Intimations of Mortality - 15
Being a series of random but loosely connected musings on my life, the world I have lived in and what the future - what's left of it - may hold.
The Camera Club session with the school uniform was a success. The Chairman had procured an old wooden school desk, the kind with an attached seat, and a blackboard and easel, to dress my set.
I posed in and then, piece by piece, without my uniform. In front of the blackboard. At the desk. On the desk. By special demand, over the desk. (That brought some too recent memories to mind.)
It was little surprise to me that the members seemed more enthused by shots of me wearing my white knee socks and tie, than any other combination. But, as usual, I ended the session naked, draped languidly across the desk.
When I collected my money, the Chairman asked if I had any other uniforms, if I would agree to wearing them? I said I had not but would consider wearing whatever he produced. Anything but a nun - I still retained, in those days, a modicum of respect for, or fear of, the Church.
So it was, over the next few weekends, that I posed as a nurse, a doctor, a policewoman, a soldier, a huntswoman (the first time I handled a riding crop). A schoolgirl, again. I don't remember the exact order of these parts and there may have been others. A schoolmistress? Possibly. All with suitable props.
The number of photographers grew and then settled around twenty. I don't know if the Chairman limited it to that number but it was getting pretty crowded. And noisy. There were demands for more "raunchy" poses, which I generally ignored. The Chairman never complained, never threatened to hold back my money, so I maintained that much control.
I did wonder if they would tire of me, get bored seeing the same face, the same breasts, the same bottom every week. Apparently not. The Chairman told me that he had a rota of different girls working the Wednesday evening sessions but the members wanted to keep me on the Saturdays. I was young, I guess that made a difference. Maybe I reminded them of their daughters.
I did once have to cancel a session. I was working a Thursday early evening bar shift. I left on time but my bus home was cancelled and I broke my curfew. No mobile phones in those days, no chance to warn or plead with my parents.
I knew what would happen when Dad got home from work on the Friday evening. I called the Chairman from work on the day, told him I was ill. He was pissed off but accepted I couldn't work. He was not as pissed off as I was.
Friday evening, before family tea, Dad gave me the expected belt whipping. I had to sit through tea in my nightdress and go straight to bed afterwards. My bottom was not fit to be seen for a few days.
The following Saturday, I was back on show.
The Camera Club session with the school uniform was a success. The Chairman had procured an old wooden school desk, the kind with an attached seat, and a blackboard and easel, to dress my set.
I posed in and then, piece by piece, without my uniform. In front of the blackboard. At the desk. On the desk. By special demand, over the desk. (That brought some too recent memories to mind.)
It was little surprise to me that the members seemed more enthused by shots of me wearing my white knee socks and tie, than any other combination. But, as usual, I ended the session naked, draped languidly across the desk.
When I collected my money, the Chairman asked if I had any other uniforms, if I would agree to wearing them? I said I had not but would consider wearing whatever he produced. Anything but a nun - I still retained, in those days, a modicum of respect for, or fear of, the Church.
So it was, over the next few weekends, that I posed as a nurse, a doctor, a policewoman, a soldier, a huntswoman (the first time I handled a riding crop). A schoolgirl, again. I don't remember the exact order of these parts and there may have been others. A schoolmistress? Possibly. All with suitable props.
The number of photographers grew and then settled around twenty. I don't know if the Chairman limited it to that number but it was getting pretty crowded. And noisy. There were demands for more "raunchy" poses, which I generally ignored. The Chairman never complained, never threatened to hold back my money, so I maintained that much control.
I did wonder if they would tire of me, get bored seeing the same face, the same breasts, the same bottom every week. Apparently not. The Chairman told me that he had a rota of different girls working the Wednesday evening sessions but the members wanted to keep me on the Saturdays. I was young, I guess that made a difference. Maybe I reminded them of their daughters.
I did once have to cancel a session. I was working a Thursday early evening bar shift. I left on time but my bus home was cancelled and I broke my curfew. No mobile phones in those days, no chance to warn or plead with my parents.
I knew what would happen when Dad got home from work on the Friday evening. I called the Chairman from work on the day, told him I was ill. He was pissed off but accepted I couldn't work. He was not as pissed off as I was.
Friday evening, before family tea, Dad gave me the expected belt whipping. I had to sit through tea in my nightdress and go straight to bed afterwards. My bottom was not fit to be seen for a few days.
The following Saturday, I was back on show.
61-69, F
