I was visiting a friend at her father’s wealthy country club. One of the cute guys that we met by the pool told us that he was going to be a famous photographer; but, right now, he was shooting naked-girl photos until he “made it big.” He asked us if we wanted to model for him; when he told us that he’d pay us a couple of thousand dollars each, we agreed.
Around dusk, we walked to the pool and weren’t quite sure what to expect; but there he was, an unassuming young graduate student like us with a digital camera. He handed us wads of cash as if it were pieces of gum. I stuffed the money into my purse and started following his lead. He had me lay down by the fountain at the head of the pool. “Now, lift your skirt up, Tiffany,” he said behind his camera lens. I did as he said; and, the more comfortable I became, the more adventurous and playful I got for him. I licked my finger and circled it around my clit; he was going wild, telling me that I was “a natural.”
He got on his belly and took close-up shots of my pussy and ass. I got on my knees and wiggled for him. We were all having so much fun that we didn’t notice the elderly couple on one of the balconies that wasn’t hidden by the brush. “You should be ashamed!” the old lady yelled. “But I called the cops. They’ll be coming for you!” And, we did hear someone coming! We hurriedly picked up our clothes and tossed our belongings behind one of the shrubs. We tried to relax, sitting on the lawn chairs and wearing fake smiles.
The cop walked through the gate and huffed. “See,” said the old man. The old lady yelled down to him, “Yeah, you tell them, Horace!” The old man winked at the officer, who smiled. We held our breath until Horace said, “Crazy old coot. Sorry to have brought you out this ways.” The men shook hands and the cop left. “You’re the Peterson boy, aren’t you?” he said to our male companion. Horace didn’t’ wait for a response; he shoved a slip of paper into the young man’s hand and said, “That’s my email. Send me them pictures.” He laughed as he walked away; but his wife was already hollering about us not getting arrested. He turned around one last time and gave a hearty laugh, “That’s what we used to call almost getting snagged by the fuzz!” We laughed, mainly at how amused he was of him self…and from relief.
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