Chapter 5: Strike a Pose

When I arrived at the front door at noon the next day, Thursday, there was no answer. So I went around the side of the house, back to the pool, thinking that was where I'd find the lovely "Busty Bethany", a web model who'd moved in next door to me less than a week ago, and who'd already managed turned my 13 year old world upside-down. Her car was parked in front of the house, so I assumed she must be home. After all, she was the one who'd specifically told me to show up at noon. Yet as I opened the tall side gate and stepped into the pool area... I saw nothing but the pool.

Okay. So maybe she was inside, but going to the bathroom or something, and therefore couldn't make it to the front door. I chuckled to myself at the thought of this, and it took a moment to realize why. It was because, up until that moment, it had never occurred to me that a woman like Bethany -- who was in my eyes a tall, redheaded, long-legged, extremely busty goddess -- actually did things like go to the bathroom. Or eat. Or even get sick. Somehow, despite the handful of intimate moments we'd shared over the past few days, I still managed to think of her as something, somebody, who was larger than life.

Shaking my head at my own naive sensibilities, I made my way through the sliding screen door (which wasn't locked) and into the house. "Bethany? You home?" I yelled the words, but not all that loudly. Truth to tell, I wasn't really the loud yelling type. Instead, I cautiously proceeded further into the house, my eyes peeled. I figured that once I saw her, I could give her enough warning about my presence to keep from scaring the shit out of her.

Bethany wasn't in the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, the den, or even the laundry room. Which put her nowhere on the first floor. So I started up the stairs. "Bethany?" Still no reply. When I reached the top of the steps, I heard the sound of running water, and quickly realized why she hadn't been able to hear me. She was taking a shower -- just as she had been yesterday afternoon, when I left her house.

I smiled to myself. Clearly, if she was taking a shower at the same time she'd told me to be here, then it meant that this was probably the surprise she'd had in mind. Instead of just drying her off, this time she wanted me to join her... and then maybe she'd dry me off afterward. I certainly couldn't complain about that.

Feeling bold, I went into stealth mode, and walked quietly into the bathroom. Before I joined her, though, I thought I'd give her a little scare first, Psycho-style... without the knife, of course. I'd once overheard my father telling my mother what a huge crush he had on Janet Leigh after he saw that movie. And there was something in the way he said it -- a kind of male code that women perhaps wouldn't understand -- which indicated to me that what he was REALLY saying was, "I used to masturbate while fantasizing about her." So the next day, I'd watched the DVD version of the movie, and sure enough, I saw I was right. On the one hand, it seemed kind of tame compare to today's standards, but still... that Janet Leigh was a hottie, complete with big boobs. I masturbated that night fantasizing about her, wishing I could have been a fly on the wall while they were filming the shower scene.

So here I was now, all ready to play the part of Norman Bates. I padded quietly through the bedroom, across the carpeted floor to the master bathroom. The door was closed, but not all the way. I pushed it open, ever so slowly, unsure about whether or not it would squeak as I did so. It didn't. As I slipped into the bathroom, I could hear Bethany humming something, but couldn't quite make out the tune. I stepped up to the end of the curtain where I knew the showerhead to be, and extended my hand, my heart thumping in my chest. After a deep breath, I grabbed the curtain and pushed it aside roughly, while imitating a high-pitched violin noise, "Ee ee ee ee ee ee..."

And then Bethany screamed, at the top of her lungs. Or rather, the woman in the shower who looked nothing like Bethany screamed at the top of HER lungs. As she turned to face me, screaming, my own mouth dropped open in shock and instant regret for what I'd just done. This woman was still taller than me, but at least a few inches shorter than Bethany. She had shoulder-length dark brown hair -- pressed flat against her head from being wet, of course -- big brown eyes, an almost babyish (and quite beautiful) face with full adult lips, and a decent all-over tan.

There was also something slightly exotic about her good looks, as if she were French or Italian or something. As for her body, it was incredible. Very slim, curving out only slightly at the hips and a great bit more at her chest, which had probably been enhanced at some point -- they looked that perfect. Her tits were the size of well-proportioned canteloupes, with brownish nipples the size of perfect silver dollars, and her pussy, while shaved, still had a landing strip of fur.

All of this my quick and opportunistic young eyes managed to grab in the two seconds or so it took for the woman, a stranger, to grab a bottle of shampoo and throw it at my forehead with unerring accuracy. More stunned than hurt, I immediately fell backward as it bounced away. I lost my footing, hit the door, it slammed shut, and I slid against it to the floor, landing on my ass. And through it all, I continued to stare at the naked woman in front of me, who by this point had taken a good look at me, and apparently realized I was no threat. Because she stopped screaming. She still looked a bit suspicious, though, as she threw an arm across her chest and glared down at me. I couldn't be sure, but I thought she looked passingly familiar.

"Who the hell are you?" she said, with a strong European accent, her voice on the high side.

But the words failed me. "I -- I --"

Suddenly, her expression softened a bit. "Wait. Are you Sammy?" It sounded more like "Semmy" when she said it, though. When I nodded in the affirmative, the woman brought her face to her hands. "Oh my. I am so sorry. Bethany said you were going to be here soon. I wasn't thinking." What was that accent? The more she spoke, the less it sounded like Italian or French, and more like... Russian, maybe?

"It's okay," I said, getting to my feet. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have scared you."

Her full, pouty lips drew up into a smile, and her eyes brightened considerably. "I'm thinking you did not think it was me, but that it would maybe be Bethany instead?"

"Yes," I replied, smiling back. "Exactly."

Shifting to a stern expression, she crossed her arms, which had the effect of pushing her breasts up and together. "And you thought that this would be a funny idea? To scare somebody in the shower?"

I shrugged, then reached up to see if the shampoo bottle had left a lump on my forehead. "Well. I guess in hindsight, it was a bad idea. But it seemed like a good one at the time."

The woman pursed her lips, snicked with her mouth and shook her head slowly, as if to say, "Tsk tsk. Little boys sometimes have such strange little boy thoughts. I will never understand it."

I blushed at having been called a "little boy", but realized that I'd perhaps earned it on this particularly day. "Well, I'm sorry for... everything. Really. I'll just go now. Before I do something else stupid."

"Yes," she said, smiling kindly. "Maybe that would be the best thing right now."

So without further ado, I opened the door and backed my way out of the room, leaving her to her shower. After the door was shut again, it occurred to me that perhaps I should have asked her if she knew where Bethany was. Yet before I had a chance to talk myself into poking my head back in again, I heard somebody climbing the stairs. I crossed the bedroom quickly, and met Bethany as she was just reaching the top step, holding a laundry basket in both arms.

She beamed when she saw me. "Well, hello! I didn't hear you come in."

I was about to ask where she'd been, but the laundry basket answered the question for me. Of course. She'd been doing the wash, down in the basement, where the washer and dryer were. And the presence of a set of walkman headphones around her neck explained why she hadn't been able to hear me. Mystery solved.

"Yeah," I said. "I, um, thought maybe you were in the shower."

Bethany shook her head. "Nope. Downstairs."

"Yeah, but I kind of surprised the person who actually IS in the shower."

Her eyes went wide, then she laughed. "Veronica? You mean you walked in on her?"

"Something like that."

Still chuckling over this, Bethany nudged past me into the bedroom, and put the basket on the bed. Without it in my way now, I could see that she was wearing a pink t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. Nothing glamorous, but it still fit her frame well all the same. "It's my own fault, I guess," she said. "I should have told you Veronica was going to be here. She's a friend of mine. Another web model. I met her a couple years back."

"She has an accent," I replied, stating the obvious.

"That she does. She's originally from Eastern Europe, by way of Austria. She's beautiful, isn't she?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "And she has a good arm too."

Bethany looked confused, yet before she could ask what I meant, something else apparently occurred to her. "Before she gets out here, I have to tell you --"

But it was already too late. The bathroom door swung open, and there was Veronica in the doorway, wet and unabashedly naked. "There you are," she said, to both of us. "I was wondering could one of you get me a towel?" As she asked this question, she reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, as if to fluff it. Her tits jiggled, and I was of course mesmerized, my dick growing instantly hard in my shorts.

"Here you go," Bethany said, and grabbed a towel from the laundry basket, which she then tossed in Veronica's direction. "Fresh out of the dryer."

Either the brunette hadn't been expecting this, or Bethany had thrown it too short. In either case, the other model failed to catch the towel when it came at her, and had to bend over and pick it up when it fell to the floor. It was quite a wonderful sight, all in all. "Thank you," she said, and turned to me, adding, "Your mother is so good to me, I don't even know what to do sometimes." Then she retreated into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

When I turned to face Bethany again, she was smiling at me knowingly.

"My mother?" I asked, whispering.

She took me gently by the arm, and led me out of the room to the office. "Yes," she said, playfully. "And as your mother, I'm quite appalled by the way you were staring at that poor girl's tits. Why, it's as if you don't see her as anything more than a piece of meat, put on earth for you to gawk at."

"Well... she was naked," I replied, matter of factly.

"Yes, and she was playing them up, wasn't she? That tramp." Bethany smiled to show that she was, of course, just kidding. "Sorry for not warning you about the mother thing. It's just that... while I think I know Veronica pretty well, I don't know if she'd quite... approve of... you, me, us."

"I understand," I said, trying not to seem disappointed.

"Just so you know, I'm your estranged mother. Until recently, your father had custody. But he got remarried and you decided to come live with me. That's why I never mentioned you to her before."

I chuckled. "That's quite a story."

She shrugged. "What can I say? I have an active imagination." Then she pulled me in front of her, and drew me in tight. "I know this kind of changes things a bit for the day. But if you can just be a good little boy while Veronica's around, then later on maybe I'll give you a special treat." With this, she reached down and stroked my obvious boner through the material of my shorts. "How does that sound to you?"

"Um. Good. It sounds good to me."

"Good," she repeated, and smiled, taking a step back.

"So... what's going on today?" I asked, my head reeling.

"Oh, that's right, I didn't tell you yet." She turned to the closet behind her and slid the door open. Inside was a large black case that almost looked like a piece of luggage. She pulled it out and dropped it in the middle of the floor, then unzipped it down the middle. Inside was a video camera. "Ever use one of these?"

"Sort of," I replied. "Nothing that nice, though."

"Well, I'm counting on you being a quick learner," Bethany said.

Then it sunk in on me. "What? You mean for you and --"

"For me and Veronica, yes. With the move and everything, I'm overdue to post a new video clip on my site. And the members have been clamoring for more clips of me with other girls."

"So you want me to... videotape you? Both of you?"

"Pretty much. Are you up for it?"

Was I up for it? WAS I UP FOR IT? Eventually, after some stammering, I said yes.

A short while later, I was down in the living room, adjusting the camera on the tripod, and testing out all its various settings. If there was one thing I was good at, it was figuring out technological crap quickly. Bethany had been right about that much. Meanwhile, the women were still upstairs, presumably getting themselves all dolled up for what I'd begun referring to in my mind as "The Shoot". I tried not to concentrate too much on the reality of what I'd be seeing right before my eyes soon, and focused instead on the details of the equipment. Do this to move the camera around, do this to zoom in and out, do this to focus.

Before she'd disappeared upstairs, I'd asked Bethany about lighting, but she seemed confident that the ambient lighting from outside, combined with the overhead lights, should do the trick well enough. Since she'd certainly been at this longer than I had, I was inclined to trust her judgment. Still, I did a few quick tests, recording objects in the room and playing back the results, and from what I could tell, she seemed to be right. Finally, at just about the point when I didn't think I could possibly stretch out the task of getting the camera ready for even another second, I heard the sound of heels coming down the steps. Showtime!

I turned toward the stairs and waited, my heart pounding. The first to appear was Bethany. She wore what looked to be, for all intents and purposes, a business outfit -- a respectable white jacket (that seemed to bulge a bit at the seams) over an equally respectable white skirt, which extended a few inches short of her knees. Below this were white stockings and a pair of white business heels. Her fingernails and lips were done up in her usual favorite, bright red, while to complete the look of professionalism, she'd put on a pair of glasses and pinned her hair up in a way that brought it off of her neck, yet still maintained a level of playfulness.

By contrast, Veronica's outfit was quite unprofessional, and much darker. She wore a black leather jacket over a pair of tight, form-fitting leather pants, capped off by a pair of tall black pumps. A loose black belt with wide holes fell around her waist -- clearly only a decorative accessory -- and extended below the bottom of the jacket. Her hair had been curled, her eyes and lashes were noticeably darker then they'd been previously, her cheeks were rouged, her fingernails were long and clear, and her lips were painted a glittery pink. The overall look was that of a pool-playing, beer-drinking biker chick, ready for action.

Once the two women had descended the stairs, they paused to stand beside each other and put on their best straight-faced "look at me" poses, bringing the contrast between them into even starker focus. When they both started smiling at me in a strange way, it occurred to me that I must have a fairly stupid look on my face. Sure enough, my mouth was slightly open -- so I shut it, then tried to collect myself. "Um. Wow. You two look... nice."

"Thank you," Veronica said.

"Yes," Bethany added, walking up to me to plant a motherly kiss on my cheek. "Thank you, darling."

"So... where should I be?" asked Veronica.

"Over there," Bethany said. "I thought we'd start off in front of the fireplace, then work our way over to the couch later." She turned to me. "Don't you think so, Sammy?"

"I -- um -- sure. That sounds about right."

Veronica crossed the room to the fireplace. "Have you done this for your mother before?" she asked.

"Done... what?" I replied.

Bethany answered for me, though. "Well, he's never shot me with another woman before. But he did shoot a couple of the videos on my site. The leopard-skin bikini. The cheerleading outfit."

Veronica grinned. "The cheerleader outfit? I did not see that one." Neither had I.

"Yes, well," Bethany responded. "I figured if anybody should know whether or not a cheerleading outfit looks right, and how I should pose in it, it would a be a teenage boy. Don't you think?"

The brunette nodded. "This is true. And how old are you, Sammy?"

"Um." I looked to Bethany, unsure of whether I should give my true age. She nodded. "Thirteen."

"Oh, that old? I would have guessed younger for you. No offense to you."

"It's okay," I said. "I hear that a lot."

"I guess you are old enough then... for this?" She indicated the room with a sweep of her hand, and seemed to be directing the question more at Bethany than at me.

Bethany joined her in front of the fireplace. "I think so. As I see it, if he's old enough to appreciate the beauty of women, then he's old enough to see them naked. I've never really believed in the idea that young boys should be taught that there's something wrong with nudity. It just ends up making them guilty about it later on."

Veronica nodded. "This makes sense. In Europe, it is not so big a deal. There they have the nude beaches. The prostitutes. And the boys are losing their virginities at a much younger age."

I couldn't believe I was hearing this conversation. "Exactly," Bethany said. "It's only here in the States that we seem to be so uptight about everything. Here, we feed young boys things like Baywatch, and comic books with girls whose tits are busting out all over the place and get their hormones in a rage. But then we tell them it's wrong to see nudity, that they shouldn't have sex with girls their own age, because they might get them pregnant, and that they can't have sex with older women either, because that's somehow wrong."

"It is very confusing," Veronica said.

Bethany laughed. "Well, enough lecturing from me. Sammy, are you ready to start?"

"Yes. Sure." I scrambled to get behind the camera, then lined it up. "Are you two ready?"

The two women stood back-to-back, Bethany in a severe pose, arms crossed, and Veronica with her lips pursed, arms at her sides, looking more broody than anything else. "Ready," Bethany replied.

I fired up the camera, and the women went into action. They began at first by simply moving around a bit -- switching the position of their legs, turning toward the camera, toward each other, leaning against the fireplace, that sort of thing, staying "in character" the whole time. For a moment, it occurred to me what a silly scenario it was. I mean, a biker chick and a businesswoman hanging out in front of a fireplace? Yet for some reason, I doubted that Bethany's fans would be this critical. After all, they didn't come to her site for the plot lines.

Next, the model's jackets came open. For Bethany, this meant she revealed a silky white blouse, beneath which I could see the clear lines of a lacy white bra. For Veronica, however, all I could do was think WOW. Because beneath her leather jacket was a gold tanktop made out of a very fine, very sheer mesh material... and nothing else. It clung to the contour of her impressive breasts, and left nothing at all to the imagination. She may as well have been wearing a slightly tinted layer of clear plastic wrap. And yet it was somehow even more appealing to me than seeing her naked in the shower had been. Perhaps there was something about the pretense of hiding her tits, when in fact they weren't really being hidden at all. I couldn't explain it then and I can't explain it now -- all I know is that I popped an immediate boner at the sight.