Nate has his camera packed up already, and shoves his tripod under his arm. Something about him like this is hot. Nate has always been attractive to me. Serious crushes only eventuate into more once you’re a tween and at that age I’d had my interest taken from me, so I’d missed the chance to do anything but gawk at Nate.
I get in his car where he’s taking me to parkland, a spot he loves going to for shoots. There are hills and little valleys and even swamps that offer hideouts perfect for seclusion. He’d offered me a studio room in an official building where photographers rented out spaces, but I don’t care what the situation is; I’m not being alone with a guy in a soundproof, closed-off studio. A car? Yeah, it sounds stupid but everyone can see in, and if things get rough I’ve prepared myself years ago to just open the door, roll out, and hope to survive.
As Nate finds a spot between a tree and a small swamp, I decide to change. Right there. I drop my coat, my eyes locked on Nate’s face.
He’s in such a trance he doesn’t notice the slow motion tip of his tripod. It falls incredibly slowly and, panicking, I manage to yell out, “Your tripod!”
After a swift grab, it falls into his hands. Still he stands there, camera in hand, eyes locked on my cleavage.
“Holy shit. That bombshell almost cost me thousands.” He winks.
Naturally.
Playing nice, I find some privacy and change into my clothes. This isn’t a popular spot since the nice views and play equipment are in different sections, but I make sure I’m out of Nate’s view. I’d hate for him to risk ruining that equipment again, since he seems so affected by my nakedness.
Nate apparently thought I’d look gorgeous in this 50s top and ruffled skirt thing. The hosiery takes forever for me to put on, with me trying not to poke holes in them, and once I have the skirt on the tight waist squeezes the life out of me. Needless to say, Nate’s shoot starts off bad.
He has me posing, hand to hip, swivelled to the camera. Then he tries seeing if I’d be comfortable on the grass, so I lie in various positions and he gets me curling on my side, always with the ruffles fanned over my calves in a way that looks beautiful on everyone—except me.
I don’t know what to do with this skirt. The ruffles move everywhere and one marginal gust of wind makes me mad at how silly I look. Add this to my breathless state with this waistband sucking the air from me, and I’m far from the beautiful model Nate thought he was getting.
“Nate, stop.”
He pulls away from the viewfinder and his eyebrows crease. Not that he can’t tell how bad it’s going, but he’s still torn up about it, I’m sure.
“Another costume?”
“No, changing won’t help …” The thought drifts off. “Actually, do you have a trailer?”
“We can rent one.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
We pop into a thrift store on our way back with the trailer and manage to find an old piano, scuffed, exquisite and loved. Nate is still a bit clueless but I pay for the piano and he loads it into the trailer anyway and takes us back to the spot.
With the midday sun on us, it’s heated up a bit. I’m going to shiver, but he can always Photoshop out my goose bumps.
I climb on top of the piano. I’m hoping it’s sturdy, and if not …
Nate doesn’t ask questions. He watches me through the viewfinder and I hear the clicks as I slink out of my coat, arch my back and kick my legs up. With so much bare skin and my legs dangling from my thighs to my toes, the breeze is cold. Instinctively, I grab my breasts and knead my fingers around them until they’re comfortably hidden from the sharp breeze. Lace isn’t exactly warming.
I feel terrible for wasting more time, but I need to make sure Nate gets the best shoot possible. He’s gone out on a limb asking plain ol’ me to be his model, and freezing fingers and toes makes looking seductive in this weather like trying to smile as someone throws you butt-naked on stage.
I know it’s autumn, I know the 1950s outfit was all nice and such, but I’m horrible at pretending to be someone I’m not. Someone like Scout could do a beautiful shoot like that. She can play sweet when it counts and it’ll get her far in life, unlike me who is forever sour. I don’t know why I’m like that half the time.
Trying to warm my feet up comfortably isn’t working this way so I curl up on my side, a foot curled near my ass and a knee poking forward. I squeeze one arm under my bust to retain some warmth and splay out the other.
That’s when I notice the camera is still going off. Lost in my own world, I don’t know how many minutes have passed, but when Nate knows I’ve noticed, he stops clicking and strides over to me.