Picture Perfect

There I am, in the long queue for food at a motorway service station, when a very attractive woman joins it, partly hidden by the big man behind me. She is older than me, familiar and distinctive, with a lovely, curvy figure, but distinctive more because she is dressed a bit like an old-style show jumper, in plain long black leather boots, close fitting stone-coloured riding leggings and a silky cream blouse. The top half is looser but doesn't hide a large and shapely bust. Her skin is very dark, her shoulder length hair darker still. I imagine she is mixed race; perhaps one of her parents is Afro Caribbean. Her face is what is most familiar: it is strong and characterful, with sensual, full lips. They are lipsticked - and she is made up for more than a motorway journey.

Now, it is not unusual for me to be sure I know somebody but, at the same time, unable to say who they are - particularly out of context like this. I rack my brains. Is she a friend of my mum? One of the university staff? In my unhelpful memory is a vague but strong association with sexiness. I look back and try to catch her eye, giving a non-committal smile. She notices and raises a questioning eyebrow in a not unfriendly way. I take this as my cue and step back.

'Hello,' I say. 'How are you?'

'Hello,' she replies. 'I'm fabulous, thank you. And how are you?'

'I'm all good. On my way home from university today.'

'Oh. A big day for you. How does it feel?'

'Strange, to be honest. It's what I have been used to for four years, and I don't know what's next. But I am definitely looking forward to a long summer.'

'I'm sure you are.'

Nothing yet implies a connection to home or my studies so I am obliged to ask. 'I'm sorry. I can't think how I know you.'

She smiles. 'I don't think you do know me.'

I smile too. 'I'm pretty sure I do. I am just terrible at placing people out of context.'

'And I'm sure I would remember if I'd met such a handsome young man before.'

And then it hits me. 'Oh, it's you!' I blurt out - and immediately wish I'd said nothing.

She looks amused. 'Go on then. Where have we met?'

I blush and stammer, 'We - we haven't met. Not exactly. I... er, I remember you from near my family home.'

'Is that all? You seemed quite certain you knew me. Should I be flattered or concerned?'

'Flattered, definitely. But it's hard to explain without sounding a bit weird.'

'I shouldn't worry about that,' she says confidentially, leaning in to me. 'Everyone is a bit weird when you scratch the surface.'

I feel reassured by her way and her 'handsome' compliment so I say, 'I'll tell you the truth but please don't misjudge me.'

'This sounds intriguing. An attractive young graduate with a secret to hide. 'Tell me,' she commands gently.

'Well. About fifteen minutes' walk from my house is - was - this disused paints factory. This was like, five years ago. I had started going there during my GCSEs for an art project, and I found it a good place to visit when I fancied a walk on my own. Do you know where I am talking about?'

'No. Not really.'

'It's off the road north out of Melchett.'

'Hmmm. Okay. I live not far from there, so probably I do. Go on.'

'One day I was hanging around in the factory when I heard two people arrive. I wasn't supposed to be there so I kept quiet and listened. I took a sneaky look and saw this guy with a camera and I thought he must be taking pictures of the site for the developers - or arty ones, maybe, because the site was interesting, in a decaying sort of way. And that's when I saw the other person. You.'

We've reached the front of the queue so I place my coffee order and so does she.

'What name?' asks the server.

'Danica,' she answers and looks at me. 'Tell me more.'

'Do you remember that day, Danica?' I ask, enjoying using her name for the first time.

'Not specifically, Marcus,' she smiles. 'But that doesn't mean it wasn't me. I like having my photo taken.'

'It was definitely you. One hundred per cent.'

'If you like,' she smiles. 'So... you saw me, but you didn't say anything?'

'I didn't. It didn't seem like there was a way I could say anything without... without it being weird, so I stayed silent and just watched.'

'And what did you see?'

I cough. 'Well... you posing for the camera, basically.'

'And... let me guess... did any of my clothing come off while you were there?' she asks with just the sexiest, most self-confident smile. My cock twitches against my leg instinctively.

'I'm sorry! But yes, and by then it was definitely too late to announce myself.'

My coffee has arrived and I take a sip.

'You don't need to apologise at all. If I'd been in your position, and a sexy woman was stripping off, I'd have watched too!'

I laugh, somewhat relieved.

'Look, Marcus, I would love to continue this conversation but I can't right now.'

'Oh, that's fine,' I say, disappointed but aware that she wants to move on. 'It's been fun to actually speak to you, after all this time.'

'I agree. My problem is that I am here with a friend who is a love but rather nosy. If our little chat continues after I get my flat white, she'll be pestering me about the handsome fellow at the counter and what we were talking about. So I would like to make a suggestion.'

'Alright.'

'I want to find out more, hear about everything that day you saw me.'

Her coffee arrives as I say, 'Shall we swap phone numbers?'

'No. Let's not swap numbers. My friend will be watching us. Don't look!' she giggles. 'Anyway, I want this to be properly old school. The way it used to be before mobiles: no confirmation on the day, no letting me know you're going to be a bit late. Just turning up at the right place at the right time. Is that okay?'

'Yes. All right. Where and when?'

'Good. You know Melchett?'

'Yes, of course.'

'It's a one-horse town. It's also a one-tea-shop village. Meet me there at 2pm on Monday. You got that?'

'Yes. Tea shop in Melchett, 2pm, Monday.'

'That's it. And don't be late. That's the lady's prerogative.'

'I won't be.'

She smiles now. 'No. You won't be. Lovely to have met you. See you there. And now I must go.'

'Me too. See you Monday.' And I walk slowly to my table, taking in the glamorous pair Danica makes with her 'nosy' friend who is fairer skinned but also striking. I force myself not to look at them properly but it's difficult! Danica is not just a hot, older woman I've spoken to for the first time; she is the woman that filled my dreams for a good two years of my life.

***

That weekend is a blur. There is all the excitement and busy-ness of being home with my family and catching up with friends, and all the practical things that have to be dealt with. But all through it are the persistent and delicious thoughts of Danica. If you were to ask, What is my type? I would have to describe a slim brunette or redhead, of about my age, probably with fair or lightly tanned skin - with an arty or academic outlook. Danica fits none of the above. I try to guess at her life and imagine she prefers horses to books, and keeping house leaves no time for art. She must be... what? Twenty years older than me? Her voluptuous figure is an hourglass; she eats and drinks whatever she wants. Above all is her glossy, caramel-coloured skin, little of it on show when we spoke but acres of it filling my memories of five years ago. On that unforgettable day, the woman I now know as Danica flaunted every inch of that flesh with supreme confidence. From my vantage point, I could not see everything but two moments in particular were seared on my memory. One was when she lifted a leg onto a metal surface three feet from the ground. She was wearing very high black heels and black hold ups, both incongruous but delightful in the setting. She had her back to me and by then had taken off her knickers, so I had a perfect view of her lovely pear-shaped bottom as her thigh stretched away. What really made my cock throb was the knowledge that the photographer could see her pussy - which I could only imagine - shamelessly displayed to his lustful eyes. The other moment was when Danica turned, giving me a sidelong view of one of her full, brown breasts which she then lifted to her mouth. I love remembering the relish with which she licked her own nipple into hardness. All my recollections collided with fantasies inspired by the way she spoke to me and arranged our date, so efficiently and decidedly. Over that weekend, three or four times, friends had to stir me out of Danica daydreams. I could not wait to see her again.

*****

'So... I've enjoyed hearing all about how you just happened across my little photo shoot with my then boyfriend, and how you had no choice but to watch goggle-eyed in silence... now tell me about your life.' Sitting beside me in Melchett's quaint tea shop two days later, Danica fits in uniquely but perfectly, as if she is the Duchess of the locality. Her outfit today is a little old-fashioned, a little theatrical and more than a little sexy, clinging to her wonderfully shapely form: her long skirt is closely fitted, as is her short jacket, beneath which a cream-coloured satin corset is visible. Her heels are black and high.

I explain more about how I have just finished my degree course and I have returned home without much direction, expecting to start a career in the near future but hoping to enjoy a summer of rest and fun before that.

She nods at the end of my long summary and sips her tea. She looks up. 'And your love life? Is that busy? Simple or complicated?'

'Well...' I begin. 'It's not simple. It should be, but it isn't. You see, I've been in a relationship with my girlfriend, another student, for nearly two years.'

'Do you love her?'

'Yes. Yes, I do.' Then, much to my surprise, I feel a deep sadness welling up as I start to explain. 'The thing is, we've both just done our finals and celebrated together. But... when we left for the summer, for the rest of our lives really, we didn't make any plans.'

'How was it left?'

'We said we would call each other. Like normal. Except... when you leave like that, you should plan something. A holiday or a definite meet up.'

'Yes. If that's what you both want. I agree. If you really wanted to see your girlfriend, you would have made an arrangement already, wouldn't you?'

I feel a tear gathering in my eye that she cannot miss. 'But I do want to see her. I miss her.' I take a breath and feel close to crying 'I'm sorry. This is embarrassing. I don't even know you.'

'Maybe that's why you are telling me. Of course, you miss your girl. You've been together a long time, particularly for people of your age.'

'Is it easier when you're your age?'

'Maybe it is, yes. Do you mind if I tell you what I think? Speaking as an older person who has just met you.'

'Yes, do. I mean, I don't mind.'

'I don't think the fact you are missing your girlfriend is the main reason you are upset.'

'Isn't it? Then why?'

'I think....You are facing up to the fact that your time with her is over.'

I stare at her. Now a tear falls from one of my eyes and I put my head down to recover. 'This is embarrassing.'

'Don't be embarrassed. It's fine. But I'm right, aren't I?'

I take a deep breath and raise my head. 'I guess you are. If we wanted to be together, we would be looking forward to whatever right now. I guess neither of us wanted to say it.'

She touches my hand. 'This is a big moment for you. And for months, you have been focused on these exams. The other decision, about you two, got left behind.'

'You're right, Danica.' I stop and think about it. 'How do you understand so clearly?'

She smiles sympathetically. 'I've been around longer than you and I've seen this before. You are starting on a new path, and you don't even know what it is yet. And you have to decide whether you want it to be with this other person. And you might love them but that alone doesn't make them the right person for you now. I think you know that what you want next won't be with her, even though that hurts.'

I take another deep breath. 'Thank you. I should have talked to my friends about this sooner. But I'm glad I have spoken to you. It's helping.'

'Here. Wipe your eyes.'

I take a tissue from her. She moves her chair around so we are closer. 'You need a cuddle.' But she doesn't embrace me in a hug. Danica puts a hand behind my neck and gently draws my face to her chest. It is sudden and unexpected, and I almost giggle. But the feeling of her satin corset and her soft, firm breasts just beneath, is simply wonderful. 'There, there,' she coos as I relax against her. Her hand moves up, her fingers reaching through my hair so that she is softly massaging my scalp, almost like a hairdresser. A light pressure holds my face closer to her. I smell her fresh fragrance and I sense the subtle rise and fall of her breathing. 'What is it the song says?' she breathes. 'Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow.'

'Mmmmmm,' I murmur in childlike agreement.

'That's better, isn't it?' she says. 'Everything is going to be just fine.' And no one in my position right now could deny the truth of her comforting words. However, not every man would get a hard on in this position! But I can't help it. I hope she hasn't noticed - it will go down when this strange, sweet embrace is over. But, just as this thought flits through my mind, I feel her other hand on my leg. 'You do like this, don't you?' she whispers. 'You find it so very comforting.' Her fingers move up my leg and delicately brush past my erection. 'You see now? Everything is going to be all right.' Her hand moves with tantalising lightness over my bulge and then she says, 'You can clear now, thank you.'

The waitress has arrived. 'Do you want anything else?' the girl asks.

Danica shifts so my head rises. 'Do you want anything else, Marcus?' she asks innocently. To the waitress, she says, 'My friend has had some bad news. I'm cheering him up.'

When I look up, my main concern is whether the waitress is standing at the right angle to see the tent pole in my trousers - and the fact that this middle-aged lady has just stroked it. I reckon that she hasn't seen, and I go with it. 'Danica's been making me feel much better, and that tea and scone have helped as well. Thank you.'

She seems amused, as if she can tell something is going on but she is not sure what. 'I'll bring the bill then.'

Danica turns to me. 'I've enjoyed this. Have you?'

'Yes. I've never met anyone quite like you. Thanks for the advice.'

'My pleasure. Now to our next meeting. I think you ought to do what you have been wanting to do with me for years.'

'Should I?' I laugh, very conscious of her naughty, fleeting secret touch. 'What's that then?'

'Don't you know? A man ought to know what he wants,' she says with a smirk.

I can think of a dozen things I'd like to do with Danica. God knows how many times I've thought about them since I first saw her strip five years ago. And since I spoke to her two days ago, I have masturbated three times thinking about her, her lovely body and her complete confidence in her desirability. 'Why don't you tell me what you would be happy to do with me?'

'Okay then. I would be happy for you to photograph me. I take it, that is what you have wanted to do with me for years?'

I am unsure what to say and I laugh. 'I guess that is true. I don't think I ever seriously thought I would take your picture.'

'No? But you did fantasise about it, didn't you?'

'That day, I would definitely have liked to be in his position, your boyfriend's, rather than hiding, scared I was going to give myself away.'

'And tomorrow you will be in his place. Now we are going to exchange mobile phone numbers because I shall text you the coordinates of where we are meeting tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow?'

'Yes. At the same time as today,' she says as she puts her contact in my phone. 'Two pm. Be on time. And - just for fun - when you arrive, don't say one word until I speak to you. Understood?'

'Yes. Understood. But I'm taking pictures?'

'You're photographing me to your heart's content, but silently. As if you aren't even there, just a lucky voyeur who's happened upon a beautiful lady in the woods - and she is blissfully unaware of you.'

In the woods! I wonder where we are going. I am very curious and very, very excited.

Danica gets up, kisses my cheeks and goes. My cock stands firmly to attention, wanting me to march after her out of the door as I watch her shapely rear pass through it. I stay behind and ponder this amazing creature and think happily about seeing more of her in less than 24 hours. What will she let me do with her? I cannot wait.

*****

I pull up at a lay-by which matches the coordinates Danica gave me. The day is warm, an ideal English summer's day, and birdsong tells me that I am truly in the countryside as soon as I leave the car. There is a path leading away into the wood, so I follow it, enjoying the uncertainty and anticipation. The path leads down a very gentle slope into woods which are cooler than the day. It is so quiet that I listen into it and think I can hear running water but faintly, if at all. It seems I am alone and I can imagine this path being undisturbed for hours on end, perhaps days. I stop in a clearing and ponder whether to go further but I hear footsteps approach. To my relief, it's her. And Danica is looking better than ever. She wears a simple, short white dress that is shoulder-less, showing just a tiny hint of her cleavage. Her fashionable trainers are less obviously sexy than her boots and heels but they emphasise the strong, rounded curves of her calves and lower thighs.

As she gets nearer, I wonder whether she is serious about the no talking rule but when she starts to pose, I know she meant it. She ignores me perfectly as she puts on an exaggerated interest in any amount of flora around her. The white dress makes for a beautiful contrast with her milk chocolate skin and with the lush greenery all around. More than happy to play her game, I snap away on my phone, ignoring the same erection from a day before that springs up in seconds.

She reaches into the big bag she carries and pulls out a pair of white heels that surprises me. She runs her hands down those lovely legs and ceremoniously removes the trainers to replace them with these incongruous white mules. She has to concentrate to walk in them on the uneven path but, as with everything she does, the effect is so sexy. Her calves are exaggerated and lengthened, and I rush to photograph her.

Danica's modelling is a joy. As she walks along the path, I am drawn behind, taking literally hundreds of pictures. She encounters a wide oak tree stump, about two feet high. Danica immediately lifts a leg on to it, stretching her dress in a new way, raising the hem temptingly. I crouch down to try and capture her beauty from every angle. As I do, I am struck again by her supreme confidence: there seems to be no part of her mind which is uncertain or insecure. My girlfriends have all been roughly my age, pretty and slim, but worried about their appearance, inclined to ask, 'Does my bum look big in this?'

Danica's bum does look big but she clearly likes it that way, and so, I do too. She is divine, I think, a goddess who knows she can do whatever she wants with me, her subject. The thought makes me even harder and then... wow! She sits down on the stump, settles herself and lowers the top half of her dress. Her bra is a very light strapless affair which she releases without fuss, suddenly displaying her beautiful breasts. Still she does not acknowledge me. Instead, Danica cups and lifts those wonderful tits, runs her hands over them and pulls on a nipple which responds by thickening at her expert touch. She closes her eyes and joins clasped hands over her head which raises her breasts in a rather mesmerising way. All of me, every part of my body and mind, wants to reach out and touch her. But I don't forget myself. I continue to photograph her until, quite out of the blue, she asks, 'How long have you wanted to do this, Marcus? How long have you wanted me?'