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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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type of literature, or you are under age,
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Archive name: vacation.txt (MF, rom, exh, reluc)
Authors name: Marcia R. Hooper (marciar26@aol.com)
Story title : Vacationing Alone
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Copyright 2003. As the author, I claim all rights under
international copyright laws. This work is not intended
for sale, but please feel free to post this story to
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intact. Revision to the text (such as the basis for
another story) is acceptable as long as the original
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distributed free of charge. Any commercial use of this
work is expressly forbidden without the written
permission of the author.
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Vacationing Alone (MF, rom, exh, reluc)
by Marcia R. Hooper (marciar26@aol.com)
***
Jill Kendle is vacationing alone (or might as well be) on
a Caribbean island when she finds herself confronted by a
snapshot taking ex-New York photographer. Should she buy
him a drink? Should she allow him to talk her into
removing her clothes for a photo shoot? Should she go to
bed with him? Read the story and find out--it's only four
pages.
***
This is a work of fiction and is not meant to portray any
person living or dead, nor any known situation. This
story contains mature themes and is meant for adults only
and is not to be read by person's under the age of 18, or
the legal age in the county/state/country in which the
reader resides.
If you would like a Microsoft Word version of this story
(a much better read), please contact me at
MarciaR26@aol.com
VACATIONING ALONE
by Ian Daytona
(ian955daytona@yahoo.co.uk)
and Marcia R. Hooper
(marciar26@aol.com)
It was three o'clock in the afternoon. Jill lay out near
the sea-oats, behind the hotel, sunbathing. People
constantly passed by... couples young and old, moms with
and without their kids, kids on bicycles and roller
blades and skateboards on the sidewalk twenty feet above
Jill on the rampart... enough so that she decided not to
take off her bikini top but lay down upon it instead
while she sunned on her tummy. Nude beach or not (well,
topless beach, anyway) she was not brave enough for that.
She was drifting in and out of a doze, the sun baking her
back and her legs, enjoying a breeze off the water strong
enough to stir her hair when she heard a noise. Rather,
she sensed she heard a noise. Lifting her head, she saw a
young man with a camera drifting slowly past her about
twenty feet away. Her stomach immediately tightened.
Keeping her chest planted firmly against the sand, Jill
raised up on one elbow, shaded her eyes and called,
"You're not taking pictures, are you?" in an accusatory
tone. Oh yes, he is, she thought. Pervert.
The young man immediately blushed. "No," he lied. Then he
grinned and that made it better.
"I'm sorry," he said. "The truth is, I was just drifting
along the beach taking pictures with my new camera and
well..."
Eying the camera, Jill decided it did in fact, look new.
It also was not digital, which meant that he probably was
not running home to download pictures onto his iMac.
"Would you like a drink?" Jill suddenly asked.
If the young man was surprised -- and of course he was --
Jill was surprised even more.
Uh, excuse me? her shocked sense of propriety asked. What
are you doing?
I'll let you know when I figure it out, she thought back.
The young man seemed to struggle for an answer, then
said: "Yes, I'd like that very much. And I'm Ian."
Jill told him her name. Then she reached behind her and
resnapped her bra, smiling faintly as Ian glanced away.
Yes, she thought, I do like this guy. In fact, she
momentarily wished she had left the bra alone.
*
They sat on the shady-side of the poolside bar, drinks
before them on the laminate counter, their stools about a
foot and a half apart. Jill wore her bathing suit top and
a sarong over her bikini bottom. She had let down her
dark, shoulder-length hair and then put it back in a
clip. They chatted safely about the view and the wildlife
on the island while Ian kept his eyes safely away from
girls with bare breasts.
"You come here often?" he asked.
Jill shook her head. "Vacation."
He looked comically let down. "Where from?"
"A suburb of Washington, D.C. Bethesda. Actually," she
then amended, "It's really called Rockville, but Bethesda
sounds so more rich."
Ian laughed. "I've been here since spring."
"There is no spring here," Jill corrected. "Only summer,
summer, summer and summer." And bare breasts, she
thought. Plenty of bare breasts. In fact, there were so
many bare breasts about that she felt almost odd wearing
her top. Almost.
"Where are you from?"
"New York. Can't you tell?"
"Yes," she said, laughing. "But I didn't want to make it
obvious."
"Brooklyn born and bred. Lived in Soho a while, then over
in Greenwich Village. Then back to Brooklyn again until
2001 when I moved to Battery Park City ..." His voice
trailed off.
"Oh," Jill said. About that, she wouldn't ask.
"Who you down with?" he asked. Jill thought he did quite
well, keeping his tone hope-neutral.
I should tell him my strapping big boyfriend, she
thought. All six-feet six and two hundred and sixty
pounds of him, only that would be a lie, because that was
her next door neighbor (although he might have wished
differently) and even jokingly, she didn't want to jinx
her luck.
"With my girlfriend, Marie," she said. "Current
whereabouts unknown."
He looked both quizzical... and relieved.
Jill explained. "She did this to me once before. Two
summers ago on our first trip down. This is my third,"
she said. She didn't say that trip number two was not
with Marie, but with a guy, and Ian didn't ask. "The
second night they had this really big party--" she
circled her head, indicating the entire pool area. "--and
Marie danced with every guy in sight. So did I, I guess,"
she admitted with some embarrassment. "But about one
a.m., she just disappeared."
"Just like that?" he said.
"Just like that," snapping her fingers.
"Where'd she go?"
Jill sipped at her drink.
"Well, when did she come back?" he amended with a laugh.
Jill said: "Not for two damned days! I could have killed
her. I almost did."
Ian shook his head. "She called, I hope."
"She called."
He waited almost too long to ask the question. "Is she,
uh ..."
"You serious about that thing?" She indicated his Nikon
camera, sitting on the bar. Uncapped, the lens reflected
the top part of her, upside down.
"Trying to be," he said.
Jill let a smile creep across her lips. "How many did you
take?"
Ian's smile crept just as steadily across his. "I am
sorry," he said. "Would it have helped if I'd asked?"
She continued to smile.
Don't you dare, little girl! her voice of reason
hammered. This is not some chaperoned photo-shoot and I
know what you're thinking.
Jill said: "A friend of mine back home..." she didn't
have to tell Ian it was a male friend. "...wants some
pictures of me in ...well, exotic dress." She laughed at
his sudden blink. "Not lingerie; I don't mean that." She
nodded across the parking lot toward a native woman in a
bright flowered sarong and bright flowered hat. She wore
a necklace of bells around her neck and across her ample
buxom and jingled when she walked.
"Like that?" he commented uncertainly.
"Something like that."
They sat silent for a time, then Ian questioned: "Can I
ask you something, Jill?"
"Like what?"
He continued to stare at the brightly clothed woman. "If
I did those photo's for you, the ones for your friend,
would you consider..." His voice trailed off again.
"You could ask," she said.
His face would not let him. It was a virulent red.
Slowly, as though afraid too fast a movement would have
him snatching it away, Jill ran the fingers of her right
hand across the bar's wrinkled surface and onto his. She
interlaced them and he held them nervously.
If he coughs now, she thought. I will absolutely die
laughing.
He didn't cough, but it certainly looked close.
*
"How's this? she asked. Her hands were crossed beneath
her chin and her crooked elbows made her look like a
teacup. She felt silly and wonderful at the same time.
And embarrassed. And oh yes, embarrassed.
"That's great," Ian said. His voice was a concentration-
focused whisper. Behind the camera, working the lens, he
looked like he knew what he was doing. Sweat stood out on
his brow and stood out on hers as well... also on her
neck, her back and her chest. She wore only her red
bikini bottom, and though bare-chested--of which she was
very self-conscious -- Ian had her concealed behind the
back of the wicker chair on which she knelt.
They had gone strolling along the thousand-stall bazaar
of Market streets, Landsdowne and Meridian. Children from
toddler-size to scruffy teenagers in stappy tank tops and
even strappier shorts begged for change everywhere they
went. They were a constant annoyance, as were the ankle-
sniffing dogs and Ian shooed away both. He was less
success with the hair-braid-hawkers, however, most of
whom were women and as used to deflecting shoo-offs as
telemarketers. Finally he'd suggested she just do it.
"What?" she said, smiling at him from under the wide brim
of her hat.
"They'll keep after you until you do," he said,
indicating the bevy of other vacationers just like
herself, being badgered by the stout island women or
already with braids or cornrows in their hair.
She smiled at him, bemused. "I don't know."
The short stout woman with a thick Jamaican accent and
colorfully beaded dress fingered Jill's hair. "Will look
good," she assured her. "And not expensive, no. Only five
dollar."
"Five dollars?" Jill asked. She felt both absurdly
pleased and slightly embarrassed that she was actually
thinking about saying yes.
"Bo Derek," the woman said, making Jill laugh. Now,
kneeling on the wicker chair in front of a backdrop of
sun-glinted ocean spray in the cramped but cozy studio at
the back of Ian's ranch-style house, her knotted hair
hanging about her head and tipped at the ends with tiny
white beads, she felt more like the Williams sisters than
Bo Derek... or perhaps Bob Marley.
The camera lights flashed, then flashed twice more as
Jill saw comets stars. Following his hand-guided
instructions, she sat cross-legged on the chair and
rested her chin on the seat back. Then atop her left hand
on the seat back. Then on the seat back again.
Professional modeling, she decided, was probably a lot of
work.
At five feet seven inches tall and one hundred and
twenty-five pounds, Jill was built like a model. Her
breasts were borderline-small but nicely rounded (more
important than size any day, so many men told her), with
pea-size nipples and small pink aureole. At twenty-four
years of age, she had no cellulite on her legs and no
puff at all to her tummy.
She worked out three nights a week at the Gold's Gym up
the street from her house and had even worked out here,
twice now in the hotel gym. Her legs were long and
coltish, and her arms graceful and long. She had
beautiful, long-fingered hands. Now, she thought, if only
she were the beautiful creature she felt like right as
Ian triggered the camera, instead of Jill Kendle ...
"How's this?" she asked.
"That's great."
Jill began to laugh.
"I know," he said, laughing at her laughter. "But that's
how it works." He positioned her again and so far, he had
not shot her breasts.
"I want to ask you something," she said.
"Shoot."
"If I was getting paid for this, would it be a lot?"
"Um, between five hundred and five thousand dollars."
Jill whistled softly. "Really?"
"Really."
"That's a lot."
"You work a lot. But you're not working at all."
"Hey!" she cried indignantly. "You're not paying me,
either!"
She continued to pose and Ian continued to shoot her. He
had exposed six rolls of 48 frame Kodak film (Jill didn't
even know they came in 48 exposures) on her outfits and
accessories bought at the bazaar. For these would pay
him, for development and the cost of the paper, too. The
rest... well that was Ian's treat.
My God, she thought, and this really hit her for the
first time. I'm going to pose nude. Not topless as she
was now, either, but completely nude. And that knowledge
aroused her.
"This is so totally weird," she said. "I'm going to do
this?"
Ian only bobbed his head.
I have to hand it to him, she thought. I'd have been ya-
ya by now. I am ya-ya. In fact, I'm so ya-ya I'm about to
orgasm in this chair.
Lifting her hair and jutting out her breasts (for once,
less concerned about their size than about how white they
were against the rest of her body) she turned sideways to
the camera, held there a time, then bent over. Then she
bent over farther. Then she got down on her hands and
knees and then onto her elbows and knees and then onto
her knees and her chest and did things in front of the
lens that just four short hours before, hot and dreamy
and sunning on the beach, would have gotten someone
slapped hard across the mouth for even suggesting.
But somehow, someway, the camera was in her eye.
Finally she just came right out and said it. "I want
these pictures to be seen, Ian. Is that possible?"
Ian lifted his eye from the viewer. He seemed unsure.
"Seen by whom?" he asked.
Jill was breathing hard. Her heart beat was hard. Surf
pounded hard in her ears. "By anyone who wants to see
me," sat perched ready on her lips when this thought
flashed across her mind: My God! I'm leaking between my
legs!
With that she bounded off the floor, snatched up the
terryclothe robe he had provided and whipped herself into
it. Her heart was a galloping racehorse, her ears kettle
drums pounding in a night club, but no longer from
arousal. Or not entirely from arousal. She had gone too
far.
What was I thinking?
"Jill--"
She shook her head. Tears and fear welled behind her
eyes. "Can we just scrap this idea?" she begged. "Forget
it ever happened?" Tears were forcing their way into her
eyes and there was fire in her nose. She began to panic.
"Jill!" he snapped into her turmoil. "I said there's no
film in the camera!"
"What?"
Twirling the camera on its base, he showed her the back.
Opening it, he showed her the insides. "No film," he
said.
She repeated: "What?"
He only shrugged. And Jill suddenly didn't know whether
to be stunned and elated, or cheated and enraged. She
could only stare.
And then he shrugged again in that, Sorry, Jill, I
thought it best inflection and Jill made her decision.
Crossing the floor of his small but now suddenly intimate
studio, she took his hand and lead him away from the
cameras and the lights, away from the props and the
backdrops and two steps up onto a small, pillow-covered
dais and said: "That's okay, I was never getting paid
for it anyway."
Then she lay down with him and she spent the night and
the following day and you know what? It was Marie that
got pissed and Jill never went home from her vacation
THE END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 23