Click

They said they were desperate to take my picture. I wasn’t sure why, but they said there was something about me that they just had to commit to film, to their memory. My heart swelled at the thought—no one had ever asked to take my picture before. I didn’t know what to expect, or wear, or think.

“Should we meet in the middle maybe?” I ask, knowing we lived in different boroughs. “I don’t mind coming to you, actually,” they reply and I oblige. The thought of them in my house with their camera stirred me with an intensity I couldn’t name. We decide on 3pm. 

The day of, I wake up at noon. 3 still feels like forever away. I take a really long time in the shower until I am soft and smell like lavender. I do a face mask. Then another. I brush my teeth and floss. I don’t remember the last time I flossed. For some reason, It takes me a while to choose my underwear. I finally decide on the black lace, the ones that make me feel confident. 

But I have no idea what to wear. 

I stand in my underwear, evaluating my choices for a very long time. All of a sudden, I feel unstylish, unfashionable, and uncool. My clothes start to stick to me because I am sweating, warm with anticipation. I take a deep breath, running my thumb along the waistband of my underwear. Too nervous to make a risky wardrobe choice, I choose the safe, all black option. 

I spend the entire afternoon cleaning my apartment. I don’t know why, I just kept finding things to tidy, or straighten, or move so they think I am cool. “I am cool,” I repeat to myself out loud more than once. I don’t know what to do with my hands. 

The buzzer rings, and I wait. I pour them a glass of water to greet them with as they enter because I am perpetually apologizing for my fifth floor walk up. I pace. They ring the doorbell and I exhale, ready to greet them cool and collected at the door. They kiss my cheek. I let them in. 

“Is that for me?” They ask, gesturing to the water that I completely forgot about as I watched them pull off their boots, tracing the veins in their hands with my gaze. They look up at me. I hand them the water, spilling a little on the floor in exchange. 

“Come on in,” I say, like some kind of real estate agent. 

“Your place is super cute.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Can I put my bag here?”

“Oh, yeah, you can put it wherever.”

“So,” they say, walking slowly around my apartment, looking at the art on the wall and finally at me. “I figured we could do a few in here, and then a few on your roof before we lose the light. That cool?”

“Yeah, totally,” I say, realizing I literally hadn’t moved since they came into my living room. 

“Are you okay?” They ask and they look at me with a raised brow, a look that says, “I know I make you nervous but I want to hear you say it.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…no one’s ever taken my picture before,” I admit, feeling the intensity of a school kid crush blooming in my abdomen as they grin at me like we are both in on the same secret. 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about, I promise,” they say, pulling their camera out of their bag. “I’ll try to make everything as comfortable as possible. Just relax.”

I sit on the couch and play with my hands. They turn the camera on and face me. 

“What do I do?” I ask. 

“Right now you can just sit there. I’m just taking some test shots.”  

Click.

“And then you’ll tell me what to do?” I ask, looking up at them as they adjust their lens. 

“If you want me to, then yeah.” 

Click. 

“Move your head up a little bit?” 

Click.

“Yeah, that’s good.” 

I smile purely out of awkwardness. 

“You’re doing great,” they say. “Can we get a few of you smiling? I like your smile.” 

Click. 

“Wanna go to the roof?” I ask, needing to get up and do something with all of the nervous energy radiating from my fingertips. “I think the sun is going to set soon.”

“Sure,” they say. “Show me the way?” 

We walk up the stairs and I almost fall backwards, feeling their hands on the small of my back. 

“I got you,” they say, and I giggle. I feel like I sound like an idiot but they laugh back.

I’m less awkward on the roof, moving a little more as they circle me with their camera, moving closer and farther away, periodically looking at their screen with a wry smile. I wonder what they see. Click. 

They furrow their brow at the camera. “What’s up?” I ask. “Am I that bad?”

They laugh. “No, not at all. I just got an idea.”

“Oh?” I ask, squinting up at them. 

They set their camera down and walk towards me. “Can I pose you?” They ask. “I had a vision about the way you look in the light just now.”

I swallow hard. “Sure.”

They delicately place their hand on my chin, tilting my head to the right. Their other hand is on my shoulder.

“Okay,” They say, letting their hand trail from my ear to my collarbone. I shiver.

“Are you cold?” They ask as their hand travels from my shoulder to my fingertips. Surely they can feel my pulse. 

“Oh, no. Just adjusting.” I can feel the blood rushing to my ears. They step back. 

“Don’t move,” they command with a playful grin. I couldn’t if I wanted to. 

Click. 

Eventually, I get too cold to be comfortable and suggest we go back inside. They ask to use my bathroom. I sit back on the couch. 

“Your bathroom has dope lighting,” they say as they come out. “We can do some shots in there, if you want.”

“Sure.” I reply. They sit next to me on the couch and turn their camera back on. 

“Wanna see what we’ve got so far?” They ask, sliding closer to me. “I think these are great.”

They begin to flip through pictures of someone who I guess is me, although the person I’m seeing on the screen feels really beautiful and a little far away. 

“This ones my favorite,” they say, to one where I’m squinting a little bit past their gaze with a nervous smile. 

“Really?” I ask, looking at them. They meet my eyes. 

“Yes, really. I think you look really beautiful here.” 

I don’t know if they can tell, but I can feel myself blushing. I get up suddenly. 

“You want some wine? Take a break before we shoot again maybe?” I ask.

“Yeah, definitely.” I see them bite their lip as they return to looking through their pictures.

It’s at this point I realize I would do anything to have them kiss me. I pour the wine. 

“Cheers,” I say, handing them their mason jar overpoured with red wine. “To…”

“To me finally getting to take your picture,” they respond, and we cheers. I sit next to them, closer this time. Suddenly I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I drink my wine to calm down. 

“Tell me,” I say, letting the wine fuel me with false confidence, “why did you want to take my picture so badly?”

They smirk at me. 

“Is something funny?” I tease, raising an eyebrow at them, warmed by the wine and how close I am to them. 

“I have wanted to take your picture,” they say, “because I think you’re fucking beautiful.”

“Well thank you,” I say, unable to hide my smile, masking it with my glass. 

They rest their hand on my knee. My heart races to my throat. 

“And if I’m being honest?” They say, strengthening their grasp on my leg. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you opened the door.” 

I put my wine down and put my hand on top of theirs. 

“Okay. So do it then,” I invite.

They lean towards me and put their lips on my neck, softly at first, then with more pressure as their other hand moves to the base of my neck. 

They put their tongue in my mouth and suddenly I am so thirsty, desperate for them to touch me, needing them, wanting them, waiting and ready. 

And I say yes, please, and they look at me, their hand on my throat, heat in their eyes and ask, “How badly do you want me?” 

I pull their face to mine, dig my nails into them as they keep kissing me and I bite their lip, their other hand pinning my arms above me. 

“Don’t do that,” they warn, and I nod, eyes wide, as they open my mouth with their fingers before they start to kiss me from my chest down, down, their hands trailing my body until they are inside me again and I am breathless, tensing against their weight. They look up, kissing me from my stomach to nipples before they wipe their mouth and say, “I really fucking love your piercings.”

“How much?” I ask.

They put their hand on my throat and move my head up, their eyes burning into mine.   

“I’m the one asking the questions,” they say, their fingers circling my nipple with their other hand. “Now turn around.” 

I do as I’m told, my right cheek on my pillow as they trail their nails up my spine until their mouth is on my neck. “I’m going to fuck you now,” their low voice is hot in my ear. “Is that okay?”

And at the soft end of my “yes, please” they pull my hands behind me and push my face further into the pillow, their strong hands moving inside of me as I bite into the fluff, trying not to be too loud. 

“Do you like that?” They ask, as they go deeper. I can barely breathe, but I choke out a “yes” and I hear them laugh, and I want to ask what’s funny but I can’t, I can just exhale and beg, beg for more, beg for them to not stop, beg for them to keep doing that there, right there. They turn me around and look at me with a grin, pulling their hair away from their face. 

“God you are so fucking beautiful.” 

“Kiss me,” I say, pulling them on top of me, bringing the sweet cherry of their mouth to mine. They taste so good. 

I put my arms around their neck, my right hand in their hair. I pull back. “My turn,” I say. “Get on your back.” I guide them there, my hand still in their hair, my other hand trailing their collarbone. I straddle them and place my hands on their shoulders. 

“I didn’t expect this from you,” they say. 

“Expect what?” I say, but before they can answer I put my fingers in their mouth as I kiss them from their stomach down, licking their thighs before I am inside them and god they feel so good, god I want to enter and enter and enter them, relishing in the feeling of their body quivering under mine. I wish I could commit this to memory. 

Click. 

They moan as I go deeper and they pull my face back to theirs, trying to catch their breath as they kiss me. I pull away and lick them off of my fingers, my mouth finding their collarbone again before I look up at their flushed face, eyes blinking rapidly.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, curling into the space in the bed next to them. They kiss my shoulder. 

“No, I just,” they say, kissing me again. “No one ever really fucks me like that.” 

Something inside of me blooms at the sentiment. I turn back towards them. 

“Oh yeah?” I asked, clearly no longer nervous. “Well then let me do it again.”

Photo by Ike Louie Natividad