A Healing Love
Copyright© 2025 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 40: Photo Shoot
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 40: Photo Shoot - Paul Robertson's journey continues as his past and present collide at a star-studded movie premiere, where a connection that once terrified him reignites with passion that threatens to consume them both. Fighting to forge a new future for himself and stop drifting, Paul must finally become the man he’s always been afraid to be. A beautiful, bittersweet exploration of grief, social responsibility, the healing power of love, and learning that sometimes loving someone means letting them go.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction
I offered Carly a choice for lunch. She’d been to Westell Mill before and enjoyed the food and atmosphere when we sat by the window in the conservatory with a view of the river. It was only a ten-minute walk away or two minutes by car. While the food there was good, it wasn’t as good as The Inn on the Pier or Capello’s, both of which were a fifteen-minute drive away on the seafront.
She chose The Inn on the Pier and extracted a promise from me to take her to Capello’s in the evening as well.
That was fine by me. I thought Capello’s was more of an ‘evening restaurant’ anyway. After lunch, we strolled back along the seafront to the bandstand, which was roughly halfway between Central Pier and West Pier. That was where Carly had agreed to meet the photographer.
“There she is,” Carly said as we approached the bandstand. Only one person stood by it—a woman with long, dark brown hair, a small camera bag slung over one shoulder, and a much larger wheeled bag—almost like a small suitcase for an overnight trip—at her feet. She was engrossed in something on her phone.
“She?” I asked.
Carly looked at me and smirked. “Is that a bit of casual sexism creeping over you, Paul? Did you assume it would be a man?”
I shrugged. “I just ... I don’t know. I guess I did assume.”
“Well,” she said, brightly, “You know what they say about assumptions.”
I rolled my eyes and groaned. “Yes. They make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’”
Carly giggled. “Come on, Laura’s lovely. She really is. And she’s an excellent photographer—as you’ll have seen from my Instagram.”
Laura looked up from her phone and smiled when she saw us approaching. She waved and then began walking towards us, leaving her larger bag behind.
“Hi, Kayla,” she said when we met about halfway. “Good to see you again. Hopefully, we’re going to have a good day. The light seems good, not much cloud cover, so that bodes well.” She turned to me. “And you must be Paul. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Laura. Laura Langley.”
She held her hand out to me and I shook it.
“That’s me. Normally, I’d say something like, ‘all good, I hope.’” I glanced at Carly, who was looking at me with her usual expression of utter adoration. “But by this point, if all you’ve heard about me is from Kayla, I don’t see the point.”
Laura laughed, tipping her head back as she did. “Yes, I agree. I can honestly say I’ve never heard Kayla say a bad word about you.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Carly asked. “You’re in charge. Just tell me where and how to stand and when to smile.”
“Well, smile all the time, Kayla. I’m not a fan of moody shots at the best of times, but you have such a beautiful smile, it would be a shame to waste it.”
Carly beamed, her beautiful smile on full display.
“I thought we’d start here,” Laura said. “We can use the bandstand—get shots of you standing in the middle of it or leaning on the railings. And because of its location, we’ve got a range of backdrops to choose from—the sea, the piers, the buildings along the front.
“I also thought we could pop down to the beach and get close to the sea, although it’s a bit cold for dipping our toes in today.
“Then we could head into town, maybe a few shots on the high street, in Memorial Gardens or the church yard of Saint Matthews—that’s beautiful, although it’s a shame we’re not doing this in about a month’s time when the blossom is out on the trees. I don’t do weddings, but if I did, I’d love to do a spring wedding with those blossom-covered trees as a backdrop.
“After that, up to the University where we can use the whole town as a backdrop—the view from the Grand Plaza there is stunning. Then back to my studio. How does that sound?”
I looked at my watch.
“How long will all that take? It’s just after one now. What time is sunset? You can’t do this in the dark, can you?”
“About a quarter to six, but the light will fade well before that. It’s not a problem, though. It doesn’t really matter what the light is like. There are things I can do to still get what I want. We’ll be fine. Honestly, we can run as long as you like. Plenty of time. We’ll be fine. Plus, Kayla is really easy to work with, does what I tell her, and gets what I want. She’s amazing.” She smiled at Carly, who was still beaming. “But she says she wants some photos of you on your own and of the two of you together, so, really, it’ll depend on you. Can you follow instructions? I suppose we’ll see.”
“Oh, he’ll be perfect, I know he will,” Carly said, gazing at me with wide eyes and her beautiful smile.
“Okay, let’s get on with it then,” said Laura.
I don’t know how she did it.
Carly handled the photo shoot at the bandstand with grace and good humour. She didn’t appear to mind moving from the centre of the bandstand to various points around the edge so Laura could capture different backdrops. She was completely unfazed by pulling all manner of poses or the constant smiling.
She genuinely appeared to be enjoying herself.
As for me, I didn’t enjoy it at all. I felt awkward and uncomfortable. At least posing with Carly was better than posing alone. I don’t know why Carly wanted solo photos of me, but she did. Us together? Sure, that made sense. It was like a memento of our time together. But solo photos of just me? That seemed a bit pointless.
We spent just over half an hour at the bandstand before moving to the railing at the edge of the promenade, which separated it from the beach about six feet below. We then made our way down onto the beach itself.
It was after two when we made our way back to my car in one of the parking bays by Central Pier. I’d drive us to Memorial Gardens next—it was a good half-hour walk away, so that would have just wasted time—and from there, we could also get to the High Street.
As we walked, I said to Laura, “Laura, sorry, but have we met somewhere before? You look really familiar.”
She smirked. “You’re what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
I nodded. “Twenty-one.”
“Makes sense. You would have been the prime demographic.”
I frowned. “For what?”
“Ladz,” she said brightly.
“What’s ‘Ladz?’” Carly asked.
“It’s a weekly magazine aimed at older teenage boys and young men. About fifteen to twenty-five. Or it was. It closed down at the start of this year.”
“Why?” Carly asked.
“Because you can get all the pictures of semi-naked women that you want off the Internet for free,” I replied. “That’s mainly what it was. It had cars, sports, and video games too, but mostly it was pictures of women in their underwear. Famous women mostly. I remember that even Chloë did a shoot for them at one point, in a bikini on a beach. But they had ‘ordinary’ women too. Some of them even became famous and had media careers off the back of appearing in the magazine.” I looked at Laura. “Wait, are you saying you were in Ladz?”
She nodded. “2008. I was in my final year at University here in Westmouth. I was one of the ‘Ladz Local Lovelies.’ I sent my photos in, got invited to do a shoot, and it was published in March of my final year. I actually did two shoots on the same day. I went with my friend, and we each did a solo one, then one together. Hers came out first, followed by mine the next week. Then the duo shoot was published the week after mine.”
“Wow,” Carly said. “So you were, like, a pin-up model or something? Like a Playboy model?”
Laura nodded. “Yeah, although I never went ‘all the way,’ if you know what I mean. I kept my knickers on. Mostly. There were a few shoots where they came off, but everything was ‘well hidden.’ After graduation, I did regular shoots for a couple of years. I’m talking one or two a month. It was better than getting a proper job, and it paid pretty well. And not just for Ladz, but for some of the other men’s magazines at the time, too. And there was other promotional work that came with it—public appearances, that sort of thing. I was even in a music video for a number one song.”
“That’s so cool,” Carly said. “So, is that where you recognise her from, Paul?”
I shrugged. “I guess it must be. I would have been fifteen in 2008. I never bought Ladz—it was never really my thing—but some of my classmates did, even at fifteen. So, I suppose I could have seen you in someone else’s copy.”
“I did it for about three years, so you’d have been eighteen when I stopped. I’d say it’s very likely you saw me several times over that time. I was already twenty-one when I started, which is quite late. Most of the models in those magazines started at eighteen or nineteen, straight out of school. But by 2012, I was nearly twenty-five, and I’d had enough. I decided I’d prefer to be the one taking the photos rather than being photographed. I learned a lot just from being on set with some outstanding photographers. Some of the best in the business. But I still took a proper course on it and then moved back to Westmouth to start my own business.
“Now I do portrait work, promotional work for local businesses—for their websites and stuff—and all that pays well enough that I can also do some art photography—mostly landscapes, but I’ve done wildlife photography too. It’s a good business, not spectacular, but I make enough to have a good work-life balance, which is the important thing.”
“Well, I guess that explains why you’re so good,” Carly said. “I mean, you know exactly what it’s like to be photographed. Some of the people who have photographed me before have been ... Well, they’ve been mean. Bullies, almost. But you’re not like that at all.”
Laura smiled. “Yeah, I know exactly how horrible it can be if the photographer is an arsehole. It’s never made sense to me to be like that. The key is always to get your subject to relax. If they’re relaxed and comfortable, you get better photos. And that’s especially true for boudoir work.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Boudoir?”
Carly squeezed my hand, and I turned my attention to her. She smiled.
“You’ll see, Paul. You’ll see.”
The rest of the afternoon unfolded largely as Laura had planned. She knew the best spots for taking photos in Memorial Gardens and in the churchyard of Saint Matthew’s Cathedral. Carly continued to act as if she did this all the time and that it was no big deal. That was probably true, I reflected while watching her pose in front of the duck pond in the park. Carly had most likely participated in dozens of promotional photoshoots over the past year. But, she genuinely seemed to be enjoying herself and got along very well with Laura, the two of them often sharing jokes, frequently at my expense, and laughing at anything and everything.
I still didn’t feel entirely comfortable, but it improved as the day progressed. I also got to spend time with Carly and loved seeing her enjoy herself so much. By the time we made our way to High Street, I had almost begun to enjoy it too.
But I didn’t enjoy it for long.
I think it was only a few weeks ago that someone, and I honestly can’t remember who, said that Carly wasn’t ‘getting spotted in the street’ famous.
Well, after spending most of the last two months at number one, first with ‘A Woman’s Work’ and then with ‘Always,’ she was there now. Or at least, she was in Westmouth. She’d made no secret of her presence in the town, and the local media had talked about it endlessly. It was no surprise that the locals recognised her.
I’d noticed a couple of people hanging around by the bandstand, trying to look discreet but with their phones out and pointed at Carly.
Or rather, pointed at Kayla.
Not many, but they were there.
And it had been the same in Memorial Gardens—a few people stopping to take their own photos or videos, which they would no doubt share on their social media accounts. I didn’t spot anyone at the Cathedral, which I suppose makes sense since it’s a slightly less ‘public’ place in that there weren’t many members of the public lingering in the churchyard. And the few who were likely weren’t Kayla Valentine fans.
But when we got to the High Street and headed for the fountain in the middle of Kingshead Square—a large plaza about halfway along the pedestrianised shopping street—we got mobbed.
Saint Matthew’s was located at the western end of High Street. Kingshead Square was about halfway along, while the Town Hall and local council offices were situated at the eastern end of the roughly half-mile-long street. So, having come from the grounds of the Cathedral, we had about a quarter of a mile to walk to reach Kingshead Square. Under normal circumstances, it should have taken us around five minutes.
It took us nearly half an hour.
We had scarcely gone fifty yards when the first person stopped us and asked for a selfie, to which Carly readily agreed with a broad smile.
After that, we could hardly walk a few steps without someone else asking. Carly must have posed for a thousand selfies by the time we finally reached the fountain.
Okay, it probably wasn’t quite that many, but it sure felt like it.
And she was as pleasant and polite to the last one as she was to the first.
I don’t think I would have been. In fact, I was getting annoyed, and I wasn’t even the one being asked to smile for the camera.
Even the photoshoot itself attracted an audience, all of whom had their phones out taking their own pictures and videos.
I was glad to leave when we finally did, which was after even more people had asked Carly for selfies.
I hated it.
I don’t know how Carly coped.
“I think we should give the campus a miss,” I said as we got into the car. “It’ll be just as bad, maybe even worse.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Laura said. “But we could always head to the lookout at the top of Constitution Hill. You get a great view of the seafront from there. It’ll make a lovely backdrop.”
“Do we have time to do both?” Carly asked.
I looked over at her in the passenger seat and raised an eyebrow.
“I like the idea of the seafront as a backdrop, but I also like the idea of the town. And I don’t mind the selfies, I really don’t. Plus, most of them will end up on Twitter or Insta, and I’ll share the ones that tag me, and that’s a good thing. Good promotion.”
I didn’t reply.
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