Big Hard Girls
Page 36
I wanted to believe she was a woman. I wanted to un-see that strange picture of that shaft teetering out from her panties. It must have been wrong. I didn’t even want to look at it again. I’d already convinced myself that I’d just seen some strange motion blur. She was beautiful—no trap has ever been as beautiful as her. She was convincing—and her voice was convincing. No biological male can make a voice like that.
A tingle ran through my body. But what if that picture was correct and my eyes weren’t tricking me? What if she was a trap, all dolled up, and truly convincing? What if she had a little sissy cock hidden in her panties? A smile crossed my face.
I’d always had a bit of a trap fantasy. Back in college, a friend of mine dated a trap. We all made fun of him until we met her. She was super nice, and fairly convincing. She would always look at me with this heart piercing half-grin, as if she wanted to desperately suck my cock. For months I fantasized about her every time I jerked off in the shower. She ended up dumping him and running off to Greece with some tourist she met at work, so I never got the chance to have a go at her.
But now, I might have been standing before an even cuter trap—and a trap that was very possibly single. Maybe she really just wanted these pictures for her dating profile. I often got girls asking me to shoot them for their escort profiles online. I usually declined the shoots, but I’m sure I’d done many for girls who just didn’t tell me that’s what they were using the photos for. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Larissa actually wanted photos of me coming on her face for her prostitution profile.
Jenn came out from the bathroom looking beautiful, as expected. My gaze went quickly down to her crotch. There was a slight bulge there, but nothing telling. The bralette top was almost completely flat to her chest. She either had A-cups or a boy’s chest—and there was no way of knowing without asking outright.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Me? I’m fine,” I said.
“Your face is white,” she said.
I forced a smile. “Oh—I’m just a bit hungry I think,” I said, lying.
“We can order some food if you want,” she said. “I can pay for it, seeing as you paid for all of this.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Unless you’re hungry.”
“I could eat,” she said. Then she went over to the hotel restaurant menu that was propped up on the desk. “Why don’t we just order this platter for two that they have. It’s only twenty-five bucks.” She went to the phone without waiting for my confirmation. She picked it up and dialled the restaurant. Then she looked back at me with a smile. “What room are we?” she asked.
“1108,” I said.
She turned back towards the wall and I looked down at her ass. She had a perky ass that belonged on magazine covers. I’d never seen a trap with an ass like that, but that didn’t mean one thing or the other. She ordered the food and then she turned around with a big, cute smile on her face. “They said it should be up in ten minutes. Is your card done offloading?”
She was definitely loosening up, letting go of that anxiety and exchanging it for some spunk. I got my camera set up and we kept shooting, moving over to the window for a few poses, and then over to the big sofa chair in the corner for a few more poses. I got down on my knees whenever possible, hoping to get a good shot between her legs. I snapped a few while she was crossing one leg over the other, though I didn’t stop to zoom in on my shots and inspect for a cock. I would have to do that later.
The food came. We ate while we shot. I got some cute pictures of Jenn dangling cured meat into her mouth, and then I got some shots of her drinking more wine. She was on her fourth glass already and she hardly seemed buzzed. I’d never seen a woman drink so much without getting sloppy—except for my friend’s trap ex-girlfriend. So maybe it was true. Maybe Jenn was hiding a bit of extra meat between her plump thighs.
I was getting buzzed myself, stumbling slightly whenever I went for those hard-to-get shots. We did one set of shots while I was standing over her, pointing the camera down. She gently cupped her small breasts and bit her bottom lip, looking cuter than ever. The sight made my nerves tingle. I was worried I was about to get an erection while standing over her, so I climbed down to change up my angle.
We ended up ordering another tray of food, and then we ordered up some more wine, because we ran out. We chatted lots between poses and outfits. Jenn was funny—she was always quick to make a joke, and her laugh was downright adorable. I switched back to my wide lens so that I could get up close. She was wearing a nice perfume—it was a little bit oaky, and a little bit floral.
“I think your boyfriend will really love these pictures,” I said.
She laughed. “My boyfriend? What boyfriend?”
“Didn’t you say these were for your boyfriend?”
She giggled again. “No. They’re for my modelling portfolio.”
“Oh, that’s right. The girl I shot the other day—those were for her boyfriend.” I was lying, of course. It was just my way of finding out if she was single, and it sounded like she was indeed single. Maybe I would make a move. She was certainly tipsy enough now that she would probably go for it. She was loose and having fun, and she was occasionally looking into my eyes with that look that girls make when they’re feeling a little bit frisky. My heart rate was starting to increase.
“For this next pose, I want you on your side, with your hand comfortably on your hip, and your other hand holding up your head—yes, just like that. Maybe open your legs up just a bit.” She giggled and then opened her legs up as asked, and that’s when a bit of her ball sack slipped loose. I could see it with my own eyes. I didn’t need to zoom in or enhance any footage—it was right there, and she didn’t even notice it.
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat but it wouldn’t go down. My head was suddenly spinning and my heart was pounding. I held the camera up to my face and I stared at that loose testicle. There was no mistaking it—it was not any bit of labia. I cleared my throat.
“Okay—I got it,” I said. “I think that’s it.” I forced a smile. I could feel the colour draining from my face. I wasn’t sure if I was excited or terrified. A part of me wanted to make a move on her and another part of me wanted to rush her out of that hotel suite, so that I could be alone to process what I’d just seen.
“This was fun,” she said, putting her coat on over her lingerie, the way a prostitute in a rush would. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“Yeah, totally,” I said. I was tempted to wipe the cold sweat off of my forehead. I said nothing else as I watched her go to the door. She turned and said goodbye, and all I was able to do was wave. Once she was gone, I sat down quickly on the edge of the bed, worried my legs would give out if I kept standing upright.
CHAPTER III
I took well over a thousand photos during our session. Now I had to pick just a dozen to process and send back to her. There were so many to choose from, but the best photo of the lot was unfortunately the last photo we took that night, of Jenn on her side with her ball sack hanging out the side of her little panties. I thought about editing the ball sack out, but I ultimately decided it would be too much work. So I picked twelve photos that didn’t have any wardrobe malfunctions.
It took me a whole day to properly process those shots. I found myself in a constantly state of disbelief, staring at Jenn’s face from shot to shot. She was so beautiful, but how was it possible? Her cheekbones were so prominent and her lips were so plump… Did she have a surgery done? If she’d undergone surgery, why hadn’t she had her tits done, or her cock? Maybe she wasn’t a fulltime female. Maybe she got home after our shoot and washed everything off and then went out to the clubs to hit on girls. Maybe Jenn was just a cross dresser, and not even a proper tranny.
It looked like she was taking hormones—she must have been, to have a face like she had, and soft, radiant skin like she had. But there was no proof that she was taking anything. Surely if she was taking hormones, she
would have more than just tiny A-cups, no? I had one photo of her on her hands and knees in her first outfit, and in that photo I could see down her top. I couldn’t quite see nipples, but I could see that there was no bust. But strangely, she didn’t even try padding her chest with anything. She just embraced her bust-free chest. And somehow she still looked curvy.
It wasn’t long into the editing process before I had a big erection. No man can stare for hours at pictures of a beautiful girl in lingerie without getting a boner. But strangely, I kept finding myself returning to those few pictures where her panties failed to hold everything in. I kept finding myself staring at her ball sack, and staring at her shaft in that one photo where I first realized Jenn wasn’t exactly as she seemed.
It wasn’t until late that night that I sent the photos off to Jenn. It was always a nervous few hours, waiting to find out if the model approves. It wasn’t until the next morning when Jenn replied with, “I love them so much! Thank you!”
“If you ever want to shoot again, just let me know,” I said. And she replied with a smiling emoji and nothing else.
And then I waited for those pictures to pop up on the local modelling platforms. I found myself constantly refreshing all of the local model/photographer Facebook pages, and looking through all of the new photos on the Model Hire website, with the location set to my town. But those photos didn’t pop up. For days I kept checking back, but the photos never popped up. So I navigated over to Jenn’s Facebook page, which I could still find by searching her e-mail address. She hadn’t posted them there either. Maybe she didn’t actually like the pictures. Maybe she was just being nice when she said ‘I love them so much!’ Maybe she hated them.
I pulled the photos open and looked at them all closely. They were good photos—great, even. They were some of the best photos I’d ever taken, though maybe I only thought that because I thought Jenn was more attractive than any of the models I’d ever photographed.
It was a week later and my anxiety was still high, even after completing three more paid shoots. I didn’t bother to see if Larissa had posted her photos anywhere, and I didn’t bother to check to see if any of the other models had poster their pictures anywhere—so why did I care so much about Jenn? It’s not like she was a famous or even budding new model. It’s not like I needed the exposure.
I didn’t actually care if she posted the photos or now—I only cared that she liked them. I wanted her to like them because I wanted her to reach back out to me for another shoot. I wanted another shot at her, so I could get more pictures in more outfits, and so I could possibly make a move. It was all I could think about: kissing those lips, feeling her smooth skin, and rubbing my cock against hers. It was a long-time fantasy that I finally had a chance to entertain, and I blew it. I could have made my move at the end of that night, after our second bottle of wine. There were plenty of moments when her eyes were shining and she was ripe and stunning. But I froze up. I saw that glimmer of testicle hanging out the side of her panties, and I chickened out.
Because maybe I liked that my trap fantasy was just a fantasy. Maybe I didn’t want to ruin it by making it into a reality and finding out that fucking a trap isn’t any more fun than fucking a proper woman. Maybe it’s even less fun. Maybe it’s just messy and dry and uncomfortable for both parties. Or maybe it’s the best thing ever, and I missed my chance…
It was ten days after the shoot when I decided to search Google for all of the pictures I sent her, to see if they’d been posted anywhere. I couldn’t find any results, so I ended up using a special website that does a much more thorough search than Google, and even that search didn’t turn up any results. I kept telling myself that there was probably a good reason—maybe Jenn had just gone and had the photos printed. Maybe she was going to modelling agencies the old school way, with a binder full of printed shots. Maybe she wasn’t much of a tech girl—her Facebook page only had five pictures on it, after all.
I accepted this theory—at least I tried to. I moved Jenn’s pictures onto my hard drive where I stored all of my old photos and then I deleted them off of my computer, so I wouldn’t be tormented by them every time I opened up Photoshop.
I also accepted the fact that I’d missed my chance to sleep with a beautiful trap. It was probably for the best—at least that’s what I kept telling myself. I went into my e-mail and I scanned through all of the models begging to shoot TFP. I found a cute girl with perky cheekbones and big, heavy tits. Her name was Kyla and she was looking to start a portfolio. She was a senior in high school, unemployed and broke, and she mentioned twice in her e-mail that she was eighteen. “I really want to be a model but I have no idea where to start,” she said. Normally I would have passed her by. She was cute but her inexperience was seeping through her iPhone selfies that she included in her e-mail inquiry. I knew she would be tough to work with—tough to pose and she wasn’t legally old enough to drink. But the other options in my e-mail inbox weren’t exciting by any means, so I messaged her back.
“Hi Kyla, I’d love to do a shoot with you. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”
She replied quickly, with lots of emojis, which made me question whether she really was eighteen or if she just felt she needed to say that for me to photograph her. “Tomorrow is perfect,” she said. So I started planning the shoot—the perfect escape from my Jenn-related anxiety.
I decided not to spend too much money on Kyla, seeing as she wasn’t spending any money on me and the photos likely wouldn’t even end up in my portfolio. So I scheduled the shoot in a park at the edge of town. It had nice trees and it was hardly ever used by people—especially in March, while the snow was still frozen to the ground.
I didn’t even bring along any lights or special equipment—just my camera and my smaller lens bag, with my 35mm, 50mm, and 85mm. It was more than enough for a shoot with a high-school girl who had probably never even seen a real camera before.
She was at the park early, before I even got there—which was the first sign that she wasn’t a professional model. Professional models are always at least five minutes late, and never early. So I had to awkwardly scout out the woods for nice spots while she stood there watching me. Then she watched me as I set up my camera and pulled out my look book. I didn’t like it when models saw my look book—I liked to make them think that all of my ideas were in my head, and not pulled from various sources on the Internet. But she was so shy, I’m not sure she even really noticed.
She stood stiff the whole time, not saying anything. I had a bottle of vodka in my bag and a pair of shot glasses, but I knew I could get in trouble for breaking them out. She wasn’t legal drinking age, but she needed to relax if we were going to get anything useful from the shoot. “Why don’t we start with some basic poses? I’ll put the 35mm on for some full-frame shots,” I said, and then she stared back at me with a blank expression.
So I forced a smile and said, “Let’s start with your hands on your hips, standing upright.” She didn’t know the lingo—new models usually didn’t know the lingo. But it didn’t matter if she knew the lingo or if she posed well or if the photos ended up online or not. I wasn’t there to get nice photos. I was there to get my mind away from Jenn and her big, hidden package.
Kyla put her hands on her hips and stood upright, and she looked very nervous. I snapped a couple of photos. She flinched every time the shutter went off. I paused and thought about offering her some vodka. I could tell by looking at her that she was definitely the type of girl to sneak out and go to parties. It wouldn’t have been her first shot of vodka, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to end up getting in trouble when her parents smelled vodka on her breath when she got home.
“Try to relax,” I said. “Just move around and pose however you want. Every time you hear the snap, just change it up.” I snapped a few shots, but she didn’t move. Her eyes were wide and her skin was pale. I’ll never understand why girls think they want to be models but they can’t even breathe in front of a camera…
I gave the liquor a few minutes to work its way through her system. And then I got my camera out, took a few steps back, and started snapping away. With each passing minute, she was becoming more and more comfortable, letting her shoulders down, spinning and posing without me having to say anything. She asked if she could have another shot. I poured her one and then I went to check my look book, to see if there were specific poses I wanted to get. When I looked up, I saw that she was pouring herself a drink. She stumbled slightly and then she giggled. So I went and grabbed the bottle. “That’s probably enough. We don’t want you too relaxed,” I said with a smile.
She tapped me on the nose and said, “You’re cute.”
I switched to a tighter lens and got some nice portraits. She was staring right down the lens now without any hesitation, as if she was trying to seduce the camera. She bit her bottom lip, and then she even licked her lips. I kept snapped the camera and she kept changing up her pose. I paused briefly when she reached up and grabbed both of her tits and squeezed them. Then she giggled and said, “Is that too much?”
I shook my head. “There’s no such thing as too much,” I said. She took her tits and started bouncing them up and down. She was giggling and snorting. She stumbled slightly but caught herself. She was too drunk for the shoot now. None of the poses looked even a little bit professional anymore. She was just goofing around and having a laugh.