Chapter 1

"Hi. Do you mind if I take your picture?", the pretty woman asked. She was holding a large and professional looking camera and had a couple of bags of gear with her.

"No," I said. "Please go ahead."

She smiled as she raised the camera up to her face and fiddled with some of the controls. The camera made a crisp snapping sound as the shutter clicked, recording my image for all posterity.

"What made you want to photograph me?", I asked.

She had busied herself with her gear, rummaging through one of the bags slung around her shoulder.

"Oh, I don't know. You just have an interesting face." She looked up and smiled again, then went back to her rummaging.

"Are you a professional?"

"Yes, I'm a freelance photographer. I take lots of shots hoping to find a few I can sell to magazines or stock photo agencies."

"I often wondered what it would be like to try to make a living as a photographer. Once upon a time I took a couple of photo classes and read a few books, thinking I would become a famous photographer."

"Wouldn't we all! What happened to change your mind?"

"I just didn't have the eye, I guess. My shots were more advanced than holiday snapshots, but nothing really great. A friend of mine who went to a professional school looked at my stuff and told me to keep my current job," I laughed.

"Oh, here it is," she said, producing a piece of paper out of one of her bags. "Would you mind signing this, please?"

It was a model release form. I was supposed to fill it in and sign it. Basically, a model release is a consent form, giving permission for the photographer or agent to use my image without me trying to collect royalties later or sue them for using my picture without my permission.

I filled in my name, address, and phone number, then I signed it and handed it back to her.

"Thanks a lot," she said, taking the paper from me and stuffing into a pouch on one of her bags. "I'll be seeing you."

She started to walk away.

"Hey, wait a minute. Not so fast. I'd like to see my picture when you get it developed. How do I get in contact with you?"

She reached into a pocket and handed me a business card that said "Helen Hunter, Freelance Photographer." The card also listed her address and phone number.

"Just give me a call in a week or two. If I'm not around, just leave a message."

"OK, thanks, Helen."

Helen smiled and turned. I watched her as she walked away. She was slender with a gracefully curved back, tapering to her generous butt cheeks. Her cheeks and gear bags swayed as she moved. I watched her until she was out of sight.

Standing there watching Helen head into the distance, I wondered what she saw that made her want to take my picture. I'm not a model-quality kind of guy by any stretch of the imagination. I'm not ugly or anything, but I don't think of myself as a chick magnet. I've had my share of lovers over the years, but women don't fight over me or drool when they see my picture. So I was curious about Helen's rationale, but it soon faded from my brain.

A couple of weeks had passed and I had forgotten about the photo incident completely. I work for a computer software company as a pre-sales technical support consultant. My job keeps me pretty busy, sometimes traveling all over the country and world. A lot of times I can't even remember what I did that morning, much less something that happened two weeks ago.

I was at home, unpacking from a business trip when the phone rang.

"Moshi, moshi," I said. Ever since I lived in Japan a couple of years ago, I'd taken to answering the phone in Japanese. My friends and family had gotten used to it, but it took anyone else by surprise, especially telemarketers.

"I'm sorry, I think I have the wrong number," the female voice said. It didn't sound like someone who wanted to sell me something and in fact sounded a little familiar.

"Who did you want to talk to?", I asked.

"Is this Carlos' number?", she asked.

"Yes, who wants to talk to him?"

"It's Helen Hunter, the photographer who took his picture a couple of weeks ago."

"This is Carlos," I said. "Hi Helen. I'd completely forgotten about it."

"I thought I recognized your voice. But you took me with surprise with what you said when you answered the phone. What was it, mushy something?"

"It's what the Japanese say when they answer the phone - moshi, moshi. It's just like when we say hello. I do it to confuse telemarketers."

"So you speak Japanese?"

"Not fluently, but I know a few words and phrases. I used to live there a couple of years ago."

"Oh, that's sounds very interesting. You'll have to tell me more about it sometime. Listen, the reason I'm calling is to tell you about the picture I took of you."

"It's developed already?"

"Actually, I developed it the next day and submitted it to a couple of agencies. They said they wanted a few more shots of you to add to their listings."

"Listings?"

"Yes, I submitted it to some stock photo agencies and a couple of them want a few more shots, different angles and expressions. So I wondered if we could get together and I'll take a few more pictures of you."

"OK, I guess so. Where? Do you want to come over here?"

"Actually, it would be easier for me if you came over here. That way I don't have to lug all my equipment around. Besides, I have a studio here at my house as well as a dark room and all that. I could show you the picture I took the other day and show you the new pictures after I develop them. What do you say?"

"OK, I'll come over there, then. When?"

"Is tonight alright? I'd like to get the shots as soon as I can."

"OK, what time?"

"How about 7 PM? That'll give me enough time to take the pictures and develop them without having to stay up til midnight."

"I'll see you at 7, then."

I pulled up at the address on her business card a few minutes before 7. It was a 2-story brown- stone building just like the ones you see so often in the movies. Helen answered the door, barefoot wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and cutoffs.

"Oh my god, it's 7 already?"

I had obviously taken her by surprise.

"I'm sorry, I completely lost track of time. I was going to take a shower and change clothes. I'm a total wreck. I've been working like crazy all day."

She closed the door behind me and walked off into the house. I didn't know if I should follow her or not.

"Am I following you?", I asked.

"Yeah, c'mon back to the studio."

I got a good rear view of Helen as I fell into step behind her. Her legs and arms were white as snow, but shapely nonetheless. The shorts were very baggy, as was the t-shirt, and I couldn't make out any other details of her anatomy.

The walls in the hallway leading back to the studio were covered almost floor to ceiling with photographs. Some were framed, but many more were just tacked or taped to the wall.

"Are these all yours?", I asked, stopping briefly to look at them.

"Yeah, that's pretty much a history of what I've done over the past 20 years. Some of them are from my college days, all the way up to a few days ago."

"Wow, these are really great," I said sincerely.

Some of the pictures were black and white, but most of them were pictures of people, kind of like character studies, I guess you'd call them. All the pictures I noticed were so expressive. A few of the faces were so haunting, while others looked so happy they would explode. There were a few nudes, but not the kind to give you a hard-on. Instead, they seemed to celebrate the human form.

"Thanks," Helen said, opening a door and beckoning me to follow her through it.

The walls of her studio were just as covered with photographs as the hallway was, even more so if that can be believed.

"Here's you," Helen said, pointing to a picture hanging on a wire above a table. "I made a couple of extra prints. You can have that one if you want."

I couldn't believe the person in the picture was me. I looked really different, almost good looking, almost like I was supposed to be somebody famous.

"Jeez, you make me look like I should be in the movies. I never thought I took good pictures, but this is -- I don't know what to say, you're really good!"

"As I said to you when I took the picture, I was drawn somehow to your face. So, obviously, are the stock agencies. Why don't you sit on that chair over there in front of the backdrop while I get things set up."

I sat down and stared at the photos on the wall facing me. They were more expressive faces in both color and black and white. But some of the pictures were not of faces. They kind of looked like sand dunes, except too smooth to be real ones.

"Those are a few bodyscapes I was experimenting with a few months ago." Helen was standing beside me.

"Bodyscapes?"

"Yeah, pictures of people's bodies. I place the lights in such a way and focus on curves of the person's form so it looks like graceful curves. You can see it in this one." She pointed to one of the pictures. "It was a female model. I had her get undressed and lay down on a table. Here's the curve of her stomach and side. Down here leads to her navel, and down here the curve leads to her pubis. You can see the slight rise of her pubic mound and the shadow of where she had shaved off her pubic hair."

I could see it, now that Helen explained it to me.

"Wow," I said stupidly, too stunned by the erotic beauty to think of anything intelligent to say. "And what's this one," I said, pointing to another picture.

Whatever it was, I didn't recognize it, but it was cylindrical or curved, and a little on the shiny side.

"That's an erect penis," Helen said. "The picture was taken mid-shaft so you can't see either end. The guy had shaved, too, so you don't see any hair that would give it away."

"So the idea was to fool the viewer?"

"Maybe not to fool them, but to make them wonder what they were looking at, and in the process give them a different perspective of the human body."

"I think you succeeded very well."

"Yeah, I did. The agencies snapped them up right away. They've already sold several copies. I hope to do more of this type of photography as soon as I find more models."