Of all the things I expect, the photograph of Summer fluttering from the book I grabbed off the dusty bedroom shelf isn't one of them. With my copy of Eliot Siegel’s Photographing Models still in hand, I bend to pick up the picture I took, and smile at the playful, naked pose she’d struck in her student block corridor.

I flip the print over, and there's a handwritten note in her neat, oversize handwriting:

June 2018. So you don't ever forget me.
Summer xoxo

True, I might not have thought much about her in what, going on eight years now. I’m recently married. Building my boudoir photography business. Busy busy life life.

But forget her? Impossible.

I cross the room and perch on the bed edge, staring at the photograph and recalling her giggles as she changed pose after each click of the Canon’s shutter. Her insistence that I hurry up, in case one of her blockmates discovered us, was at odds with her excitement at being publicly nude.

She hadn't always been that way. Far from it. And I like to think I was instrumental in her transformation.

We were both in our final year at uni when I met her. She was studying English. I was doing media. It was just a chance encounter in the student union bar one evening, nursing a pint, waiting for my classmates Den and Pauly to show up.

Her friends were trying to convince her to do a karaoke turn. She refused—flat out refused—ignoring their cajoling until the mouthy brunette with big tits, barely held in a tiny cami, took the stage instead.

From the bar, I watched her murder an ABBA track. Pretty sure it was Waterloo, from memory. Onlookers hollered and clapped to encourage her. To be fair, it was highly entertaining as she pranced about in her platform heels and too-tight jeans with the ripped knees. As the performance entered the final chorus, I barely noticed Summer a few feet away until she yelled over the din to attract the barman.

“Two Jägerbombs and a double G&T.”

I turned to her. Watched the way she absent-mindedly flicked one Converse All-Star off the brass footbar as she waited. It was difficult to gauge her figure due to the jeans, T-shirt, and oversized hoodie. A wave of platinum blonde curls pooled over her shoulders, swishing away when she noticed me staring.

Our eyes locked a moment before I nodded beyond her to the end of her friend's performance and applauded as she took a bow and handed the mic back to the compere. He thanked her for the “rousing rendition,” and she half stumbled off stage back to the table.

The memory of our conversation flooded back with such clarity, I could barely believe it was still in my head.

I lifted my drink, took a swig and set it down on the bar. “You not a singer then?”

“Hell no. I leave the performing to Lauren.”

“Shame.”

“Trust me, you don't want to hear me sing.”

“I'm sure that's not true. Besides, karaoke is meant to be cringey.”

“There are limits.” The barman slid the pair of Jägerbombs across and started preparing the gin. “Anyway, if you're so hot, you do it.”

“Hah. A few more drinks, I might.” I took a swig of cider. Eyed her. “How about a duet?”

“Err, no.”

“What if I bought those?” I nodded at the drinks in front of her.

“Still no.” She flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder. “But thanks for the bribe.”

“Can't say I didn't try.”

“God loves a tryer.” She winked, paid, collected the drinks between her hands in a precarious triad, and threaded her way past students in varying shades of drunkitude, back to her friends.

I watched. There was something about her. The way she moved. The way she carried herself. An indefinable quality, like some bubbling life force clamouring to escape, contained only by self-doubt. I'd met her for, what, two minutes and it was obvious even to me. And yes, it was arousing.

As I adjusted myself, a reedy kid with a mop of hair that kept flopping over one eye took his turn with the mic and covered Simply Red. It wasn't half bad, but I was only half paying attention. My focus was Summer, only interrupted when Den arrived. He bought the drinks and I raised mine in thanks.

“What do you think of her?”

I nodded and he followed my gaze. “The one with the huge rack?”

“Nah. The blonde.”

He switched attention. “As a subject, or for fuckability?” I shrugged and he sucked in air. “Dunno. Looks like she'd need two Instagram accounts to fit a selfie in.”

“Harsh.”

He clicked his tongue. “Wide-angle shots aren't my thing. I prefer my women… tighter.”

She was certainly curvy, her physique on the chubbier side of current fashion. But that realness made her more alluring, and I found myself wondering whether I could encourage her to undress as I framed each successive photo. To capture her bottled wildness. My course portfolio was still missing a live subject. Maybe she was the ticket to a distinction.

I thumb the photograph. Trace her hip at the exact place I had put my hand later that evening, steering her towards the stage.

She protested, of course. From her perspective, a comparative stranger had strode over with, “Excuse me, ladies, I need to borrow your friend,” and guided her by the hip across the room.

Casting panicked glances back towards her mates, she squirmed as we neared the stage. They whooped and cheered, and I leaned in to reassure her, almost brushing her ear with my whisper. “Trust me, nobody will care by morning.”

I ushered her one step up onto the stage and she reluctantly let me. Her body language was guarded, closed, and she remained facing away from the bar, staring at the screen mounted on the pole as I took the mic. The image changed to the cover photo of the song we'd be performing, and she gasped, “No, no, no,” snapping her head towards me.

I grinned. “Come on, everyone knows Grease. They'll help.” I nodded to the uninterested crowd. “Just pretend you're Sandy.”

The poor girl blushed, but was trapped now the spotlight was on us. The beat began and I picked it up with nods of my head. “I'll start okay? We'll share the mic.”

It was awkward at first and she kept missing her cues, but during the choruses when our cheeks were practically touching, I began to wonder if she really was The One That I Want. Some of the other students joined in with Ooh Ooh Oohs, and we didn't show ourselves up too badly.

The moment the song came to a close, Summer couldn't get off the stage fast enough, rejoining her friends and gulping the remainder of her G&T. I sauntered over and thanked them for letting me borrow her. Lauren laughed. “Can't believe you managed it. We've been trying for months.”

I winked. “A little confidence is all it takes.”

Summer slammed her empty glass on the table and thumped my arm. “Don't ever do that again. God, I'm still shaking.”

I held her gaze a moment. “That's the adrenaline. You can either embrace the rush or let it become fear. You choose.”

“Thanks, Yoda.”

My grin spread. “Welcome you are.”

We eyed one another, and I turned to go. Paused. “I owe you a drink, for the pleasure of your company.”

She waved me away. “Another time. Go find someone else to embarrass."

I winked. “You're on.”

My daydream’s interrupted by my wife bustling into the room. “Can you take out the bins and compost… what’s that?”

Too late to hide the photo without suspicion, I shrug and hand it over.

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh aye. Anything you want to tell me?”

“Look at the back.”

She flips it over and the suspicion melts. A little. “Oh.”

“I didn't even know I still had it. It fell out of this ancient book.” I wave it. “Summer was the first person I shot nude. In a way, she led me to what I do today.”

“Hmm, quite. Did you fuck her?”

“I'm a professional.”

“Don't dodge the question.”

I level my gaze with hers. “No. We didn't even date.”

That wasn't entirely true.

Well, it was and it wasn't.

I did see her again, a few weeks later, around campus. We chatted briefly. Nothing earth shattering, but I convinced her to go for a drink to make up for the karaoke stunt. She wore more layers than necessary, and I still don't know if it was because it was February or fear I might see her for who she really was.

Over the coming months, we became friends so I must have done something right. We hung out. Even went to the cinema a few times. But it never felt like dating. More like… companionship. Sharing experiences. Living. Learning.

Through it all, a common thread was her self-deprecating humour. Maybe almost a defence mechanism. Shy about her body and weight, the low confidence was always present.

I tried my best to encourage her to accept herself, but I could tell she didn't believe me, until one time we were lazing in her room studying, I looked up from my book to see her framed in the window, leaning back on her chair with a pen lid dangling from between her lips.

“Don't move.”

She turned her head. “Hmm?”

“I said don't move.”

“Oh.”

“Face forward, as you were. That's it. Let me just…”

I grabbed my camera and flipped the lens cap off. Adjusted the aperture and exposure to compensate for the backlight and, before she could protest, snapped a few frames. The second shot was her after whipping her head towards the click, and the third was blurred as she lifted her hand to try and shield the lens. “Hey. I didn't say you could do that.”

“Sorry, I… just… that angle, that light was perfect.” I shrugged. “It's what I do. Look for beauty in angles and frames.”

“Shut up.”

“It's true. Look. Just look. Please, see what I see.”

I flicked the dial to playback and handed the camera over. She scrolled back through the blurred and surprised photos and paused at the first one. Her reaction altered. Only the tiniest bit, but it was there. “See that?” She nodded. “Delete it if you want, but I'd prefer you didn't.”

She carried on staring at the photo. Slid her thumb to the delete icon. Paused. Slid it off again and passed the camera back.

Her eyes met mine. “How did you… capture that?”

“Capture what?” I knew, but wanted her to say it.

“That… I don't know… it's not innocence, it's more,” she floundered and I let her struggle, “rawness, maybe?”

“It's not me. It's you.”

“Pfft.”

“It is. You're beautiful.”

“I'm fat.”

“No, you're not. Let me prove it. Take off your hoodie.”

She stared. “No way.”

“Take it off, please. I promise you can delete anything you don't like.”

“Don't make me do—”

“Summer.” It came out sharper than I hoped and she stared like I'd slapped her. I stood, camera dangling in one hand. Hoisted it to my eye and waited. “Trust me.”

She didn't move for what seemed a lifetime. Then scraped the chair back on the threadbare carpet and stood. Shucked one shoulder clear of the garment and I clicked the shutter. Again, when she slid the other shoulder into view.

I captured as many moments as I could until the hoodie draped the seat, and she was only in jeans and white Wake Me Up Before You Go Go T-shirt.

She folded her arms, and I snapped another frame. Despite the attempt at covering herself, the pose accentuated her tits, the faint outline of her nipples visible through the fabric due to the coolness of the room.

I kept firing. Started directing a little. “Side on. Yes, like that.”

Click.

“Now turn away from me. Bend one knee. That's it. Perfect.”

Click.

“Face me again.” She turned and I lowered the camera. Just stared, taking in her curves. “Hands on your hips.” She shook her head, arms remaining folded. “Just one hip then. I want angles.”

“You and your angles.” She sighed. “Fine. Like this?”

The pose was sexy as fuck. She formed almost a letter R with the chair back alongside. I nodded. Stepped in and guided a lock of hair from her shoulder forward to tumble over the bold lettering of the T-shirt. Stepped back. Framed and snapped. Twice.

She turned away. “Okay, you've had your fun. Let's see.”

I passed the body over and watched as she reviewed the frames on the folded-back LCD. I'm sure the true gravity of her inner beauty didn't strike at that moment, but something changed. A tiny chink in her defences emerged, then evaporated as self-doubt crept back in.

“These are good. You’ve made me…”

Neither of us finished the sentence. I sat down on the bed. “I've done nothing. You're no different from how you were five minutes ago. Beauty is confidence, Summer. That's all.” My eyes locked with hers. “I shoot confidence.”

That remains true to this day. I use my skills behind the lens to expose the playful person inside. I love teasing out what’s underneath the shyness or awkwardness.

My wife hands me back the photograph and sits beside me, the bed dipping. Our thighs touch. “So how did you come to take that?”

I gaze at the picture. Decide how much to share. “It was the start of that balmy heatwave. End of June, remember it?”

She nods. “That weird humid wind.”

“Yeah. We were studying in her apartment, dripping hot. She was in denim shorts and a thin T-shirt and was wearing a string of handmade beads. Made some joke about being more comfortable naked. I agreed. Made eye contact and dared her to do it. Right there.”

“And she did? Just like that?”

“No. She laughed and said nobody wanted to see her naked.” I swallow, recalling the way she tilted her head as she said it, and how her eyes saucered when I said, I would.

“But somehow you convinced her.” She nods at the picture. “And outside, too.”

“Yeah. I picked up the camera and took a few photos of her at the desk. Then, leaning against it. No idea what happened to those pics. Probably in my backups at the storage unit. Or lost.” I screw my nose up in thought and shrug. “Anyway, the T-shirt was practically pointless. It was so thin the camera picked up her bra underneath. So I suggested she take it off.”

I remember the way she looked at me, laced with mischief. “Her response was: ‘You’ll have to wrestle it off me,’ so I chased her around the tiny room, leaping on and over the bed as she giggled and shrieked. I cornered her and stepped in. A bit closer. Reached for the hem and tented the fabric. Lifted it. She had her arms by her sides, biting her lip as I exposed her tummy, and tensed when it slid fully into view.”

“Michael Green! You said you never fucked her.”

I blink. “I didn’t.”

Kerry places her hand on my thigh and slithers it to cup the firming bulge. “So what’s this? Scotch mist?”

I shrug. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

She flicks her eyes to mine. “This isn't helping?”

My intake of breath is sharper than I expect as I stiffen beneath her palm. “No.”

She massages my erection through the jeans. “Pity. Carry on.”

I swallow. “When her top was just under her chest, I paused. Waited for her, our eyes meeting every so often. Then she lifted her arms and I slipped it off. Chucked it on the bed behind us.”

“Did she have nice tits?” She squeezes my hard-on. “And be careful how you answer.”

My throat dries. “They’re… full. Round.”

“Bigger than mine?”

I nod. She slips her hand up. Tugs my T-shirt. I place the photo aside and let her reach around me to remove the garment. Her breath dusts my shoulder. My pecs. A nipple as she circles it with her tongue, then covers it and sucks. “Is this what you wanted to do to them?”

“Come on, no fair.”

She nips the tip with her teeth. “Answer the question.”

“Nobody can resist tits.”

Her tongue traces the circumference and it hardens in the cool air left behind as she suckles the other. Her brunette mane dangles in my lap. “How did you get her bra off?”

I study the cheek facing up towards me, with its faint dusting of freckles. “Well, that’s the thing. I didn’t.”

Kerry pauses her licking. Gazes up at me. “Did you tell her she was beautiful?”

A sigh escapes. No point lying. “Yes. And I proved it by stepping back, grabbing the camera and taking a few photos, then letting her review them.”

As she idly laps each nipple, tracing her tongue between them, she resumes massaging my cock. I continue the story:

“While she was scrolling the photos, I knelt before her. Popped each button of her shorts and slithered them down her legs. Trailed my hands up her thighs, rested my fingertips on her waistband and glanced up to see her biting her lip. She gave this tiny nod and I slid her knickers off.”

Kerry’s tongue explores my chest. “And you still claim you didn’t fuck her? Didn’t even want to?”

I inhale as she bites, reaches down and undoes my belt buckle, unzips me and frees my raging cock. Her hand is warm, enveloping my length.

“I never said I didn‘t want to.”

Still sitting alongside me, she kisses her way down my abdomen and hovers over the glistening tip of my shaft. “What next?”

With a slightly shakier voice, I carry on. “She reached back and unclipped her bra. Let it fall at my knees. I stood. Took her in fully, every bead of perspiration that clung to her skin. Told her she was stunning and lifted the camera, offering a raised eyebrow. She chewed her lip again and nodded.”

Kerry flicks her tongue, collects the pre-cum, savours it, then slips her mouth over my crown. As she teases the head between her lips, she slithers to her knees, parts mine and settles between them. Pops the tip free. Grabs me and wanks the shaft. “Can’t have been easy getting her out of the room.”

My pulse is all over the place as Kerry slips me deeper into her mouth, slobbering my shaft. “I… well, after she got more comfortable in front of the camera and started pulling poses around the room, I could see how excited she was at showing off.”

Lifting her mouth clear of my cock, it splats against my tummy. “She was wet?”

I nod. “Very. She had the tiniest bit of stubble, like she’d shaved her pussy a few days before. Given her shyness, I didn’t expect her to be bare down there.”

Kerry nuzzles my hard-on, then tugs it vertical and sinks lower, so I nudge her throat. I groan. “As she became bolder, I joked we should do one quick photo in the corridor. She was reluctant, but I guided her towards the doorway by taking photos and suggesting she—” My wife takes all of me, and I regroup my thoughts. “She pose against the door.”

There’s no denying Kerry is a Grade A cocksucker. She has this knack of knowing when to tease. When to go full slut, slobbering and making filthy moans. The story seems to be turning her on. One hand is around the base of my prick and I realise the other is between her legs, probably teasing her slick clit beneath the tight leggings. It makes me swell.

“Anyway, after a bunch more photos, I tugged her away from the door and opened it. She gasped and darted into the bathroom, peeping out as I wedged it open with her T-shirt.” I tip my head back and groan as Kerry sucks, then flop my head down to watch her. “One thing leads to another. I take a few photos of her in the bathroom and coax her out, then talk her into using the main doorway as a frame.”

Kerry goes to town on my cock, sucking and slurping. Her moans as she pleasures both of us vibrate through me to the bed. “Before I knew it, I was facing her curvy behind as she peeked out. I took a few more photos, then stepped in, placed my hand on her hip and guided her into the corridor.”

I’m close. Very close, my breathing uneven. “Even though she was clearly nervous, ready to dive back into the room, she struck a handful of playful poses, the beads swaying between her… Oh God… tits as she moved from shot to shot.”

I groan in anguish as Kerry lifts clear. “You wanted to fuck her, didn’t you?”

“Fffuck.” I exhale. “Fine. Yes, I wanted to fuck her. Wanted to turn her away from me, shove her against the wall of the corridor, grab her hips and plunge my cock in deep…” I breathe out hard. “Ohhh. Please make me cum. Pleeease.”

“Promise me you didn’t fuck her.”

“What is this, some new interrogation technique?! Jesus, I didn’t fuck Summer, okay?”

With a cheeky grin, she pulls my shaft to her lips again, swallows it all and I almost immediately start spurting into her mouth, shaking as she withdraws and cum pools on her tongue in front of her oohs and ahhs.

I don’t realise my knuckles are white gripping the bed edge until I release it and groan, pulses waning to a dribble.

Triumphantly, Kerry sits back on her haunches and gazes up at me, droplets of white cum leaking from her lips before she swallows and licks them clean. She's gorgeous. Truly sexy.

My heart rate gradually slows and I reach out to stroke her cheek. That pose, knees splayed and gazing up at me with a playful smile, triggers another memory.

I didn’t lie. I never fucked Summer. But Kerry hadn’t asked about anything else…