Shooting in Hannah - Version Alpha

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Chapter Three

A couple of days passed before we did any more work on her portfolio. She had stuff to do and so did I.

The next thing on the list was called an editorial fashion shot, which was supposed to show how you expressed yourself in photos. She was supposed to move around, jump, run or dance. You see some of that in TV ads about clothing for young people. The models in those ads are smiling as they get all energetic and show off the clothes, like wearing those clothes is the best thing they ever decided to do. In the case of a portfolio, however, the idea is to make the viewer look at the model, not what she's wearing.

This was really hard to do because it isn't natural to pause while you're smiling and having fun, so somebody can take a quick picture of you that looks like you didn't pause at all. In the end I told her to do whatever she was going to do and ignore me and I'd just take pictures. Hopefully one of them would do what needed to be done.

There was an old tire swing in the back yard, and she swung on that. I happened to get a shot of her when she leaned back, basically making her body into a straight line on top of a round tire. Her eyes were closed and her hair was flying out. It was just beautiful. I still have that photo in a frame in my office today. She remembered an old Hula Hoop in the garage, and got that out. She tried riding her bike, but that moved her too fast and the images on the phone blurred. She danced for a while and I got another boner.

In the end, we chose one of the tire swing shots. I got it while she was spinning around. I had told her to look at me each time she came around and try to make it look like she didn't hate me. She was smiling in the picture and looked excited, vibrant. We had no idea if it was the right kind of shot for that page, but that's what we ended up with.

You've probably figured out by now that she actually should have used a professional photographer, who knew how to do all this stuff and probably had sets and could do stop-action and all that. We were both just ignorant teenagers who thought we could do anything we wanted to. I have to say, though, that I think I took some pretty good pictures. I'm not saying her portfolio was worth a crap when it got done, but some of the shots in it were good. My opinion. And other people eventually agreed with me, too. But I'm jumping the gun and need to move on.

Next was a commercial shot, which is the same concept as the editorial fashion shot except the idea is to convey some kind of emotion consistent with advertising a product. If you leaf through a magazine you'll see basically two looks on the model's face. One is a smile or grin, indicating how incredibly much fun the person is having while engaged in/using some product. The other is a thoughtful look. It's not too bad in print, but on TV they get ridiculous. I especially like (hate) the ones where somebody brushes his teeth and then grins like that's the best thing that ever happened to him in his whole life. Look at yourself in the mirror next time you brush. Trust me, you're not grinning like an idiot. I bet you don't lick your teeth, either.

I read up on this shot and was relieved that you didn't have to do a commercial. All that was required was capturing the kind of expression that might be used in a commercial: anger, happiness, pain, constipation, hope, distrust and so on.

The problem is that it's pretty hard to convey something you aren't actually feeling at the moment. That begs the question, though, since that's the whole point of modeling. A model's talent is projecting what the client wants you to feel like, instead of what you actually feel like.

I took some pictures of her frowning and smiling. She tried to look anguished and thoughtful, but all of those shots looked like just what they were, some kid taking pictures of his sister while she made faces at him. Neither of us was happy with the results.

Then I had an idea. I had no clue as to how it might turn out, but I thought it might generate some real emotion in her and I hoped that emotion would be visible on her face. I know that's not how this is supposed to work. I know the idea is for her to show her talent at expressing any particular emotion on demand, but then again that's something that can be learned, practiced and worked on in the future. The idea was to get people's interest.

As I said, I didn't know how she'd react to my idea. I was just hoping she would react.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked.

"Go ahead," she said. She looked a little grumpy, but grumpy wasn't what I was looking for.

"When you asked me if I sneaked a shot of your ... um ... breasts, and I said I didn't, you had a funny look on your face. What were you thinking about?"

She just looked at me. Her face was completely blank. Then she sat down on her bed.

"Let me ask you a question," she said.

"Okay.

"Did you look?"

"At your breasts?"

"No, you incredibly stupid boy, my elbows!" she snapped. "Of course I meant my breasts!"

Her face displayed annoyance, but it still wasn't what I was looking for.

"Yes, I looked," I said.

Her face calmed.

"Did you want to take a picture?"

"Of course I did," I said. There was something on her face now that was interesting. She looked a little afraid, maybe anguished. I figured she was worried about just how perverted I was. I snapped a shot.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Annoyed again.

"I'm just taking pictures. Ignore that and just talk to me."

"You wanted to take a picture of my naked breasts," she said.

"Sure I did. I didn't get much of a look, but I could tell they were sweet."

"So why didn't you tell me to stop?"

"You mean try to get you to face me, so I could take a picture?" I didn't have to imagine the look on my face at that moment. It was one of pure shock.

"I don't know," she said. Her face fell and I snapped a picture. "I think something's wrong with me."

"Wrong with you?"

"I don't understand why I like it so much when you look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like guys at school look at me ... undressing me with their eyes."

"I thought you'd be mad if I looked at you like that," I said.

"I should be mad!" Now her face really did display anguish, as she looked off to one side. I took a picture.

"But you're not." I have no idea why I was pushing this. I was just trying to get something undeniable on her face.

"No," she said, softly. "Why do you think I posed for you like that in Megan's swim suit?"

"I don't know," I said. "I was a little confused about that."

"I felt like such a slut," she said. I couldn't identify the emotion showing on her face, but it was stark and I snapped a picture.

"You're anything but a slut," I said.

"Like you'd know," she said. She almost sneered, but it was there and gone too quickly to catch in a pic.

"I know how sluts act, Hannah, and you don't act that way."

"I did for you," she argued.

"That was different. We were trying to work up to getting something hot. Besides, it's not like I'm going to run out and tell all my friends," I said.

"You'd better not," she warned. "Not if you ever hope to see them again."

That was interesting. I didn't have to ask her what "them" meant. She had just suggested that me seeing those creamy, dark-nippled mams again could actually happen.

"Are you sure there are no nude shots needed for this portfolio?" I asked. I swear I was just trying to break the tension. Her face was showing the tension, but it wasn't anything specific enough for what I was looking for.

It did break the tension. She smiled. Then she got an impish look on her face. I got the picture.

"If I show you mine, you have to show me yours," she teased.

"Can't," I said, taking more pictures. "You'd scream bloody murder."

"Why?" she asked. The look on her face was avid interest and I took a picture. I honestly wasn't thinking too hard about what was being said. I was looking for something special on her face and that took the majority of my concentration.

Her eyes dropped to my groin. Then they widened in shock. I got that picture.

"Oh my gosh!" she squealed. "Do you have a boner?"

"What?" Again, being honest, I wasn't actually aware of whether I had a boner or not. I dropped my hands and looked down at the front of my pants. I saw the normal lump and felt a little tingle there, but not what she was suggesting. "No. I do not have a boner."

She covered her face with her hands.

"I am such a slut," she moaned.

I went to sit down beside her. I wanted to put my arm around her, but didn't.

"Look," I said. "I'm just as confused about this as you are, okay?"

"Such a slut," she muttered through her hands.

"Are you saying you wanted me to have a hardon?" I asked. It was pretty blunt, but finesse wasn't in my tool bag that day.

The hands came down. She looked outraged. It would have been a great shot, but the camera was on the bed beside me. Then she crumbled. I saw a tear form and run down her cheek.

"Talk to me," I said. I didn't know what else to do.

"You can never tell anybody what I'm about to say," she said. "Never!"

"I promise."

"When I go out with guys and they get that way, it's awful. Even Steve. It just makes my skin crawl, and I feel like something bad could happen and I want to run away."

"I can understand that," I offered.

"So why, when I think about that happening with you, do I feel different?"

"Different how?" I asked.

"Different like it doesn't seem scary. Different like I get ... turned on." She frowned. "What's wrong with me, Bobby?"

All I could do was grasp at straws. I had the same problem she did. I'd had a fantasy about her and me being naked ... in bed ... doing the things I'd had hazy fantasies about doing with other girls, and the women in those magazines. I'd gotten extremely turned on by Megan's swim suit displaying my sister's pouting pussy lips and stiff nipples. I thought she'd been teasing me then, having that kind of fun, as opposed to having the same kind of fun I was having.

"Maybe nothing," I said. "You know I love you, for real, I mean, and would never do anything to hurt you. So you feel safe letting those feelings come out."

"I don't think so," she sighed. "I've never wanted to see Steve's ... dick. I've never wanted to see any guy's dick."

The inference was clear. She wanted to see mine. Wow. What a mind bender!

"Maybe it's just curiosity," I said.

"Are you curious about me? About seeing me, I mean?"

"Want me to be honest?"

"Yes!"

"Desperately," I said. I held my breath.

"Really?"

I let it out. She didn't sound mad at all.

"The reason I don't want you to see me that way is because if you ever do, I will have a boner," I whispered.

"Because of me," she whispered back. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," I said. "I've been taking pictures of you, Hannah. I know how hot you can look. It ... affects me."

She looked over at me.

"Thank you," she said, softly.

"I'm surprised you said that," I responded.

"I felt so alone," she said. "I don't, now."

"I have an idea," I said.

"What?"

I got up. I told her to go stand in front of the sheet on the wall. Then I told her to bend over and stand up and just move around. She did.

"Now, keep doing that and think about me, trying to talk you into taking your clothes off. I want to take pictures of you without your clothes on."

"We can't do that," she said, but something came over her face that was really interesting. She looked ... intrigued.

"Come on," I said. "What could it hurt? If you become a famous super model somebody's going to try to get you to do nude shots. I'm just preparing you for that event."

The look that came over her face was priceless. It was a smile of sorts, but with a little furrow of her eyebrows.

"You really want to see me naked," she said, her voice low.

"Of course I do," I answered. "You're a babe."

Then there it was, the exact look I'd been hoping for without knowing what it would be. That phrase 'You'll know it when you see it' is true. The look was happy/naughty/quirky/a little wicked and just flat beautiful.

I got the picture.

I lowered the camera and found her standing still, staring at my groin again. I looked down and it was obvious I had a hardon because you could see the length of my cock imprinting the front of my pants.

"Sorry," I said.

"Don't be," she whispered. "I'm not."

If this was one of those erotic stories, this is where we'd have abandoned all control and ended up fucking like crazy. Those stories are fiction, though, and life doesn't work that way. At least not the life we were in. Instead, she said she was tired and that we could pick things back up later.

I went to my room and masturbated. I didn't even have to download that picture. I still had it firmly in my mind's eye.

I found out later she wasn't tired at all. She just wanted to masturbate, too.

Things were pretty cool the next day. She wanted to get her "smiling shot" which is like a head shot except the purpose is to show a smile. Sounds easy, right? People smile for snapshots all the time. But a fake smile looks different than a real one. You can even see that in those family snapshots. Some people look genuinely happy, while others don't, even though they're smiling. You can also see that in competitions, like the Miss America pageant. All those women smile and all those smiles are fake. But some of them look genuine. Those are the women who smile like they want models to smile. This needed to be a picture that reached out and grabbed the viewer, made him want to stare at that face and imagine the model smiling like that at him, instead of the camera.

I never thought about it before I started taking pictures of my sister, but I have come to the conclusion that modeling, at least artistic or fashion modeling, is all about creating the fantasy that the model is doing whatever she's doing just for you, and you alone. Commercial modeling is a bit different. That's why you see different kinds of models doing that. Commercial modeling is aimed getting you to put yourself in the model's place, and do whatever she's doing. It's supposed to make you eat what he's eating, or wear the makeup she's wearing, or buy the insurance they've bought (or should have bought) and that kind of thing.

It's a fundamental difference, but it also explains why there are so vastly many more commercial models than there are supermodels.

When was the last time you saw a supermodel doing a commercial for some breakfast cereal?

Well ... at least a young one. As supermodels get older they branch out into things other than trying to give men a boner.

I'm rambling, but that's what I was thinking about as I tried to figure out how all this happened. I think when Hannah said she wanted to be a model I didn't think about commercial modeling. I thought about the glamorous, good looking women in the fashion business. And when I started taking pictures of her, I think I kind of viewed her as a potential model for the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit Edition.

My attitude changed in incremental ways. Those very first shots I took, of her in the back yard so she could send a picture to Steve, made me think of her as a female of the "not bad looking and definitely worth a little fantasy" variety. When she asked me to do her portfolio was when she got elevated to the Sports Illustrated level of things. What changed things even more radically was ... well ... Playboy Magazine.

The average guy who looks at a Playboy spread (or one in any nudie magazine) usually looks at the woman in the pictures and tries to answer one fundamental question: "Is she my type and would I try to fuck her?" If there are any ladies in the audience I am imagining hearing them snort and nudge each other, saying something like, "Of course she's his type and of course he'd try to fuck her. Men are indiscriminate horn dogs." But that's not true. The average man looks at every picture ... but his eyes only linger on some of them.

If he's into blondes, he'll look at the women with brown or black hair, but he searches for the pictures of blondes. And even then, he wants to find a blonde with the right breasts, the right waist, the right pussy and the right butt. And even then he wants to see the right look on her face. I've seen dozens and dozens of pictures of women who had fabulous bodies, but their faces didn't portray any indication they were having fun or wanted anything to do with the viewer at all. They're just not "interesting."

So don't think men aren't discriminating about this stuff, ladies.

And that's why there is the need for so many different looking women in the modeling industry.

Anyway, back to Playboy.

We worked all day long to get a smiling shot that we both liked. We tried it with and without makeup, with her hair in different arrangements, in the shade, sun, and indoors, against various backgrounds. It was exhausting. Okay, it wasn't exhausting, at least not for me, but it did take all day. And all those smiles she shot me, whether they were dazzling, cryptic, gentle, merry, happy or whatever, kept me in a kind of a buzz all day. Call it being buzzed on horniness. She was cute, vibrant, fun to be around ... interesting.

So when we finally called a halt we actually had too many pictures to choose from. A lot of them were great shots. We were both tired, though, so we decided to review them the next day.

And I went to my room and pulled out a Playboy so I could finally jerk off.

It was while I was looking at the pictures in that Playboy that the epiphany struck me, and it struck me like a flash of lightning.

The girl I was looking at was some guy's daughter. It was entirely possible she had one or more brothers. The law of averages demanded that at least some of these nudie models had brothers.

And I started wondering what those fathers, brothers (uncles, cousins, grandfathers) might think about if they were looking at these pictures.

Imagine that conversation at the dinner table on Sunday afternoon.

Brother: "Hey, Sis. I heard you got a job."

Christy: "Can we talk about something else?" (Turns to father) "What's going on at the bank, Daddy? Weren't you hoping for a promotion?"

Now fast forward six months to the publishing of the Playboy issue in which Christy's pale, naked body is splayed all over four pages of the magazine. Her pussy is shaved and her pussy lips are the kind that look loose ... 'well used'. Her nipples are stiff and she has the classic look of the Playboy model that communicates, "You can have me if you want me, but you can't tell anybody you're fucking my brains out on a regular basis."

Brother gets his hands on a copy. Dad, who knows where his son hides the magazines, routinely checks them out while his son is at school.

Basically, both men see the woman they live with (or at least have Sunday dinner with) in all her nude glory. She is obviously a sexual being.

How do they react to that?

What would the next Sunday Dinner be like?

There are tons of other scenarios in which this could happen. The girl could announce that she interviewed at Playboy and they're going to do some test shots of her nude. It could all be up front, as far as the family is concerned.

But any man in her family (and probably her extended family) who finds out there are nude shots of her in a magazine is going to get his hands on that magazine, one way or another. They're going to look at her.

Of course I'm sure there are some men in this world who would refuse to look at such pictures. It might be for moral reasons, or because they don't want the fantasy of her purity and innocence destroyed. I suspect, though, that most of "Christy's" relatives who decline to look at that issue of Playboy do so because they're pretty sure they know what will happen if they do.

They'll get an erection. Or at least there will be some interest in her, sexually. That's bad enough, but you can't look at pictures like that and keep imagining that "Christy" is still pure and innocent. You know some prick has put his prick where there shouldn't be any prick.

And then you can't help imagining what that might have looked like.

Christy in the back seat, legs spread for some pimple-faced boy after prom.

Christy on a study date with a boy, lying on her back with her legs spread, thrusting back up at the boy hard enough to make books clatter to the floor.

Christy in some college professor's office, sitting on his desk with her legs spread, getting royally shanked by his flesh-knife as she negotiates for a better grade.

Christy dancing in some club and then going home with some guy who climbs on and rides her like a cowboy rides a bucking bronco.

Christy trying out for the Playboy modeling job, which somehow entails some guy fucking her, until her pussy lips look just perfect for the shot.

Of course Christy's life probably isn't like that at all, but you can't control the fantastic images that flit through your mind when it's being shocked by the fact that "Little" Christy is quite literally a sexual being.

And I'm pretty sure that a substantial number of those brothers, fathers, uncles and so on can't help but imagine climbing between Christy's silky, open, willing thighs themselves and finding out in person what those clasping pussy lips feel like stroking up and down their incestuous penises.

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