabbing the bottom of her tank top. The tank top came up, slowly revealing a pair a cantaloupe-sized breasts that were a bit smaller than I had expected but looked fine on her frame. They looked quite firm and were capped by large aureoles and fat thick nipples that were a dark crimson.
“Lovely breasts,” I noted, as Laura pulled her blouse up over her head and held it up there as I happily clicked away.
“Okay,” I said after she set the blouse aside. “Now what I’d like you do is first stretch your arms up as high as you can, and then link your hands behind your head.
With a slowness that could not have been more erotic, Laura’s arms rose, and as they did the thick tufts of hair under her arms seemed to awaken from their confinements. Her breasts rose with the raising of her arms, and as she linked her hands behind her head her underarms became little valleys while her biceps swelled a little.
“You’re a treasure, Laura,” I said as I clicked away. “An absolute treasure.”
Chapter Four: Getting warmer.
Naked to the waist and with her arms raised, the middle aged woman looked vulnerable and defenseless. While the blush had pretty much left her cheeks she was still plainly nervous, as any woman her age would be in that position.
“Hot in here, or is it me?” Laura asked.
“No, it’s a bit warm,” I admitted, as it would have been difficult to deny it with my forehead beaded with perspiration. “Want me to make it cooler?”
“No, but I’m sweating,” Laura said. “Tickles.”
“Hold that pose,” I said. “Don’t move.”
I saw what was tickling Laura. It was a single droplet of sweat that had worked through the kaçak bahis steamy jungle of her right armpit and was slowly trickling down her side. Moving closer, I snapped away at the provocative sight as it reached her rib cage before reaching over and grabbing a towel and dabbing the bead away.
“There,” I said, wishing that I had used my tongue instead of the towel. “Now why don’t we give your shoulders a break for a bit and have you take your jeans off.”
Laura lowered her arms and took a deep breath, exhaling loudly before undoing her belt and the button that held them closed. Nodding as I reminded her to go slowly, she brought the jeans down and stepped out of them before straightening up and reaching for the elastic of her panties.
“Wait a second, love,” I said. “Just stand there for a moment like that for me.”
Laura was wearing very plain white panties, and they were very conservatively cut, but even the modestly designed undies could not contain her bush, which sprouted out of the sides of the panties. The thickness of her pubic hair was clear by the way the outline of the hair pushed against the fabric, and as I clicked away I made sure to take a lot of shots of the treasure trail that wound down from beneath her navel to the elastic top of her briefs.
So busy was I photographing her, that I had failed to notice that Laura was becoming quite distraught, biting her lower lip as tears welled up in her eyes. When I finally did notice, I stopped shooting and set the camera down.
“Want to take a break, dear?” I offered, but when I did she shook her head quickly and tried to regain her composure.
“No. Let’s get this over with.”
“I’d rather you had a better attitude about it,” I suggested. “You should be enjoying this.”
“I wish I looked more – normal maybe?”
“You do look normal. You’re the woman next door. The one that men see on the street and picture without clothes, or fantasize about being with. You aren’t Heidi Klum, but to the men that look at the site you’re way better, because you’re real and not an air-brushed Barbie doll.”
“I’m just so far from being a model,” Laura said glumly.
“Yes you are a model,” I said as I nodded toward the camera. “I’ve got a lot of evidence that says you are. Maybe not the stereotypical model, but believe me that there will be a whole lot of men who will be thinking you’re the most erotic woman alive.”
“Some women too,” I added while loading the camera and looking at Laura’s reaction.
“Women?” she asked tentatively.
“Yes. Women that wish they had the courage to be a natural and real as you. Women look a lot like you, and also women that fantasize about being with you. Does that bother you?”
Laura shrugged, and after that she seemed to relax a little, so when I was ready to shoot her again, I had her bring the panties down very slowly. Her pubic hair was amazingly thick and full, an almost heart-shaped bush that was just as untrimmed as her armpits were. The hair was almost glistening, giving the rich brown hue a distinct contrast to the paleness of the skin around it.
I wiped my brow as I moved backwards, getting a more complete view of Laura as she stepped out of her panties and became totally naked.
“Could you fluff yourself up a bit down there for me, Laura?” I asked, nodding when she put her hand in the dense forest between her legs, and as she raked her fingers through the jungle a thousand thoughts went through my mind.
Was she wet? Was this turning her on despite it all? Those panties she just took off? Were they damp? Wet? I wanted to pick them up and felt them myself, hoping that she was becoming as turned on my all of this as I was.
A pungent aroma began filling the room while Laura fluffed up her pubic hair, and as the scent of her pussy wafted into my nostrils I had to rearrange my cock in my pants before it snapped in two. Laura noticed what I did even though I didn’t make a show out of it, and I was kinda glad that she had.
Chapter Five: Opinions.
“In my opinion,” I said as I had Laura put her hands behind her head again. “Both personally and professionally, your ex-husband is a fool.”
I was pleased to see Laura smile at that statement, and it wasn’t just a line I was feeding her. True enough that Laura wasn’t the fantasy woman for all that many contemporary men woman, but her husband had given every indication that he enjoyed a woman who was natural, and Laura had kept herself that way to please him, which was not easy in this culture.
Naked, Laura had many of the features that you would expect a 41 year old woman to have, but how many people of any age wouldn’t under bright lights and without airbrushing?
Laura’s body was a bit pear shaped, as in middle age she had probably seen her waist thicken and her hips expand despite being of fairly normal weight. Her arms were still nicely formed, still not showing any sign of having that upper arm drooping of the skin that affected many middle-aged women.
“May I?” I said, moving over to Laura with the towel, but instead of handing it to her I rubbed it along her sides, drying the skin which had started to shine from the sweat that was now coming down from her armpits in waves.
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