The Photoshoot That Never Even Got Started

I was checking the messages on one of those networks I use for work when a new conversation popped up. The profile was a woman’s, and that alone caught my attention. Most of the messages I get are from men. I replied out of curiosity and because we were colleagues, and within minutes we were chatting as if we’d known each other for ages.

I’m going to give her a name that wasn’t hers. Lorena.

Lorena was in her early twenties. Light brown hair to her shoulders, a strand always falling over her forehead, and a northern accent that slipped out every time she laughed. Her voice was husky, as if she’d been talking all day. The first thing that caught my attention in her profile photos were her arms: defined, strong, without being exaggerated. Later she told me she trained with weights six days a week.

She was close to five foot seven. Broad back, narrow hips. She didn’t have a model’s body. She had the body of someone who had built herself patiently and with discipline.

We talked for several days by message. At one point she told me she had a good camera and that she’d thought of proposing a photo shoot. I needed to renew the material on my profile, so the idea worked for me from every angle. We agreed that on a Tuesday afternoon, after a client I had downtown, I’d stop by her apartment.

I arrived with my hair still a little damp from the shower I’d taken at the hotel. Tight white pants, black thin-heeled boots, a cream blouse with embroidered details, and the large purse where I carried the lingerie for the occasion. I rang the bell and she opened the door herself, barefoot, in cut-off denim shorts and an old T-shirt.

She invited me in and I immediately noticed this was going to flow. She had that broad smile that takes up half a person’s face and disarms you without asking permission. She asked if I wanted something to drink, and I suggested we go buy wine before starting. I left my purse on the sofa, put my boots back on with resignation, and we went out.

We came back with two bottles of red, a tray of cold cuts, and some olives. I took my boots off as soon as we crossed the door and walked barefoot across the wooden floor. She opened the wine while I cut bread, and we sat on the sofa talking.

We spent a long while like that, laughing at anything and everything. She had a dry sense of humor, like mine. She told stories about weird clients and I traded her mine. The glasses emptied quickly. At times I forgot why I had gone there.

—Should we start before the light goes out? —I said, looking toward the balcony.

She nodded and got up to fetch something. I stood in the middle of the living room and started undressing right there, shamelessly. I took out of my purse a pair of black thigh-high stockings, a matching garter belt, and a lace top that fastened in front with a tiny clasp. I put it on unhurriedly, feeling the wine buzzing at the back of my neck.

—And the camera? —I asked when she came back.

She made a strange face. She told me she’d left it at her sister’s place and had forgotten it. She offered to take the pictures with her phone. I felt a stab of annoyance, but then I looked at her properly, saw how she was looking at me, and thought that maybe I wasn’t there just for the photos anyway.

—All right —I said. —Let’s try with the phone.

***

We took more photos than I expected. Her of me, me of her, then the two of us together with our arms stretched out and our heads pressed close. Her T-shirt had loosened and I could see her sports bra when she leaned forward. At one point she put on a burgundy red set she had tucked away in the wardrobe, and I took photos of her against the window, the light falling over her shoulder.

Night fell on us without our noticing. The living room was lit only by a floor lamp and the kitchen extractor light. I was down to black panties and nothing on top, hair disheveled, with the phone in my hand scrolling through the pictures. She was in the bathroom.

When she came out, she sat down next to me on the sofa. She smelled like new perfume. I looked at her from the side and noticed she’d done her hair again.

—Did they turn out nice? —she asked.

—Yeah. Better than I thought.

We laughed about something she’d said about the client I’d had in the morning. Then there was a silence. One of those silences that aren’t awkward, but aren’t nothing either. She was looking at my mouth. I could tell she was looking at my mouth.

And in a move that seemed rehearsed, she threw herself on top of me and started sucking one of my breasts.

I stayed still for a few seconds. Not out of surprise, but because my brain was calculating whether I wanted to keep going or not. I calculated quickly. I wanted to keep going.

I buried my fingers in her hair and let her do it. She moved from one breast to the other with a concentration that was almost tender, biting just barely, then licking, sucking until she left faint marks that I’d still have the next day. I stroked the back of her neck and felt my breathing speeding up.

After a while I took her face in both hands and kissed her. That’s when I realized how strong she was. She kissed me without asking permission, with her whole tongue, pressing with her entire body. I felt her thigh between mine and pushed against it without thinking.

***

We made it to the bedroom half tangled together, laughing every time we bumped into a piece of furniture. We fell onto the bed and finished taking off what little we still had on. She pushed me back with an open hand over my sternum and settled between my legs.

She knew exactly what she was doing with her mouth. That was the first thing I thought. It wasn’t haste, it was skill. She licked me slowly, with her tongue flat, going up and down without touching my clit until I couldn’t take it anymore and put my hand on her head to show her where. She slid in two fingers and curved the tip, and I thanked her with a sound I didn’t want to hold back.

After a while I turned her over. I wanted to taste her. I settled in reverse, upside down, and buried my face in her sex without pause. She was wet and smelled exactly the way I’d imagined. While I ran my tongue over her, I felt her mouth come back to mine below and we tangled into a long sixty-nine, unhurried, in which neither of us wanted to be the first to finish.

At one point she pulled away, got up, and asked me to hold on a second. She went to the drawer in the nightstand and came back with two toys. One huge, made of dark silicone. Another smaller one, white, with a remote. She handed them to me.

—Let’s try them —she said.

I made her turn over. I told her to lie face down and lifted her hips slightly with a cushion. I started gently, rubbing the insides of her thighs, running the small vibrator everywhere except where I actually wanted it. When I saw she couldn’t take it anymore, I grabbed the big one and started easing it in slowly, forcing nothing.

It’s going to go all the way in.

And it went in. Lorena buried her face in the pillow and let out a deep sound that made my skin prickle. I started moving it with a slow rhythm, watching her back tense every time I got all the way in. After a few minutes I lubed her up well with saliva and the fluid that had gathered, and brought the small vibrator to the other side.

—Slowly —she begged.

Slowly. I eased it in little by little while keeping the big one moving in front. When both toys were inside, I stopped moving and only turned the small one on to the lowest speed. I felt her whole body shake beneath my hands. I stroked her back with my other hand, kissed her shoulder blade, and started moving the big one again, this time with more determination.

She came with a long cry, biting the pillow. I took both toys out carefully and threw myself on top of her to hold her. I kissed her nape, her shoulders, her ear. She turned around, grabbed my face, and kissed me with a force she hadn’t had before.

***

—I want something —she told me.

She opened her legs and made me lock mine with hers, one on top, one underneath, scissors style. I’d done that only a few times. The first time I hadn’t liked it. This time I did. When our sexes met and we started rubbing against each other in a shared rhythm, I felt something like a current rising from my navel. Lorena pushed with her hips, I answered, and we moved together as if we’d rehearsed it.

I had an orgasm almost immediately. Then I had another. She looked at me from below, biting her lip, her defined arms holding her against the mattress. She had hers shortly after, with a tremor that started in her thighs and ran up through her whole body.

Then we both lay there on our backs, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling. She reached for my hand and left it resting on my stomach. I was a little dazed. The wine, the sweat, my aching thighs.

—Do you want me to tell you the truth? —she said.

—Tell me.

—The camera was never broken. I never left it at my sister’s.

I laughed. A long, genuine laugh that shook my whole body. I kissed her shoulder.

—I know —I told her.

She laughed too. A while later she got up, put on a robe, and came back with a plate of cheese and another glass of wine. We ate sitting on the bed. We talked late into the night about anything and everything: work, the weirdest clients, a trip she wanted to take south. Then we turned off the light. We were together again for a while longer, slower, without toys. And we fell asleep wrapped around each other, her behind me, her arm crossed over my waist.

The next morning I left early. I had a commitment. We said goodbye at the door with a kiss that lasted longer than necessary and promised to do it again. She never invited me back. I never called her either. Sometimes it’s better for things to happen only once and stay whole.