Chapter 2

The address was, as Marty had said, that of a high-class fashion photographer, which, as far as Melanie was concerned, merely went to prove that the best of them needed walking-around money now and again. The studio door was open when she got there, and she walked in.

The photographer was busy setting up some props, and when he looked up a smile creased his face.

Ivor Goodson was as tall as Marty Charles. He had a long, almost pointy nose like Marty, but there any resemblances between the photographer and the agent abruptly ended. To begin with, Goodson was, if not fat, slightly hefty, and certainly not at all muscular. He was always smiling, which led Melanie to be suspicious of him immediately. His skin was a deep tan, as if he baked under his own klieg lights too long.

At that moment Goodson was wearing a pair of tan pants and a green checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Melanie was wearing a white blouse with a blue jumper that clung to her like a cocktail dress.

"You must be the model Marty sent over," Goodson said, still wearing the leer.

"I was told I'm getting seventy-five dollars an hour or as much for any part thereof," Melanie said coldly.

"That's right," Goodson nodded. "There were supposed to be two other girls here, but they weren't able to make it today. If you want, we can shoot the whole session with just you. It'll take about five hours, breaks included."

Secretly, Melanie was overjoyed. Five hours meant four-hundred-and fifty dollars, and deducting the forty-five dollars for Marty, that still meant more than four-hundred dollars for herself.

"Fine," she nodded. "Where do I get undressed?"

"There's a dressing room over there," Goodson told her, pointing to a red door in the otherwise green wall of the studio. "Just take everything off. I'll have various items for you to wear out here, but the parts of you the boys want to see will always remain exposed."

Shrugging, Melanie walked into the small dressing room, removed her clothing, hung everything up neatly, and with a towel Goodson had provided wrapped around her, she stepped back into the studio.

She saw he had closed the door.

"Okay," he told her, sounding very professional behind the camera, "take off the towel, go over to the floor mat, and kneel on it, but with your head turned toward the camera. Keep your thighs wide apart, honey. We want everything showing."

Melanie wanted to protest she had never done anything like this before, but she knew such protestations would be considered unladylike, and so, with her back turned, she removed the towel, walked over to the floor mat he had pointed out, and kneeled on it, letting her buttocks point toward the camera.

"Jesus!" Goodson gasped. "You have the perfect ass, honey. I'll tell you something else. You have a nice little pussy there, too, but if you ever do any more of this kind of modeling, be smart, use a scissors and trim the hair. Make it short so the pussylips stand out. Got me?"

"Yes," Melanie replied.

He snapped pictures for more than an hour, then finally told her, "Take a break."

Melanie immediately grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her body.

"Want a Coke?" Ivor Goodson asked.

"The kind you drink or the kind you snort?"

"Take your pick."

"I'll have the drinking kind, thank you," Melanie said, softening a little, seeing the man was apparently not looking at her like a woman, but rather as someone to study for the camera.

He brought her a twelve-ounce bottle of Coca Cola from a refrigerator he had in the small adjacent kitchen. He, himself, simply went about removing the four rolls of film he had shot of her, putting them in the darkroom, which was behind a blue door over to the right. When he returned he had five more rolls of film.

Once again Melanie assumed all different kinds of odd poses, odd in the sense that no matter how she posed, the camera was always photographing her from the angle of her vagina. He made her spread her vaginal lips, then had her bend over again and pull her asscheeks apart. She drew the line at inserting a finger into herself.

"Sorry," she told him. "Except for a gynecologist's speculum, nothing has ever probed into me, and I'd like to keep it that way a little while longer."

An hour-and-a-half after that, he called for another break.

"Look," he told her. "You still have too much hair down there. I'm not asking you to shave the area naked, but I'd like you to trim some of it away. I'll get a scissors."

"This is ridiculous," she insisted. "I'm afraid I'll cut myself."

"Honey, you have a classic figure," he told her. "I'm not going to kid you, sweetheart. I do a lot of work for the high-class outfits, and I'd be able to fit you in, sure as hell. But I'm telling you right now, a lot of ads call for nude modeling, as well as bikini modeling. Now with all that hair down there, it would ruin the shots. So why not be smart and trim away enough so that nothing hangs out if and when I take bikini shots of you."

"I told you," Melanie insisted. "I can't. I'm really afraid of cutting myself with the scissors."

"All right, all right, don't make a big deal out of it. Look, I'll do the trimming. We'll get it done very quickly, because I still have a lot of photos I need to take of you."

Melanie wanted to protest, but she felt to do so would make her sound gauche. If there was one thing Melanie insisted on being, it was, with it. Protesting to a man who obviously saw vaginas every day of the week would be almost ludicrous. So when he approached her with the scissors and told her to lie back on the bed with her buttocks at the very corner and her thighs spread wide apart, even though she reddened, she did precisely as he told her.

She lay there as he went to work with the scissors, and when he was finished he took a hand mirror and held it up, showing how he had trimmed the hair very neatly, forming a heart shaped frame around her vagina. Without waiting for her permission, he used some lather and a razor and shaved away some more unwanted hair so that the heart shaped line of black hair stood out very starkly on the white of her pubic mound as it framed her pink labia. Melanie had to admit, she liked the effect. It made her vaginal lips stand out even more than if she were totally bare down there.

"Okay," he told her. "We'll work straight through from now on. By the time I'm finished, you'll be so tired you won't be able to stand straight."

They worked for nearly three hours straight after that, and by the time he was finished, Melanie was very tired.

"I'll send the check to your agent," he told her, as she dressed in front of him, feeling indifferent to letting him look at her, now.

"What are you going to do with all those pictures?" she asked.

"I have enough photos of you here for six months," he told her. "I'll get top dollar for them from every nudie mag in town."

"How about some of that straight work you were talking about, earlier?"

"Tell you what," he said. "I need some high-class nudie shots for the real quality mens' magazines, tomorrow. Be here at nine-o'clock in the morning. Same pay as before. If these work out, you'll be on your way to hundred-and-fifty dollar an hour work."

"You have a deal," she told him.