A Photo Finish

Yo, what is this? This isn’t porn!

I stare blankly at the text, trying to decide how to respond. I start to type an apology when I hear Randall's concerned voice. "You okay?"

I look up. "Yeah, I'm sorry." I grab the vanilla syrup and finish making the hundredth latte of the day, sliding it onto the counter and grabbing a cup to make the next.

"You look upset," he says, furrowing his brow and pushing up his glasses. He stops wiping the counter and walks over. A customer complains about not getting oat milk in their coffee, and Randall distractedly hands them the entire carton before turning back to me. “Here, let me get that.” He takes over making the latte.

"Thanks. I’m okay," I say sheepishly. "I got a text from, um, Devon."

Randall's frown deepens in disgust. "What does that clown want from you? He's supposed to be at Job Corps."

"He is." I’m surprised by the vitriol in his voice. Devon used to work as a barista with us, but got fired for "borrowing" from the tip jar so he could buy weed, though I can’t imagine that to be the sole reason for Randall’s reaction to his name. "But they monitor his internet usage. So he asked me to send him a porno mag."

Randall rolls his eyes. "'Course he asked you. He knows anyone else would tell him to go fuck himself, literally."

I feel my face redden. "Well, I didn’t want to buy actual porn, so I sent him a Maxim magazine. It had a girl in a bikini on the cover. But he's mad that it's not what he asked for."

"He could have just thanked you for trying," Randall says just as I get another text. 

This is NOT porn!

Sorry, I reply. I thought it looked sexy. I don’t know how to buy porn.

"He's never been nice to you," Randall points out. "I know you have it bad for him, but he's not worth it."

Except to me, he is. Devon is the hottest guy I've ever met in-person. Six-foot-something, blonde, tanned, muscles like an athlete, jawline like a movie star. I used to joke that he should have played Ken in the Barbie movie.

He texts me again: Then make some. Send nudes.

Of myself? I stupidly text back. Devon thinks I'm hot enough to want naked pics of me?

Who else’s nudes would you send?

Randall looks at me curiously. "He wants pictures of me," I say quietly as I make coffee.

He shakes his head. "Dude has some nerve."

"I don't even know how to take good pictures. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve sent something to anyone." Suddenly, I remember—"Aren't you a photographer, Randall?"

He looks at me sideways. "I do senior pictures and engagement photos, as a side hustle."

"Have you ever done boudoir?"

His eyes widen behind his glasses. “You mean, those sexy photo shoots where girls dress up in lingerie?”

“Or less,” I say meaningfully. Am I really asking Randall if he'll do a nude photo shoot for me? 

It dawns on him what I'm saying, and he begins to stammer. “Oh, shit. You mean those kinds of pictures?”

I almost tell him to forget I said anything. But I can't do this by myself. I need him. “Yeah, those kinds. With everything showing.” Is he blushing? Well, I'm sure I am. “He said he wants porn. I…I wanna try to deliver. Do you think you could do it?”

He finally composes himself enough to ask incredulously, “I never did before, but I guess I could try. But are you sure you want me to take pictures of you? For Devon? The guy who’s been an asshole, to both of us?"

It was true that Devon had been a little mean to Randall, although maybe he was just threatened by Randall’s antisocial behavior. When everyone else is out smoking or playing on their phones, Randall usually has his nose in a book or his pen in hand, writing poetry. I guess I might consider him cute with his light brown skin and long braids, if he weren't so shy and serious. But that might make him just the guy for this job. 

“You're the only one I want to do it,” I say. And it's true. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Randall's always been super respectful and professional with me at work. He takes his job seriously. He stays focused. “I trust you.” His expression softens at that, but he still doesn't say anything. I press on: “Don't do it for Devon. Do it for me. I'll pay you."

I can see the wheels turning in his head as he considers the idea. He slowly nods and says, "You don’t have to pay me. Yeah, we can try it. Come over tonight; I have a little studio in my spare room. Are you gonna bring, like, outfits or something?”

I blink. “Well, I kinda thought the idea was not to be wearing anything.”

He gives a small smile. “I don't know a lot about the kind of photography you want, but I know what men like. No matter what, I think we can get some good pictures of you.” His gaze lingers on me, but not in a creepy way. I feel admired, like a work of art, even though I’m sweaty and wearing a messy ponytail and a syrup-stained apron. I smile back as he adds, “Do you know what it means to gild the lily?” I do not. “It means to take something that's already incredible to the next level. If you have some nice lingerie or heels, it'll put the pictures over the top.” He stops and clears his throat as he wipes the counter. “But, of course, it's up to you.”

“I appreciate it.” He probably has a point. Of course I don't have any decent lingerie, so I head out on my lunch break to do some shopping. There's a sex store downtown that I've never gone to; I always imagined it to be dark and dirty. But today's the day to take some risks. I duck in nervously and am immediately surprised- and impressed- by the welcoming atmosphere. Bright pendant lights hang from the ceiling and illuminate the soft beige walls. A friendly woman sees my hesitation and approaches me. “Can I help you find anything?” she asks politely. 

“I'm doing a sexy photo shoot tonight, and I'm looking for some lingerie or an outfit,” I say, surprised at myself for telling this to a stranger. 

She nods, as if this is a perfectly normal request. “R-rated? X-rated?”

“Um, the second one,” I giggle, encouraged by her knowing grin. She leads me to a rack of bras and underwear. The overhead lights catch the gleaming crystals studding a pair of red panties. I pull them off the rack and do a double take when I see that they're crotchless. 

She hands me a matching see-through scarlet bra. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly. I point to a pair of red stilettos on a shoe rack. “And I'll take those, too.”

She holds them up to the bra and panties. “Honey, you are going to take some legendary pictures tonight.”

I hope she’s right. As far as I was aware, Devon never looked twice at me before. This is my chance to make sure that I'm the first thing on his to-do list when he gets home. 

***

My heart pounds with excitement as I knock on Randall’s door. My first thought when he swings it open is how much better he looks in a button-down shirt and jeans than in his barista uniform. His braids are usually tucked in a hairnet or tied back, but now they hang past his shoulders, long and loose. I’m tempted to reach out and run my hands through them. He gives me a relaxed and confident smile I've never seen from him before. 

"You look beautiful," he greets me while I take in his new look. I had never noticed how toned his arms were underneath his uniform. "Red lipstick really works for you. And I've never seen you without your hair in a ponytail. I like it down."

"Same to you," I say, suddenly feeling shy. 

I follow him into a dimly lit room furnished only by a queen-sized bed, a bookshelf full of what looks like mostly Shakespeare and poetry, a small platform about two feet high covered in black silk, and a camera stand and lights facing the platform. 

"I did some research on erotic photography before you got here," Randall says earnestly. "I want to make sure I get the lighting and mood right. Do you want me to put on some music? What do you like?"

I remind myself that this is for Devon, an attempt to seduce him once he returns from Job Corps. I think about what he likes. "Alternative?"

Randall makes a face. "That's what Devon likes. I asked what you like."

"R&B, mostly," I admit, a little embarrassed that he clocked me so quickly. He pulls his phone out and turns on some music. I recognize Kendrick Lamar's voice.

"This is The Divine Feminine. Mac Miller's love album," he says. "You'll like it. Anyway, I guess we should get to work. Did you bring something to wear, or…?”

"It's under my dress." He waits. I start to feel self-conscious about undressing in front of him. But this is just Randall, after all. My brooding co-worker who reads renaissance poetry on his lunch break, and I remind myself that he's just doing me a favor by taking the pictures. 

I stand before him in my crimson bra and panties. He is trying not to stare at my nakedness, but I am totally exposed, thanks to my Brazilian wax and crotchless panties. I can feel the cool air of the room on my bare lips, smooth and puffy from the recent wax.

"Wait." I grab the stilettos from my purse. I am definitely flashing him my vulva as I step into them, and I know he knows that I’m doing it. It’s actually not as awkward as I feared it would be. I look good, and to be honest, I’m starting to think he does, too. I kind of enjoy giving him a little show. Besides, if he's taking nude pics, he's going to see it all anyway. 

He doesn't move at first, then slowly pushes a few stray braids from his face. His glasses start to slip and he doesn't fix them. "Damn," he breathes. "Devon does not deserve all that."

Our eyes meet. I'd never really looked past his big glasses, but now I notice that his eyes are a gorgeous honey-brown, like a fox. They travel up and down my body, but I don't feel self-conscious at all. I feel powerful. 

He clears his throat. "Okay, go ahead and sit on the platform. Sideways, yeah. Bend your right knee so we can see your…yeah." Instinctively, I reach down to touch myself, knowing it will make for a super-hot photo and also checking to see if I'm as wet as I think I am. Yes. Randall's silk is going to be ruined. 

He's clearly not thinking about that. "I like that, but move your hand a bit so I can get a clear shot, okay? No, now your leg is blocking…here." He comes over and gently puts his hand on my knee. "Can I just move your leg over a little?"

His hand on my leg is heating my whole body from the inside out. I'm almost afraid to look into his eyes again, because I know I'm going to see something there that I've never seen before from Randall. I look up anyway, and the desire in his gaze is unmistakable. And suddenly, I don’t want to look away.

His hand begins to creep higher, and he places it over mine. "Put your fingers like this," he gently whispers, guiding me to open my lips, my palm hovering above. 

I'm just going to say it before I lose my nerve. "Why don't you show me exactly how you want it? With your hand."

His eyes sparkle behind his glasses. They start to slip again, and this time he removes them entirely and tosses them aside. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly moves my hand and places his own between my legs, running his fingers all around until he rests his index finger on my already-swollen clit and slips his index finger inside of me. I tighten my muscles around his finger and bite my lip to keep from moaning, I arch my back and look deep into his eyes. He smiles as I grab him by his button-down shirt and pull him on top of me. 

It's a storm of silk, lace, and buttons as I rip off his shirt and he takes off my bra, all still atop the little platform. I reach for his belt buckle, and he places his hand on my chest to stop me. 

"I want to do something first," he says. He softly rubs his thumb in a circle on my clit, and the heat I'm feeling becomes more intense. "I want to kiss you there."

"Do it," I moan. He starts with my breasts, kissing and gently sucking one and then the other. I relish in the warm, wet feel of his mouth, admiring my firm nipples as he lifts away from them. His lips are on my stomach, then between my hips, and it feels like an eternity that I'm waiting, but finally I feel them reach my pussy. He licks the inside of my lips; runs his tongue across my hole. The warmth and the slightly rough texture of his tongue is so good. I can feel my lips swelling, filling with heat, screaming for more.

He begins to flick his tongue over my clit, teasingly at first. Then he moves it up and down. "Oh my god, Randall, don't stop," I cry. I look down to see his head between my legs, long black braids every which way, his face obscured. The feeling of ecstasy becomes stronger. I don't want to come yet, but he keeps licking and kissing me and I can't help it. I grab a handful of braids and yank on them as every muscle in my body floods with pleasure and I come with such intensity that I almost can’t stand it. I orgasm in waves, letting them wash over and take control of me. It’s as if a roller coaster that had been stopped suddenly resumes at full force. I am flying, racing at a million miles an hour, unstoppable and invincible. I have never come like this before. The feeling is so powerful, nothing else in the world has ever mattered or ever will again.

He raises his head and I kiss his full lips, feel the juice and spit on his chin, taste my own body on his tongue. This time when I unbuckle his belt, he doesn't stop me. I draw in my breath, thrown slightly off guard by the size of the hard dick staring back at me. It had never occurred to me that quiet, unassuming Randall was absolutely packing.

He reaches in his pocket for a condom. "Always be prepared," he says, seeing my look of surprise. I wonder if he's making a reference to the time he wouldn't smoke weed with Devon behind the dumpsters and Devon had scornfully called him a lame-ass Boy Scout.

Devon! The photos! They're definitely not happening now. I smile, realizing that I couldn't care less. All I want is Randall. 

He presses his slim, sleek body to mine and enters me as I lay on the silk sheet. He fills every inch of me, and I arch my hips to push myself against him, willing him to go even deeper. As he moves, and I sigh and kiss his shoulder, he whispers, "How do you like it?"

At that moment, I notice the lyrics to the slow, sexy background music. You started gettin' crazy, told me fuck you like a whore. "That," I nod at his phone. "Fuck me like a whore. Like you bought me and paid for me."

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?” He pauses. “Get on the bed. Hands and knees."

I do as I’m told. His hands grab my hips and he begins to fuck me, slowly at first, then harder, as he murmurs, "I could stare at that ass all day."

I can feel him so deep that it almost hurts, but in a good way; I start to open up more and more with each thrust. So when I feel him slide out, I turn around indignantly. 

He gives me a knowing smile and reaches for my hand. "You said like a whore. You change your mind?"

"You know I didn't," I tease him. "Show me what you want."

He guides me up against his bookshelf and turns me so I'm facing him. With my stilettos on, I'm just the right height for him to fuck me face-to-face. I gaze at his amber eyes and his soft lips, gently parted as he moves up and down inside of me, and I can't believe I never noticed how stunning he is, how sexy, how strong.

My back begins to dig into the bookshelf, but I don't care. I like the pain. I like the pressure. I like the feeling of his chest against mine and his lips on my neck as he begins to kiss it lightly. "You're so fucking beautiful," he pants. "You're gonna make me come right now. I can't wait anymore."

With those words, he fucks me so hard I feel like I'm going to lift off the ground. I hear myself shout something unintelligible as he moans and finishes. We stand there, covered in sweat, with him still inside of me, until finally I brush a braid out of his face and say, "Best photo shoot ever. But you know, you really should take some pictures of me sometime. Not for anyone else to see. I'd just like to pose for you."

He points to the camera, still pointed toward the corner. "It was on automatic. It took a picture every five seconds. We've probably got dozens."

"Really?" I'm dying with curiosity.

"Yeah, I set it when I came over to position you, just in case we got a good candid shot. I’m guessing we got more than that." He grabs his phone. "I can upload them right now. The camera's linked."

We lay down on the bed, and I snuggle next to him as we swipe through the images. I've never seen myself look so seductive, red heels and lips and panties, curves flowing from every angle. But I've also never seen myself look so happy. I'm smiling in most of the pictures as Randall is on top of me, touching me, kissing me. He looks like a bronzed god with his caramel skin and perfectly sculpted body. "These are amazing," I say.

"A good subject makes good pictures." He strokes my cheek. Abruptly, my phone begins to chirp from my purse. I hop off the bed to retrieve it. I'm not surprised to see the text from Devon, although in all honesty, I had kind of forgotten that he exists. 

Hey, where’s my pics!

Randall shakes his head when I show him the phone. "He better hope he doesn’t run into me when he gets back from Job Corps. In fact, let me set him straight right now."

He begins to reach for his own phone, but I put my hand out to stop him. "Nah, let me fuck with him a bit." I text back, Sorry, I forgot. I’m at Randall’s place right now. 

A brief pause. Wtf are you doing with him? Writing poems? Quit playing and send me pics. 

I'm not even mad. You want pics? I scroll through the photos Randall shared with me until I find the perfect one. I'm lying on my back, my wet nipples shining under the lights, my legs bent and knees tilted outward. Between my legs is a head of long braids, and wrapped around my thighs are supple brown arms. My eyes are closed, and the look on my face is sheer bliss. 

I really want to send it to him as is, but common sense takes over. I crop my upper body and blur Randall's head so that you can't see the individual braids, just that it's a long-haired man, although I think Devon will still get the idea. I send it to him with the caption, Sorry you can’t really see much… the guy I was writing poems with is kinda in the way.

Randall throws back his head, laughing. "I can't believe you really sent that to him."

"It's my goodbye present to him. I'm blocking his number." I toss my phone aside and run my fingers through Randall's hair. "I think it's time to write some more poetry."