Peas In A Pod

Technology has made a lot of jobs obsolete in a very short space of time. Remember before smartphones and digital cameras, when you had rolls of film you handed in somewhere, or sent off to be developed? Well in the years before digital technology killed that particular business stone dead, I was one of the people who developed your photos.Not that I actually did much. Automation had by then long since ensured that the job consisted largely of feeding and overseeing a large machine. I wasn?t particularly well paid either, but I was young and just starting my working life. Besides, the job coincided with my major hobby, which was photography, and which I hoped, somehow, to develop into a career.Besides, the job had interesting perks. If you think people taking x-rated pictures of themselves and each other was confined to Polaroids and exploded with the rise of digital photography, think again. New on the job I was actually amazed at how candid some photos were. Sometimes you got whole rolls to develop which contained stuff that was substantially more candid than that found in magazines like Penthouse or Men Only. Once or twice I got the feeling a particular couple had engaged a photographer to provide a lasting memory of their wedding night or their honeymoon on film. Maybe they had.The guys who had worked at the lab for a while soon taught me a trick or two; running off copies of pictures for your own private pleasure by chalking one batch up as a machine error. If you?re one of those people who had graphic photos developed back then, I might still have you in my collection!Though truth be told, the photos that interested me most weren?t the really graphic images. I liked things to be left to the imagination. Very few of the photos were ?artistic? in any meaningful sense of the word. I was drawn to the less graphic images because they at least left something to wonder about. What I liked best about the pictures was the stuff they left to my imagination.Accidentally sexy was my thing. One obvious subsection of this was the unintended upskirt photo, of which there were enough to keep me happy. But another, perhaps less obvious group of images consisted of women wearing nylons. Any image of a woman in tights or stockings was likely to grab my attention. Photographs taken at some festivity or celebration or anniversary were a goldmine. It seemed to me then, as it seems to me now, that any woman could transform herself into an object of sexual desire by the simple means of applying nylon to her legs.In short, the pictures I preferred were those with no intentional sexual content whatsoever, where the accidental spark of arousal was entirely due to my own predilections and imagination. And that?s how I became obsessed with Wanda.Maybe it would have been different if I?d had a girlfriend, or at least money to go out, but I didn?t. What money I had left over at the end of the month was spent on photographic equipment. I never went out to places where I might meet someone. Very occasionally I?d have a drink with one of the guys from work, but that was it.By now I had a fair sized, slowly assembled collection of other people?s photos, of women I didn?t know and would never know, but who took on a life of my own making. Wanda, however, was special; I knew that the moment I set eyes on her in a photo. I didn?t reel off copies at work as I usually did, instead I smuggled the packet of photos and negatives out that evening, knowing I could stick them in the outgoing pile the next morning with no-one being any the wiser.I had a darkroom at home. Well, I say darkroom, but it was really a modified broom cupboard, and my flat wasn?t much bigger in its entirety. I developed my own copies of the pictures I wanted from the negatives. Some of the photos featured a man, and some featured Wanda with a man, who I assumed was her husband. Those I didn?t care for, but I adored the pictures of Wanda on her own. The reason I?d taken them home was that I didn?t want the standard size photos, I wanted her on as a grand a scale as possible without losing too much sharpness.Things went smoothly. I replaced the envelope with photos and negatives early next morning. The large scale photos I?d developed at home went on my wall, where I could look at them when I laid in bed. There were fourteen of them with the kind of content I liked, but two especially caught my fancy. In one Wanda was sitting on a park bench, legs crossed. She wasn?t looking at the camera, just gazing in some other direction as if lost in thought. The other was taken in a coastal location with a lighthouse in the background, Wanda leaning over a railing looking out to sea. It was taken diagonally from behind, and there was something about the curve of her behind in relation to the lighthouse that made the composition surprisingly artistic, however accidentally.Every night before I went to sleep I stared at the photographs. I couldn?t explain it to myself, but there was something about Wanda that captivated me utterly. Who was she? What did she do? What were her interests? I assumed she was married, but was she really?And of course there was a sexual dimension to my interest. There was no nudity in the photographs, şişli escort nothing remotely salacious, yet Wanda seemed to me the most desirable woman I had ever set eyes on. She looked classy, way too classy for me even if she was available. I?d be lucky if she gave me more than a cursory glance.I imagined myself touching her. In most of the pictures she was wearing black nylons, pumps and a half-thigh skirt. That was how I liked her best. In bed I fantasized about sitting down next to her on that bench, and just running my fingers across the smooth sheen of nylon. Or standing next to her by the sea, the curve of her bottom fitting the palm of my hand like a glove. I didn?t really need any fantasy other than that, although I did wonder about her sex life, what she did, what she liked, who she did it with (I assumed her husband, unless she was single or having an affair). For the most part, though, I imagined my hand, my fingertips running up and down the nylon; just touching was enough for me to imagine as I touched myself.It was almost inevitable that I would come to want more of Wanda. Oh, I knew I could never have her, but that wasn?t want I wanted anyway. I just wanted more than the fourteen photos on my wall. I began to fantasize about her posing for me, for my camera, not in any definite, planned way, but just so that I could have more of her.That was never going to happen. Not only for the obvious reasons, but because though I?d remembered her name when I developed the photos, I hadn?t thought to make a note of the contact details. Not that I would have tried to contact her, but perhaps somehow if I hung around long enough where she lived I might get to see her, to capture her on film. She wouldn?t be posing for me, but they would be my photos of her.Still, if that was impossible, I could search for another woman, someone else with the power to possess my imagination utterly in the way Wanda did. Up to now, my own photography had focused on townscapes, on buildings, on scenes, on the juxtapositions of signs and symbols. Now I began to search for women. I didn?t care much if they were tourists or mothers or married or anything else, but I did want them to wear nylons, preferably black, preferably with heels of some kind, preferably with a shortish skirt.The real goldmine was when I had weekdays off. Then I could make sure I was on hand before and after office hours and during lunch hour, lurking in the area of town where nylons were standard issue office uniform. I bought a second hand telephoto lens so as not to make my interest obvious. Women with nylon legs would swarm across the bridge from the railway terminus in their droves, and I took every opportunity to capture them on film. Not just there, but in the street and outside offices and pubs. I broadened my scope, visiting parks and commons, honing in on stations and bus stops, photographing woman after woman and going home to develop the photos.The lens, the rolls of film, the chemicals, it all cost a small fortune, and I was more or less reduced to a diet of pot noodles. It was worth it though. The pictures of Wanda were still my favourites, but since she was unattainable, once I?d gazed on her long enough, I consoled myself with one or more of the other women who now surrounded me on my walls. I imagined that my hand was one of their hands, clasping my erection, pumping eagerly until my ejaculate soiled their stockings, rather than just pump out over my stomach, as it did.And then I met Lily.It was on one of my many outings. I?d gone to Wandsbury Common. I found a spot where I could set the camera up on the tripod without attracting suspicion. I turned it this way and that, zooming in on various females. Unfortunately it was a hot day, and hot days always meant bare legs rather than nylons. Bare legs didn?t interest me. I snapped a few pictures anyway, if a particular skirt caught my fancy, or an unintended provocative pose did, but I wasn?t having much luck at all.Then I heard a voice behind me. ?You the paparazzi or something??I turned sharply. ?No. I just do this for a hobby.? Then I found my breath being snatched from my chest. It was as if I was staring straight at Wanda, only a twenty years younger version, about my own age.Searching eyes appraised me. ??Cause you look like you?re paparazzi.?I felt myself go hot all over. I was in a public place, so technically I could take whatever photos I liked, but knowing what the photos were for suddenly made everything seem embarrassingly sordid.?I just? I?? The stuttering wasn?t just because I didn?t know what to say, it was because I was still reeling from being confronted by this younger version of the woman of my private fantasy world. In spite of the temperature she was wearing black nylons along with a black skirt which revealed just enough thigh. She was in black brogues rather than heels, but somehow this streak of independence only heightened her allure. A sleeveless black top reacted to the sunlight by giving off tiny, glittery sparks. Her head was cocked to one side, black hair framing a face that seemed amused by its own secrets, and capable of penetrating mine.?I said to myself when I saw you, escort şişli that?s either paparazzi or some perv,? she said. ?And if you?re not paparazzi???No, really?? I said, but she was nudging me out of the way, getting her eye up close to the viewfinder.A wave of shame washed over me. The camera happened to be trained on a group of three young women sunbathing in their bikinis. I hadn?t snapped any pictures of them because there was too much flesh on show, not enough left to the imagination, but Lily wasn?t to know that. ?So are they celebrities I?ve never heard of, or???She let the implication hang as she pulled back to stab me with a quizzical eye. ?No, no,? I said, still horribly, horribly embarrassed. ?It?s a hobby like I said. Urban scenes.?The girl in black seemed to consider this. Then she nodded. ?Whatever you say, Guv?nor. I don?t care about the urban so much myself, just people.?This was better. Normal conversation, potentially common ground. ?You do photography too?? I asked.?No,? she replied. ?Painting, drawing, sketching, whatever. I?ve applied to dozens of schools, but they won?t have me, the bastards.??Bummer,? I said.She shrugged. ?It?s no big deal. In a way I?m happier doing my own thing.?This was much better. Relaxing a bit, I said, ?And what kind of thing is that??A smile, an inward smile, all secrets again, and utterly beguiling. ?It?s hard to explain,? she said. ?You?d have to see for yourself, I reckon.?Intrigued as much by her as by the suggestion of a private viewing, I said, ?I?d like that.?She seemed amused by this, though I couldn?t think why. ?You?re funny,? she said, though I hadn?t said anything worth laughing at. If I was strange, she was stranger. ?I?ll let you see,? she said. ?On one condition???What?s that???That you let me draw you.?I wasn?t sure what to make of that at all, but I knew I wanted to see more of her. ?OK. It?s a deal.?She smiled. ?Got a paper and pen??I did have, among my accessories. She took them, jotting down her name, address and phone number. She handed me the slip. ?I don?t know your name,? she said.?It?s Mark.?She held out her hand. ?Well, Mark, it?s been interesting meeting you. I look forward to drawing you.?I took her hand. ?It?s been interesting meeting you. I look forward to being drawn.?She gave her quirky little smile. ?Does Tuesday evening work for you???Sure. Half six? Seven???Whenever you like,? she said. Then she turned and began to walk away.I aimed the camera in her direction, waiting until she was far away enough for the telephoto lens. I felt sure she divined what I was doing even before she looked back over her shoulder. Again there came a smile that both held and saw through secrets. I hoped I?d managed to capture it.I badly wanted to develop the photos, but film was expensive and I hadn?t used up the whole roll. So I contented myself with the many photos on my walls, not least those of Wanda, who Lily so closely resembled. I was a little in awe of Lily, who had so freely furnished me with her details. I could be a right weirdo, after all. But I was also intrigued, very intrigued. More curious than nervous when I approached her building on the Tuesday evening.Inside was a different matter, though no less intriguing. Like me, Lily lived in a poky bedsit, the walls plastered with examples of her own work; drawings, paintings, sketches, just like she?d said. But the most conspicuous aspect of them was that they all featured naked men prominently, some involved in graphic if slightly cartoonish activities with female figures, all of them with the kind of erection even John Holmes would have envied. I just stared, Lily watching me until she gave a little laugh. ?Don?t worry,? she said. ?I?m not going to ask you to take your clothes off.??Judging by these, that would be a first,? I observed.?You?re funny,? Lily said, though I wasn?t seeing it myself. ?Do you like them??I did like them. I liked them very much, though it was obvious to me now why Lily hadn?t been accepted to any establishment where she might develop her talents. I hesitate to describe her works; mainly because it would be impossible to do them justice with mere words; there seemed to be a little bit of every imaginable influence, but all geared to the fine art of titillation. I was especially taken with Lily?s personal take on Le Déjeuner sur l?herbe. In her version a naked man and four fully dressed women surrounded a picnic hamper, with one of the women staring wide-eyed at the man?s equipment, which hilariously resembled a Cumberland sausage more than an ordinary penis.After a bit of talk about the pictures, Lily indicated the room?s one chair. ?All you need to do to satisfy me is sit there.?I did as I was told, I didn?t know what else to do or say. I?d already observed that Lily had a large sketch book waiting on an easel, and now she stood, marking the paper with charcoal, glancing up occasionally, but not very often.That gave me the freedom to look at her. She was wearing black nylons and a black skirt again, but this time with a white shirt with the top two buttons undone. There was just a hint of make-up, perhaps because her abnormally clear complexion held its own beauty. mecidiyeköy A strand of black hair occasionally fell across an eye, causing her to puff it away. I almost wished I?d brought my camera, though I was afraid that she would be too conscious of it, that the photos would come out staged. Even so, I could imagine her on my wall, alongside Wanda. And I would have, as soon as I?d developed the photos of her. The thought gave me an illicit thrill.?Would you believe me if I told you that you?re the first man who?s actually modelled for me in person?? she said suddenly, conversationally, her hand working briskly.I looked around, at the endless array of nudity. ?Would you be offended if I said it seems hard to believe??Lily didn?t answer, not directly. ?I go out,? she said. ?I sketch random strangers, and then I come back and work the sketches into proper pictures, except that I imagine the men naked. Does that sound weird??I looked around the walls again, and it was then it struck me, though it should have struck me much sooner: We were like two peas in a pod. There was virtually no difference between her walls covered with drawings and paintings of naked men and my walls covered with photographs of random women wearing nylons. Some of her pictures were more graphic, but then she was in a position to give expression to her own imaginings, whereas I had to keep them in my head. ?Not at all,? I said. ?But just out of curiosity, why change your way of working now???Why me?? I wanted to ask. ?How did you find me?? But I didn?t.Lily stopped working just long enough to flash me one of her quirky smiles. ?There?s a first time for everything,? she said. Then she went back to work.I decided not to disturb her anymore and just sat, looking from the walls to her then back to the walls, trying to figure out what was going on here. All this felt so natural, and yet it was possibly the strangest thing that had ever happened to me. I must have lived a very sheltered life.Finally, Lily put the charcoal down. ?Done,? she said. ?Do you want to see???Of course.?I stood behind her to see. She?d captured me very well, if with the flourishes that were so obvious in her other images. ?It?s very flattering,? I observed. From behind I couldn?t see, but I could sense the amusement in her eyes.?That?s the advantage of fantasy. You?re never disappointed.?It was an odd exchange, two people almost trying to persuade each other not to take their odd relationship to a physical level. I fell silent for a while, running my eyes over the picture. Lily turned with a mischievous look on her face. ?Now that I?ve shown you mine, are you going to show me yours???You want to see my photos?? To see my secret fantasy world.?Yes. What did you think I meant?? Teasing.Here was the opportunity to turn the tables on her. ?Of course you can see them. On one condition.?She understood, of course she did. ?You want me to model for you??I licked my lips and coughed slightly. My throat had suddenly gone very dry. ?Not as such.??Oh?? Raised eyebrows, puckered lips.?I want to follow you from a distance with my camera. One or two hours. You go wherever you like, do whatever you like. That?s it.?The sparkle in her eyes told me what I needed to know. ?When???Friday evening? It should be light enough if we start at six.??Where???Why don?t you just start out from here??Lily nodded. ?OK. It?s a date.?A funny old date by almost anyone?s standards. But then we were odd people, I realised that now. Two odd people who had somehow found each other, or rather Lily had found me.Work couldn?t end quickly enough for me on the Friday. As soon as it was over I was off like a shot. I parked myself at the end of her road, trying not to look too suspicious with my camera. In the event no-one challenged me, though one or two people did look inquisitively at me. Perhaps they thought I was paparazzi, even though it would be odd to find any celebrity in this part of town.On the stroke of six Lily appeared in the doorway, dressed in her custom black nylons, black skirt and brogues. It was a warm night, and she had a light jacket slung over her shoulder. On top she was wearing a different shirt from last time, a light blue number with oversized lapels. I took a shot, then another as she turned in my direction, then ducked back as she began to walk towards me.If she saw me, she gave no indication. In fact she seemed to instinctively understand what I was after. She didn?t pose in any way, she just walked and stopped and sat down and bent over, looked in shop windows, bent down again to retie her shoe laces. I snapped and snapped, shooting her as she lingered by a bus stop or sat down next to a fountain, crossing and un-crossing her legs. By now I?d taken clandestine shots of hundreds of women in nylons, but this was a very special thrill, an almost proprietary thrill at owning the unownable. Lily was special in the way that Wanda was special, in ways that I couldn?t explain to myself. The fact that she knew and was happy for me to photograph her like this was an added bonus.Finally, we ended up in a park. Lily sat down on a bench, just looking straight ahead, her gaze remarkably similar to that of Wanda in the picture on my wall. I had three shots left on the roll of film, and used them up, wondering what to do next. Should I approach her, or just go home, develop the photos and phone her when they were ready?Then she was caught by the setting sun, her nylons glistening like a magnet.