Photographing Nata

Please note this story does not reach climax like all my other stories do. This story is about the adoration and sexuality of the female form.

It was a typical New York gallery opening. The din of humanity clashed and echoed against the hard white surfaces and the art jumped off the walls in a Munch silent scream. I had been in and out of the New York art scene for the second half of my fifty plus years and, while the faces and places changed over the years, the basic vibe of an opening had somehow stayed the same. With complimentary glass of cabernet in hand, I circulated through the high-ceilinged gallery, surveying the crowd, separating the world into starving artists, moneyed patrons and the rest of us.

I was scanning the large space for the fourteenth time, wine goblet tipped to my palette when I saw her over the rim of my glass. She entered the gallery with a flourish and my attention was riveted by her sudden presence and purpose. She strode confidently, cutting a swift arc through the gallery crowd and up to the owner, whom she embraced as an old friend. I was drawn to her immediately.

Now Manhattan has way more than its share of beautiful women. They're everywhere; on every street corner and in every neighborhood. One gets inured to the preponderance of beauty after awhile and begins to accept it as commonplace. So I am always intrigued by the sensors that go off in my brain when I see a beautiful woman that strongly draws my attention more than most. It's some sort of unspoken vibe or pose that sets certain women apart. Perhaps it's their confident demeanor or otherworldly allure. I've never been able to put my finger on it, really. But certain women attract me at a visceral level that transcends good looks and a beautiful body.

She was tall and had a slender model's build. Her high heeled boots added a couple inches to her long lithe frame. Her long wavy hair was brown and parted to the side. It came below her shoulders and bounced lusciously as she walked. Her face was strong and intense with deep set brown eyes and well defined bone structure. She was beautiful in a sort of Germanic way. Her skin was pale and glowed with a smooth luminescent quality.

She wore a short denim jacket over a white blouse and a flowing mauve silk skirt that swayed with her body as she walked. I couldn't help but notice the pert round ass that twitched beguilingly under the thin fabric. I found myself wondering what kind of panties, if any, she was wearing. She'd been in the gallery for less than a minute. How could I be having such intimate thoughts?

She moved and stood with the grace of a dancer. She engaged Mario, the owner of the gallery, in an intense exchange, with hands on her hips and her proud butt protruding at a judicious angle. The thin silk hugged her tight little ass, then flared loosely to just above her knees.

I felt her seductive force as I orbited the room, spinning in her gravitational pull, and observed her from varying angles and viewpoints. I wanted to cup her buttocks and knead her buns through the thin silk. I suddenly realized I was entering into that erotically charged zone I sometimes stumble into and I took a sip of wine, cleared my throat and began to circulate again, my line of sight never straying far from this strident beauty.

"What's up Ozzie?"

I was brought back to the real world by the voice of my long-time buddy, Brian.

"Hey Bri. Not much bro. But, you might be able to help me out."

Brian smirked at me with a knowing look.

"Who is she?" he chided.

"Am I that transparent?" I mumbled.

"Most of the time. Yes. Now, how can I help you?"

"Well, see the young lady talking to Mario?" I jerked my head in their general direction. Brian surveyed the scene quickly and smiled at me broadly.

"Jesus, Ozzie. You know how to pick 'em."

"Enlighten me."

Brian gave me a bemused look and continued.

"Her name is Nata, short for Renata. She's a sculptor, former model, perpetual student, entrepreneur, and a man-eater. And, from what I've heard, she is hot beyond hot."

I hadn't heard much past the Nata part.

"Lord, she's beautiful, Bri. You need to introduce me to her," I pleaded in my most beguiling voice.

"Not sure she's your type, or vice versa. You're old enough to be her father. But if the opportunity arises, I'll steer her your way. You may hate me for it in the morning," Brian joked.

"I'll take my chances. Thanks."

I figured this was going nowhere, despite our clever repartee, so I headed back into the fray and was in the middle of a meaningless conversation with an art dealer when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Brian smiling broadly and the lovely Nata at his side.

"Ozzie, I wanted to introduce you to Nata. She's a very fine sculptor. And Ozzie here is a renowned portrait photographer. You may have seen some of his work around."

Nata smiled in a sultry way and held out her hand. I was transfixed.

"Can't say that I have, but I love photography," she said to no one in particular.

Brian bowed out without a word and suddenly we were face to face. I took her hand and felt her slender, but powerful, grip. Her skin was warm and her hand lingered just a second too long after our handshake. I got lost in her deep eyes and smiled back.

"The pleasure is mine, Nata. Nice to meet you.

She smiled and I blundered ahead.

"I couldn't help but notice your entrance before. You are quite stunning, if you don't mind my being blunt. And honest," I added.

She gave me a bemused look and we were off to the races. Sometimes the beauty of a woman from afar doesn't hold up on closer inspection. Nata was quite the opposite. Once I was within her sphere, talking to her at close range, I was drawn to her strong physical presence and intoxicating eyes. She was even more beautiful and alluring from her inner orbit.

I found out she was of Baltic descent, a former ballerina, turned model, turned artist. She had a distinctive Eastern European accent that I found extremely sexy. She was a student, owned a small fashion business, wrote fiction and was an all-around Renaissance woman. Once the general introductions were out of the way we talked about our art; she about her sculpture projects and me about my photography. While portrait photography is my bread and butter, and has always paid the bills, black and white art photography is still what sustains me and brings me the most pleasure and joy.

I was careful to not take up too much of her time. But as we parted company, I gave her my card and told her to check out my website. She smiled and said what a pleasure it had been meeting me, then turned and walked away. I watched her perfect wiggling little butt fade into the crowd and sighed. I figured that was the end of the story: a pleasant conversation with a beautiful young woman half my age. I left a little while later and headed out into the Chelsea night, knowing full well whom I would have liked to have had on my arm.

So it was with surprise that I picked up the phone a few days later and Nata was on the other end.

"Hi Ozzie. I hope I'm not bothering you. Listen, I was looking at your website this afternoon and...well, I have a proposition for you."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I waited for her to continue.

"I'm working on a project right now and I need some photography assistance."

"Nata, I'd be happy to help. If you've got some pieces that you need shot, it would be my privilege."

My heart was racing with the fact that this beautiful young lady was reaching out to me. Little did I know, at that moment, what was in store for me.

"Well, thank you. But it's not exactly finished pieces that I need help with. Let me explain. I'm working on a new collection right now that centers on the human body. Basically my sculptures are loosely based on the contours of the body, in an abstract and exaggerated scale. And what I need is....well, this a little embarrassing, but...what I need is someone to photograph me. Up close. Black and white, preferably." There was a pause. "Think of them as artistic or erotic nudes."

I caught my breath and hoped she hadn't heard. I did my best to maintain my composure. She continued.

"My intent is to use these photographs as bases for this sculpture project; sculptures based on the human body, but at such a scale and dimension that the true inspiration will be somewhat difficult, but not impossible, to detect. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does. And it's an honor to be asked. But I have to say, that's not the kind of photography I usually do. I mean, there are probably a lot of talented photographers that are more skilled and experienced with this sort of thing. I've done virtually no nude photography, to be quite blunt."

What the hell was I doing? Trying to talk her out of it? But it's what came out of my mouth and I waited for a reply.

"Well, actually, that's why I want you to photograph me. First, I can see from your website how talented you are; what a good eye you have and how sensitive you are to lighting and shadows. Secondly, I don't want someone who has preconceived ideas on how to photograph the nude form. And, finally, I want to be very involved in directing the shoot and figured that we'd find a nice balance in terms of figuring out how to get out of the shoot what I want."

It was hard to argue with logic like that. I heaved a silent sigh of relief and acquiesced to her request.

"But I would have a hard time charging you for what might end up being a big experiment. Let me offer my services as a gesture of friendship and we'll see how it works."

"That sounds wonderful. I'm sure we'll find some way for me to repay you for your kindness. Thank you. So do you have a studio that might work for this project?"

"I do. My studio is on the Lower East Side and has a large north facing bay window filled with a mattress covered window seat. And I have props – chairs, a bed, a table – that can be used in creative ways. I'm sure we can figure it out."

"Do you have a macro lens?" she asked.

"I do. And a very good one at that."

I could almost hear her smile through the telephone. We talked logistics and made a date to meet the following Thursday in the early afternoon. I hung up the phone in a daze. I could not believe that I would be photographing this lovely creature in my studio; alone and nude. It was too much to process and I let the whole idea percolate over the next few days as I went about my normal business.

I've worked hard over the years to keep myself in shape. Entering my fifties shortly after my second divorce forced me to work even harder at maintaining my wiry physique. My interest in sex has certainly not waned with the passing of time, and I actually find my appetite for the opposite sex, especially for younger women, has become even more voracious in my middle years. I shave my head, but keep a trim white beard and have quite convinced myself that an abundance of testosterone is to blame for the lack of follicles. I do my best to maintain a look appropriate for the type of photography I do and the type of client I tend to attract.

While I had done a little bit of erotic photography over the years, it had been a miniscule percentage of my body of work. But a photo is a photo and I figured that my skills in working with people and their bodies, albeit clothed bodies, would come in handy. And certainly my familiarity with the light in my studio would go a long way in creating a perfect atmosphere for the type of shoot she seemed to want. I went through the next week with gathering anticipation as to where this would all lead.

Thursday afternoon found me puttering around the studio, trying to give it an unstudied artistic flare. I felt guilty at trying to pose my studio, but I wanted Nata's first impression to be a good one. I arranged things the way I thought they should be, then left them to make whatever impression they may. I didn't want to admit it, but I was incredibly nervous about her impending visit and unsure as to whether I had misinterpreted her signals.

I wore a faded pair of tight jeans and a white designer tee shirt with no shoes. For some reason I've always photographed shoeless, somehow feeling it connects me to the subject; one of those weird idiosyncrasies that may not make much sense to anyone other than me.

I prepared my cameras, much the way I would have for any visiting model, and busied myself with minutiae until I heard the doorbell ring. I buzzed her in, waited the appropriate time and then opened the door as Nata came up the last run of stairs. She smiled ignominiously and strode by me and into the studio. I admired the rear view as she entered. She wore tight jeans and an oversized sweater, hiding her assets, but in a way that teased and beguiled. She walked in, stood with her hands on her hips and smiled broadly as she surveyed the scene.

"Very nice, Ozzie. Just the way I pictured it."

I smiled under my breath and lightly placed my hand gently on her back as I led her into the inner sanctum. I waved my hands as I presented my skylit bay and various props. She nodded her approval and looked me straight in the eye.

"This is perfect. Give me a few minutes to get ready and we'll get started."

"Would you mind if I put on some soft music?" I queried.

"That would be nice," she said over her shoulder as she headed toward the bathroom.

I punched in a Pierre Bensusan mix, set the volume so it was background and turned to busy myself while awaiting her return. I cleaned my lenses (one more time) and rebooted my computer, but it was all nervous effort and would have been totally transparent to anyone watching with a clue. I felt embarrassed and ashamed for my nervousness, but bridled with the sheer thought of what was to come.

I was sweeping a few errant crumbs from the cushion when the bathroom door opened and Nata emerged. I tried not to stare, but I was a pretty hopeless wreck at this point. She was wearing a thin red satin robe and was barefoot. I tried to bring myself back to reality and realize that this was, after all, just another project. It was a study in light and form; shades and shadows. I reverted rather quickly to my professional demeanor and gathered up my cameras and began to direct traffic.

"So how would you like to start, Nata?"

She wandered over toward the skylit bay without saying a word; the soft northern light grazing her form. She stood by the window seat with her back turned toward me. I could see her look down and then undo the tie in front of the robe. She reached up, then, and slipped the robe off her shoulders. It fell onto the curve of her protruding ass for a second, then quickly fell to the floor in a silken heap, unveiling her totally naked body in the soft light. I stood transfixed by her form, her shape and her silken skin.

I've seen my share of women, nude and otherwise, and I've photographed some exquisite ladies, albeit clothed, over the years. Nothing prepared me for the awe at seeing such tender beauty exposed in such a matter-of-fact way. I cleared my throat and tried to determine my next move. But before I could make a suggestion, Nata stepped in, as she had suggested she would.

"Why don't we start here on the window seat? Start far away and work your way in," she said.

I could see the soft slope of her left breast as she turned slightly to say her piece. I tried to look into her eyes as she turned, but I was having a hard time not leering at the wonderful form of her legs, back and ass.

Nata had an absolutely exquisite body. Her skin was pale, but smooth; her legs lean and shapely. Her ass was round, tight and in perfect proportion to her hips and legs. Her ass sloped up to a tiny little waist that flared north to a tapered back that was capped by square shoulders and a cascading wave of long brown hair.

"Sounds like a plan," I quipped, realizing I was sounding shallow and befunked. "Why don't you remain standing to start," I suggested

I pulled the camera viewfinder up to my eye and began to shoot. I had no hesitation in taking as many shots as I needed. There was so much to photograph and so many fleeting opportunities at a certain angle, view, or light. I immediately got the sense that Nata had posed before, as she exhibited no inhibitions and seemed totally comfortable being naked and exposed. She was obviously proud of her body, as she should have been. I circled her form and clicked madly, figuring I could always edit out unwanted views, but not wanting to miss the opportunities being presented to me. I gradually worked my way in closer and began to photograph her face and head.

"I know you aren't asking for portraits or facial shots, but let me start here and work my way down," I said.

She assented with a subtle smile as I circled around her upper torso, shooting her expressive face. I directed her to look this way, then that, to look up, down, to look into the camera or away. She followed directions easily and we slowly began to get comfortable with each other.

"Why don't you put your hair up for a minute or two? Nice and loose."

She grabbed a clip, wrapped her hair casually so it was up, but strands were hanging here and there. It exposed the delicate line of her head and shoulders and I seized the opportunity to photograph her from the back and side, capturing the long sweep of her neck, her proud chin, accented by random strands of her wavy locks. She was so lovely; even her ears were beguiling.

"Put your hands on your head, Nata. Please," I instructed.

As Nata put her arms on top of her head, I zeroed in from behind, taking subtle profile shots of the swell of her right breast. As I circled around her nipple came into the viewfinder, standing stiff against her ivory skin. Her breasts were round and solid, with medium sized areolae punctuated by long, pale pink nipples. They stood proud off the tips of her lovely breasts and I knew they'd be a focus of many a shot. I did my best to maintain my professional demeanor as this soft beauty unveiled her sexy form to me.

I spent ten more minutes just photographing her standing beside the window seat; the soft northern light playing games with her delicate form. At one point she looked over her shoulder at me and then bent forward, putting her hands down on the cushion of the window seat and spreading her legs slightly. Her gaze suggested that I had better take advantage of this pose, and I did. I kneeled down and began to focus on the area between her legs, then swung around to catch the hang of her delicate breasts.

"I'm going to lay down now, Ozzie," she said, as she crouched forward, spun around and placed her ass on the edge of the cushion.

She undid her hair, shook her head to loosen it and then raised her arms above her ahead, allowing her breasts to hang lusciously below her upraised arms. I clicked like mad, circling her form and focusing in tightly with my telephoto. I grabbed the camera with the macro lens and zeroed in again on her stiff nipples; the light lilting softly off her supple curves and protruding tips. I kneeled down and shot the profile of her breasts, their shape defined by skin and gravity.

"Very nice, Nata. Very nice. You've done this before a time or two," I suggested.

She didn't respond; just smiled and arched her back to push her breasts forward into the light. She then leaned back on her elbows, placed her feet squarely on the floor and spread her legs slightly, arching her back subtly to bring her pudenda into the picture. I whistled under my breath as I angled to get views that would profile the gentle bulge of her mons. She had a small tuft of hair above, and was clean shaven and fleshy below. The rise of her mound sloped gently upward from her flat stomach. The crease of her pussy came into view in the gentle north light and my trigger finger went into overdrive. I zoomed in for close shots of this erotic display of her most private asset.