The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twenty One

For the next twenty minutes, she follows my instructions without a word of complaint.  Again proving she is, in fact, the perfect model.   In-between shots, new set-ups and poses she continues to give me that same intense look, the one that makes my heart rate speed up and my breathing feel precarious.   Though it occurs to me that she always makes me feel like that so why did this feel different?  

I'm not sure but it does somehow.  I return each look of them with one of my own.  Hopefully, one that conveys to her all of the things I'm too frightened to say out loud.

I vary the shots between angled ones from the top of the stairs, to angled ones from the ground up.  Then I place the camera on the stool and shoot downwards as she sits on the pier with her legs dangling off the side.  Unsurprisingly she looks perfect from all of them.  At one point I ask her to wet her hair and her body for me and she complies, leaning over the edge to cover her face and hair with handfuls of water.  The light is far better from some angles than others and I'm sure some of these will be completely unusable. Though it's not like I'm planning on using them for anything anyway. Except maybe crying over later. 

For the last set, I have her lie flat on the pier staring up at the camera. 

"Do you want the robe to lie on?" I ask, conscious of the rough well-worn wood against her soft skin.

She shakes her head, "No, I'm ok. They'll look better without."

I nod. They would. "After this set, we're done," I tell her as I lift the camera. I immediately curse the moon for not being brighter because I know instantly these ones would be incredible. They might still be. Maybe I should have shot her inside where I wouldn't have been so fucking constrained by the light.   Maybe I should do that anyway.  I want to film her too. 

Why did it feel like I was running out of time to do these things? 

Because she thinks you should go home. 

I stand over her, my feet on either side of her, and shoot the upper half of her body.  My mouth practically waters at the sight her breasts resting perfectly against her chest, nipples round and hard from the cold. As she gazes up at me she has that same expression on her face.  It's like the camera isn't there and she's just looking at me. 

"What are you thinking about?" I ask as I continue to click, stepping over her and walking around her to come and stand over her head.  "The way you stare into the camera is rare. Normally people who aren't professionals find it hard to relax as soon as they know someone's taking their picture.  You don't."

She smiles.  "Well, I think that has a lot to do with the photographer."

I move the camera away from my face and smile at her. "Well, I like taking photos of you."

"I like you taking photos of me," she whispers.

I hold her eyes for a long moment before bringing the camera back up.  I take a few more of her staring down the lens and then tell her to turn her head and focus on something else.  Light or no light these might be the greatest photos ever taken.  They could adorn album covers or prints that would sell the world over. But they never will. I'd never let go of them.

Then I'm done.

These last ones can't be bettered.  I'm certain of it. 

"How cold do you think the water is?" she asks as I help her up from the flat of the pier and wrap the bathrobe around her shoulders. 

"Fucking freezing." I pull the robe down and over her breasts, skimming my thumbs over them as I do.  She trembles slightly. 

"Scared?" She smiles up at me.