CHAPTER V
He meticulously set-up the camera atop an old chest next to his paintings,
taking great care to aim and adust it properly, placing a stack of books under
it to give it the correct height.
"We're ready."
He scurried directly behind her with the small remote in his hand. Approximately
a foot taller than her, he looked over her right shoulder at the camera and
almost instinctively placed his left hand between her neck and left shoulder.
Before doing so, however, he deliberately wrapped his fingers around a part of
her upper arm that her shirt still covered. He aimed the remote with his right
hand and clicked, then took hold of her other covered arm with it.
"We have ten seconds. This is just a nice, family portrait."
"Oh yes, very nice," his older sister added. "We're in your bedroom. You're in a
'wife beater' (referring to his shirt), my clothes are falling off, and we're
both sweaty. It will make for a splendid Christmas card."
They both laughed. A flash and a buzz and the photo was ejected from the camera.
He strode over and plucked it from the camera and they watched it develop.
"It's cute," she chirped.
"Yes, it's nice," he agreed. "Should we take another?"
She looked at her watch again.
"Yes, but then I really should be going. Mouths to feed."
"Of course." He again situated himself behind her, but this time he allowed his
palms to fall halfway upon the bared skin of arms, while still marginally over
the fabric of her knit top.
Her eyes widened at the sensation of his flesh against hers. The photo was
taken.
"This one is much better," she said, feigning innocence.
Without pause, they prepared to pose for another. This time he placed his hands
blatantly upon her naked shoulders. There was an immediate though ambiguous
noise that filled the room, akin to a "Mmmm," but from whom or where it came was
uncertain. Flash. Buzz. Photo.
He slid the fingers of one hand around her neck while the other clutched her
shoulder. Flash. Buzz. Photo. He slid all of his fingers over her throat. Flash.
Buzz. Photo. She arched her neck. He wrapped his arm around her thick, warm
waist. She bowed her head. He gently pulled her head back by her hair. She
thrust forth her breasts. She sunk her fingers into her top and pulled it
downward, exposing her cleavage as well as the lace of her bra. He breathed upon
her neck. She threw her hands over her breasts. He kneaded the palm of his hand
into her stomach. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled
it up slightly. He raised the hand that was wrapped around her torso and tucked
it under her obscenely large breasts.
"Hey! Careful now..."
"Forgive me," he panted. He lowered his hand then aimed the remote. Flash but no
buzz. "We're out of film. 'Need to get more. Hold on."
"Whatever," she gasped as she tossed her head back and fanned her
sweat-glistening neck and chest with her hand.
As he tore through his hall closet looking for more film, he heard her yell from
the bedroom.
"Jake?"
"Yes?"
"I noticed that some of these women in your paintings look like they're
tied-up."
"They are," he yelled back, his head still buried in the closet.
"Oh."
"'Found some film," he proudly announced as he made his way to the camera. "I
knew I had a lot more. I'm quite unorganized."
"Well... I don't see why we can't take some photos like that."
"Photos like what," he asked, confused.
"Photos of me tied up."
