Chapter 2

I thought that was it. I’d gotten caught, but it made her feel good so she didn’t burn me. I thought it was over.

Months passed and we got along a lot better. It wasn’t like we were best buddies or anything, but we no longer snapped at each other and we chatted about stuff once in a while. Our parents noticed it, and expressed pride that we were growing up.

Then Hannah entered a Valentine’s Day contest that was put on by a local photo studio. It was characterized as a search for models.

They took “complimentary” head shots and then sent those off to various modeling agencies. If they got a positive response back, they showed that letter to the girl and tried to sign her up to create a portfolio. The girls had to pay for that, of course, which was the whole point of the exercise. It was just to generate business (and profits) for the studio that sponsored the contest.

Two things messed up this business plan. One was that the portfolio cost a thousand bucks. The other was that to try to increase business, they made up phony letters from modeling agencies. They were stupid about this because they took real letters and spoofed them on the computer, putting other girls’ names on the letters. One girl’s parents did some checking and found out the letter about their daughter was counterfeit and the shit hit the fan. The studio closed down and there’s even a rumor there’s going to be a court case.

But part of the investigation into all this was that the cops verified which letters were real, and which were fake.

Hannah’s was real.

That didn’t really matter, though. There was no way our parents could afford a grand for her portfolio.

So there she was, with stars in her eyes, and in need of a portfolio.

She did her due diligence. She spent hours researching what should be in a portfolio, the order pictures should appear in and all that sort of thing. Everybody recommended that she use a professional photographer and makeup artist, but she couldn’t afford either of those.

She felt confident she could do her own makeup.

And ... she had a brother who had taken killer sexy pictures of her in the past.

“Hey.”

I looked up from my book. This time it was a Clive Cussler novel about some guys who went looking for a civil war era ironclad that somehow ended up in the Sahara Desert, and was reputed to hold a fortune in gold. It didn’t have much sex in it, but it was an exciting read. It was May and school was almost over. Finals were scheduled for the next week, but I wasn’t worried about that. The homework load was getting light and when I woke up that morning I felt lazy and just stayed in bed to read. Hannah was standing in the doorway to my room, leaning against the door jamb.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I need another favor.”

“And what dire consequences will befall me should I refuse to offer this boon?” I asked.

Yeah, I know. That’s pretty silly talk. Who talks that way in real life? What can I say? I think I do that because of all the reading I do.

“If you do this, you’ll be glad you did,” she said. Then she added, “I think.” She made it even more interesting by tacking on an, “I hope.”

“That doesn’t sound very dire.”

The truce had led to terms that were very different than they’d been a year past. I was aware of this, but it seemed normal, now.

“I need you to take the pictures for my portfolio,” she said.

“Is this for that modeling thing?”

“Yeah. All the sources I checked say you should have a professional take the pictures, but I can’t afford that. I don’t have a fancy camera, but they’re shooting movies on iPhones these days, so maybe my phone would work. I just need somebody to take them.”

“And none of your bevy of bff’s can do that?”

“I don’t want them for this. I want you.”

“I’m honored, but could you explain that? The last time I took pictures of you they didn’t turn out the way you intended.”

“Actually, the first time you took pictures it was that way. The second time was completely to my satisfaction.” She didn’t smile.

“How long will this take?” I asked. I’d planned on going to a friend’s house later that day.

“It will have to be done in stages,” she said. “There are a lot of shots and the makeup and outfits will change from one to the other.”

“So we’re talking hours?” I felt both my eyebrows rise.

“More like ... days,” she said. “But not all day.” She sounded nervous.

“Now I think we’re at the part where my boon is described,” I said.

The concept of spending “days” taking pictures of her didn’t bother me, really. It was almost summer and other than odd jobs and hanging out with friends at the pool or whatever, I didn’t have much to do. That’s why I read so much in the summer. Still, if I was going to spend that much time doing this favor, there should be something in it for me.

She blinked, and then said, “If you do this for me, I’ll let you take some ... um ... special pictures ... just for yourself.”

Now I don’t know about you, but if a cute girl stands in your bedroom door - even if she’s your sister - and suggests you might get to take special pictures of her ... and that those pictures are for you ... that will put some stiff in your dick. At least that’s what happened to me. It’s not like I got a raging hardon in my briefs, but my lump got bigger. I know it did because I could feel it.

“How special?” I asked.

“So you’re still a pervert,” she said. It looked like she might be about to smile, but she didn’t.

“I’m still a guy,” I said.

“We can negotiate how special as things go along,” she said. “Will you do it?”

I concentrated on my cock. It was still filling up and pretty soon it was going to be impossible for her to miss that fact. I shifted my book to cover my groin and saw her eyes notice I had done that.

Busted.

“If I ask you a question, do you promise not to get mad and storm out of here?”

One of her eyebrows rose.

“Okay,” she said.

“Will there be any ... um ... nude shots?”

I was surprised by how calmly she took that question.

“That’s not on the list of recommended photos.”

“Curses,” I said, hamming it up. I grinned, hoping she’d assume I’d been trying to push her buttons. “What the heck,” I said. “Sure.”

Then she did smile and blushed at the same time. She was obviously excited about this and even if the “special pictures” only turned out to be shots down her cleavage, or more stiff nipples shots, I figured it would be fun. Who knows? Maybe I could con some girl in the future into letting me take shots for her portfolio. Those would have to include nude photos, of course.

And no, the fact that I’d hoped I might get to see more of my sister than I had since we were like six, and Mom had stopped giving us baths together, didn’t bother me. I’d decided a long time ago that seeing your sister’s beauty and appreciating that wasn’t the worst thing you could do in life.

“Thank you,” she said.

“How come you don’t want one of your friends to do this?” I asked.

“Because I think a man would take better pictures,” she said.

Wow. She had just characterized me as a man! That felt good.

“When do you want to get started?”

“How about now?”

So much for a lazy Saturday morning.

This ‘project’ didn’t turn out anything like I thought it would.

She had a list. The layman thinks of “model” as a generic term, but there are different kinds of models. For example, we don’t normally think of the people who appear in commercials on TV as “models” but they are. Those people are chosen specifically for their physical attributes, and for the purpose of promoting a product. In the fashion world that is also to promote a product, but the requirements are very different. I used to think that models just got pictures taken of them for no particular reason, kind of like how the Kardashians are famous for no particular reason, but not anymore.

Hannah’s list had pictures on it that were specific to a type of modeling, but she hadn’t chosen a particular field. Her plan was to have every kind of photo she might need to submit to whatever agency might want a model. In effect she was going to put together more than one portfolio and she’d use that to apply for whatever work she thought she might be able to get. A portfolio might only have six shots in it, but if you were going for any job you could get, you might have to have five or six different portfolios.

She wanted to start with what’s called a beauty shot, or clean head shot. That’s basically just the model’s image from the neck to the top of the head. It’s a close-up, and any imperfections on the face will be visible. We’re talking freckles, zits, scars, dry skin, eyes too close together, just about anything someone could call a “flaw.”

Think of someone you know. Does their appearance change from day to day? Your answer is probably, “Not much,” but if you think about it a little longer you’ll realize you’ve seen them on days when you might comment, “Rough night, huh?” Your mood changes the appearance of your face. The weather can change it. Whether you took a shower recently can make a difference.

The average face does not look the same from day to day. Not in terms of looking at a close-up of that face.

I took over thirty head shots of Hannah over the next few days. She changed her hair. She changed her makeup. One time she wanted me to take one right after she came back from a run, with her hair in a pony tail and no makeup on at all.

Then we moved on to a full body shot. That one should have been easier, because all it entailed was a picture of her against a background with her arms hanging at her sides, wearing something that clung to the body. I shot her full on, and in profile, with a light background. Then we did it again with a dark background.

During the first profile shot I told her to stand up straight and put her shoulders back.

“Are you staring at my boobs again, Bobby?” She sounded relaxed.

“You have great boobs,” I said. “Be proud of them.”

“Thanks,” she said. But my comment meant something else to her, too.

As soon as we finished those shots, she called a pause and went and put on a bra that was much tighter. She wanted full body shots that didn’t make her look as busty. It was amazing. She looked a lot flatter.

“What’s next?” I asked.

She went to a three ring binder containing her notes and consulted a page.

“Swimsuit or lingerie shot,” she said.

“Now we’re talking,” I said, trying to leer. How do you leer? I had no idea. You read about it, but they never identify something in a movie as “leering.”

“Down, boy,” she said.

“Surely you jest,” I kidded.

“You just control yourself. And don’t call me Shirley.” She grinned.

The concept of a “swimsuit shot” sounds simple, but it isn’t. If you’re going for fashion modeling, you use one kind of pose. If you want to actually model swimsuits, you have different poses. If you’re trying to get in an advertisement for a magazine like Sports Illustrated, you want something different still. We had converted one wall in her bedroom to use as a background for the shots we’d already taken. There were nails on the wall, up high, that supported a wooden rod we hung sheets off of. If there are any professional photographers out there, I’m sure they’re cringing right now, but that was the best we could do on a very limited budget. The idea was to start with that, and then move outside.

Then there’s the whole “one piece versus bikini” argument. Again, it depends on what kind of job you’re looking for.

Long story short, I shot her in different swimming outfits. The first ones were supposed to be in a one piece she borrowed from Megan Cross, who is on the swim team. It was blue and she looked fantastic in it. A little too fantastic, as it turned out. Megan was slimmer than Hannah, and she’d stripped down her suit to make it less bulky. What that meant was that she took out the modesty panels in it.