Chapter 4

Bobby parked his “new” car in front of the Nickerson house. All it had needed was new plugs and plug wires. As far as he could tell, it was in pretty decent shape, or would be with a little tender loving care. He planned on giving it back to Jill, after the TLC part was done.

Christy was ready, wearing a halter top and short shorts that made his groin ache. She had a knapsack over her shoulder, and a walking stick in one hand. She didn’t have her customary smile on her face, though, and looked distracted.

“We can’t leave your car here,” she said. “People would notice. You can drive us to a place I know of, and we can hike from there. I have a couple of ideas for pictures.”

“Thanks for taking the portraits,” he said.

She flashed him a weak smile. “It was fun.”

She pushed him toward the car.

Bobby didn’t own a knapsack. Instead, he had taken a gunny sack, and tied a strip of cloth, torn from some old drapes, around the neck of it, so he could sling it over his shoulder.

They walked steadily, with very little talk, for an hour, and Bobby found out that there were trails in the area he didn’t know about after all. She seemed to have a destination in mind, but he didn’t care. He could feel the strain in his legs, from striding in longer steps than he was used to. Even though she was shorter than he was, her gait was quick. He watched her buttocks move up and down in the tight shorts, and the muscles in her legs flex. It was as much fun watching her as it was looking around at the nature they were walking through.

The area they were in was part of an old farm, which Bobby knew had belonged to a family that no longer lived in the area. They had sold the farm four or five years ago, and moved to the city. The tillable land was being worked by someone, but it had a creek running through a strip of broken, rocky ground that still had trees on it. It hadn’t been cleared because the ground that was under it wasn’t suitable for farming. There had been enough rain recently that the creek was flowing, and they paralleled it on what looked like a game trail of some kind. Bobby realized this was prime deer habitat, especially since it was in the middle of a group of farms that prevented easy access. There were no roads leading into it.

She stopped to rest, and take a drink of water, sitting on a rock.

“Richard called me,” she said.

“That’s nice,” he said. “I bet he doesn’t get the chance to do that very often.”

“It’s the first time he’s ever done it,” she said. “He said his commanding officer approved it.”

“I’m glad you got to talk to him.”

“I’m not,” she said. Her face was serious. “He’s staying there for another tour when this one is over.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bobby. He felt helpless.

“He’s coming home in four months,” she said. “He gets to stay for a month, and then he’s going back.”

“Isn’t that good?” asked Bobby, carefully.

“If he was coming home to stay, that would be good,” she said darkly. “I’m going to have to live with my parents for another sixteen months!”

“Oh,” he said.

“He says he can make rank faster if he stays there,” she said. “He’s talking about staying in the Army for twenty years.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bobby again.

“He didn’t even ask me if it was okay,” she said. Bobby saw a tear roll down her cheek.

“Why don’t you get a job, and rent someplace for yourself, until he gets back?” It was the only thing Bobby could think of to give her some hope.

“I might just do that!” she said, wiping her face. She stood up, obviously ready to go now.

They walked for another hour, going half the distance they’d already traveled, because the ground was so rough, and they had to climb over rocks. Twice Bobby boosted her up, putting his hands flat on her butt. She thanked him, but there was no flirting.

She took a sudden turn onto a trail that Bobby probably wouldn’t have noticed, bending low to go under low hanging branches. Bobby couldn’t watch her round bottom, because he had to duck even lower. They came, suddenly, out from between two red cedars, into the overgrown yard of an old house.

It was a two story house, built probably eighty years ago. On first glance, it looked like there wasn’t a speck of paint left on the clapboards that covered the exterior walls, but as they got closer, Bobby could see the remnants of white paint, adhering here and there. Most of the windows were flat, glaring panes, covered in years of dirt that made them almost impossible to see through. Two windows, one upstairs and another downstairs, were missing. Even the struts between where there had been smaller panes were missing. Pale ragged cloth moved, in the desultory breeze that was blowing, coming out of the gaping holes, and then drifting back in.

An old rope hung straight from an oak tree, with the tire lying under it that had once been tied to it. There were a few small outbuildings still standing, but the barn, once large, for its time, had collapsed in on itself over the years. Bobby could see that much of the roofing had blown off of the house, and rafters showed through. He knew that the upstairs portion of the place would be a wreck.

“I found this one day,” she said. “It always makes me sad to see it.”

“It is sad,” Bobby agreed.

“They left all kinds of stuff behind,” she said, perking up. “There’s some neat stuff in there. Come on ... I’ll show you.”

The former occupants of the house had, indeed, left all sorts of belongings behind. The cupboards in the kitchen were full of old dishes, and the drawers were full of the kinds of implements that had been popular in about 1940. A pantry, off the kitchen, still held jars, bottles and a few rusty cans, with no labels on them. Linens had been left too, but mice had long ago chewed them up for nests.

The rooms were mostly empty, though some pieces of furniture were still where they’d been. There was a huge old dry sink against one wall, and a wardrobe looking thing, covered in tin, with holes pierced in it to make designs. The only thing in it was a stack of ten or fifteen rusty pie pans. The parlor still had a rug nailed to the floor, but it was so faded and rotten that the pattern couldn’t be discerned. That room turned out to have one of the windows with no glass in it. It looked out towards what, at one time, had been the front of the property. As Bobby stood, looking out, he could see the ruts that had been a driveway. They cut off abruptly when they hit a field of stubble. The road into the place had been plowed over. That, he thought, was why he hadn’t known this place existed. There was no longer any way to get to it, other than the way they had come, or driving over a wheat field.

“Stay right there,” Christy commanded, taking her camera out of her knapsack. “You’re backlit by the window. It’s a good shot.” She had him put one hand up on the side of the window, and look out, while she chose the angle she wanted to shoot from. She took the picture, and then moved.

“Back up a little,” she said.

He did, and she nodded. “I can see your features now.” Again, she had him stare out the window and, through the viewfinder, with the limp, torn curtains hanging there, he looked young, in the midst of ruin.

“Take off your shirt,” she said.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt,” she repeated.

He did, and she stood, looking at his naked chest for the first time.

“Look at all that muscle,” she sighed. She pulled the camera up and looked through it. “Tense up,” she ordered him.

“This is silly,” he said, grinning. She snapped a shot of his grinning face.

“No it’s not,” she said. “The window is all straight lines. The curtains are softer lines, and you’re all curves and bumps.”

He tightened his chest muscles, feeling silly. She told him to turn just his head, and look out the window. She took a picture, made an adjustment of some kind to the camera, and took another one.

“Beautiful,” she said, admiring his chest.

“You take off your shirt,” he said, grinning.

“I’m not wearing a shirt,” she said, firmly.

“Well, whatever you’re wearing, you should have to take it off too,” he said. “This isn’t fair at all.”

“Dream on, buster,” she said, smiling at him. “Now, bend over and lean out the window with your elbows on the sill.”

He did, and she walked around him, taking pictures. She told him to stay there, and went outside, to take more, of his upper torso, leaning out the window.

She came back in and looked around for more shots.

“You’re really good with that thing,” he said. “And I really mean it when I say thank you for taking the pictures of my sisters.”

“That really was fun,” she said. “Your sisters are gorgeous.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s hard on a brother, when his sisters are that good looking.”

“Awwww, poor baby,” she cooed. “Does Bobby have a stiffy?”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “But not because of them. Bobby has a stiffy because of that outfit.”

“This old thing?” she said, surveying her body. The halter top didn’t bulge much.

“I notice you didn’t paint in it,” he said.

She dimpled at him, and then went back to looking for another shot. She looked at the dry sink. Telling him to stand there, she went and got various old dishes and jars, and arranged them on the sink. The whole thing gave the impression of faded age.

She posed him there, but wasn’t satisfied. She told him to put his shirt back on, but shook her head and told him to remove it again. He grinned at her the whole time.

“Take your pants off too,” she said.

“I thought I was the one trying to get you naked,” he said.

“I know what I’m doing, here,” she said, ignoring his banter.

He stared at her for a few seconds, and his hands went to his belt.

Christy was in the grip of something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She was seeing pictures in her mind again, and it felt good. Her creative juices were going, and she knew what look she was going for with this. She just hadn’t seen it yet. Her mind was more on the composition of the shot, than on what she had just told him to do. When she saw him standing in just his underwear, though, she had a little reality break. She lowered the camera and stared at him.

His chest and arms weren’t the only muscled part of him. His thighs were cords of muscle, clearly defined. If she’d known the names of them, she could easily have pointed and said those names.

There also appeared to be an impressive ‘muscle’ inside his jockey shorts.

She lifted the camera, and looked through it. The shot was perfect. The faded, dusty furniture, with the antique items on it, were the perfect antithesis of his youthful rounded form. It looked perfect ... except for the shorts.

“The shorts have to come off too,” she said, still looking through the lens.

“I know you like to flirt,” he said. “But this is ridiculous.”

“Just take them off!” she said, a little too loudly.

Through the lens, she saw him bend over, and saw the white slide down to his ankles. She saw him step out of them, and toss them on top of his other clothing. She saw him stand up. Everything through the lens looked small ... far away, but it looked right, to her creative mind.

“Drape one hand on the edge of the sink,” she said. He did, and she had him move his feet, and then bend forward just a hair. She looked over the top of the camera, not really seeing any detail, just imagining the shot. He looked tense.

“Relax,” she said. “You’re all stiff.”

“Not yet, but I will be soon,” he said softly.

She didn’t so much ignore him, as she was busy thinking about other things. The light meter said she had enough light for the f-stop she was using, but she wanted a tighter aperture, so the depth of field would be longer. She’d have to use a slower shutter speed.

“Can you stand really still for half a second?” she asked, still looking through the lens.

“I think so,” he said calmly.

She took the camera down, and looked at it, while she made the adjustments, and brought it back up. She told him to freeze, and took the picture. Then she brought the camera down, and actually looked at him.

He relaxed, moving a little bit, but now it was Christy who froze.

He took her breath away. He was just beautiful. His penis was hanging ... lying on top of balls that looked swollen and full. She felt her nipples crinkle in the halter top, and her stomach did flip-flops. She stared at him so long that he spoke.

“What now?” he asked.

“What now?” her mind reverberated. What was now was for her to touch him. Her fingers almost itched at the thought of exploring that gorgeous, muscled body.

“Christy?” he probed verbally.

“I ... um ... uh...” she stuttered. “That was ... perfect.”

“So I should get dressed again?”

“No!“ she yelped. “There are others ... lots of others.”

“You planned all this?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” she gasped. “But this is perfect. You have no idea.”

She forced her mind to think about pictures, and pictures of this overwhelming male body leapt into her mind.

She had him go back to the window, and go through the same poses as before. She licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry, as she looked over the camera at his raw male appeal.

She took him all over the house, and then outside the house, taking picture after picture of his naked form, holding tools, leaning against a tree, bent over, as if he was picking something up, and various other poses. Throughout it all, she felt more and more passion building in her, as he let her manipulate him.

Back inside the kitchen, she posed him in the pantry door, one hand up, above his head on the jamb, leaning negligently, his thick penis hanging between slightly spread legs. He was the epitome of maleness, and she was wet between her thighs.

“I still don’t think it’s fair that I’m the only one running around here naked,” he said.

“I can’t get naked with you,” she moaned.

“Why not?” he asked, grinning.

“Because something will happen!” she groaned.

“I’d like to have some pictures of you too,” he said. “Can you teach me how to work the camera?”

“Okay,” she blurted, anxious for any task to take her mind off of his naked form. “Get dressed and I’ll teach you.”

“I’ve kind of gotten used to being naked, now,” he teased.

She was so flustered that she just showed him what to do, setting the camera for the light that was there, in the kitchen. He had her lean against the counter. She felt silly, with him there, naked, and herself as the focal point of a photograph.

“Now it’s you who needs to relax,” he said.

She realized she was, in fact, tense. She rolled her shoulders, and tried to relax. She heard the shutter click.

He didn’t have much imagination. He just posed her in some of the same places that she had posed him ... in the window ... and by the dry sink.

“I see what you mean,” he said, as she stood by the dry sink.

“What?” she said.

“The clothes really ruin the effect.”

“You’re trying to get me naked again,” she moaned.

“Yes, Ma’am, I am,” he said. “I’ve seen you that way already, you know.”