As told to the author by Sly.
My name is Sylvita. It's Hispanic sounding because I'm of Puerto Rican descent, but born at the Jersey shore. My nickname is Sly, which is what everybody calls me. I'm 23 and single. I have straight black hair, which is parted in the middle and comes down to my breasts. I have brown eyes and caramel-colored skin. I have a nice figure (34C-24-34) and people tell me that I'm good-looking. Don't get me wrong, vanity is only a very small part of my character. I'm just providing you a mental picture of myself. To complete the picture, I'm about 5'7" and weigh about 125. During the school year, I teach third grade full-time. I also do some part-time modeling - wedding gowns, art classes, and for a couple of illustrators.
John was one of the illustrators I modeled for. He preferred to work from photos, so he would take a series of photos of me, and then do drawings and paintings from them. John lived next-door, which is how I got into modeling in the first place. Most of the modeling for John was portrait type art, or otherwise fully-clothed. However, he once asked me if I would be comfortable doing nude work for college art classes. I told him yes, but he never asked me to do nude posing for him. He was always a perfect gentleman. John was 50, a year younger than my father, but he never seemed like a father figure to me. For one thing, he looked much younger. He had a full head of pepper more than salt hair, and a lean, muscular physique. During the warmer months, he did yard work in cut-off jeans and a tank-top. Yes, younger women notice a good-looking older man. John had warm, mischeivous torquoise eyes. Regardless of the bags under them, they were kind, inviting eyes.
Because John repeatedly used me to model, and because he'd given me several portraits of myself as gifts, I knew that he found me attractive. However, he never came on to me. Though I liked John, I didn't think about us as lovers because he was old enough to be my father. Instead, we became good friends. We shared a love of music (albeit different types), a love of animals, and had other things in common.
John was divorced, but had many lady friends. Living next-door, I could see a variety of women coming and going from John's house. He didn't have one steady lady, but a number were repeats. I figured he must be good in bed to keep them returning if they knew marriage wasn't in the cards. There were blondes, brunettes, redheads, and even Black and Hispanic women. John obviously liked variety.
It was the last week of June when John phoned me and arranged a photo shoot for Saturday afternoon. He told me that we would be shooting at the beach, and asked if I had a bikini to model in. I told him I did and wouldn't mind. We agreed that I would wear my bikini under my shorts and top so that I didn't have to change there. John was going to drive and we'd leave around 4PM.
On Saturday, as I walked over to John's, I noticed another car parked next to John's. I knocked on the door and John answered.
"Hi Sly, come in for a minute. We're ready to go," John said with a smile.
Rising from John's couch was a woman with blonde hair just down to her shoulders. She stepped over to us and stood near John.
"Sly, this is Heather. Heather, this is Sly," John said to introduce us.
Heather smiled, extended her hand and said, "Nice to meet you. John says you're the best model he's ever worked with."
"Nice to meet you too," I said and shook her hand. "John's too kind. I'm purely an amateur."
"Heather's an artist too," John explained, "She'd like to go with us to the beach. Is that okay with you, Sly?"
I shrugged and said, "Fine with me."
It was another warm June afternoon, and Heather was wearing a tank-top and cut-off jean short-shorts. I guessed Heather to be about 45. She had a beautiful face. Her eyes were blue and inviting. Her lips were neither too thin nor too full. She wore just the right amount of make-up. Heather stood about 5'5" and her warm smile revealed perfect white teeth. You couldn't help but notice her terrific chest. In her tight, revealing top, she looked like a 34D. She had a slim waist, shapely ass, and nice legs. I could see why John enjoyed her as a lover. At least I assumed they were lovers.
The three of us climbed into John's car and were at the beach in five minutes. There was a warm breeze blowing which carried the smell of the ocean. John retrieved his camera and prepared to take some photos.
John said to me, "Sly, honey, let's see you in that bikini now."
"Sure," I said and took off my shorts and top.
"Wow!" John said, "You're even more of a knockout in a swimsuit."
Heather added, "Wow is right. You're a lovely young woman."
"Thanks," I said.
"Okay, let's take a few on the beach to start," John said.
Using John's quality digital camera, we took about ten photos near the water's edge, and then about ten more in and around the dunes. We walked back to the car and as John was unlocking the doors, he had another idea for a photo.
"Sly, while you're still in your bikini..." John said, took me by the hand and led me to the front of the car. "Sit on the hood and put your feet on the bumper. Now lean forward, put your forearms on your knees, put your hands together, and look at me."
I did as John instructed. My long, dark hair was parted in the middle, and the breeze was blowing it into my face, so I tucked both sides behind my ears.
John walked up close to me and gently moved my hair back from behind my ears. Then, he ran his fingers through my hair to arrange it the way he wanted. He said, "I like how it looks blowing in the breeze... a feeling of motion."
"You're the artist," I said and smiled at him. For as long as I could remember, I always loved when anybody would brush my hair, or when somebody would braid my hair, or run their fingers through my hair. When John's strong but gentle fingers ran through my hair, I got goosebumps and turned-on. I tried to ignore the feeling and held the pose that John wanted. John took three pictures of me on the hood of the car.
Then, John said to Heather, "Heather, let me get one of you next to Sly."
I had climbed from the hood and was standing with my back to the dunes. Heather moved next to me, as we faced John.
"Heather, put your arm around Sly's shoulder," John said and moved closer to us.
Heather put her arm around my should and leaned her head against mine. We both smiled and John took our picture. I have to confess that, at that moment, I strangely enjoyed Heather's touch.
"OK, that's great! How 'bout we go get something to eat and a pitcher of beer? Then we can go back and look at the photos on my computer." John suggested.
"Sounds terrific," Heather said with a smile.
I had no plans, so I said, "Sure, sounds good."
The three of us drove to a pizza place which served beer, and got a large pie and a large pitcher. We ate and drank and talked and laughed. Heather was down to earth and had a good sense of humor. She was more extroverted than John, especially as the beer loosened our inhibitions. I wasn't a big drinker, and by the time we finished the pitcher, I was feeling no pain.
Heather said to me, "It's Saturday night and I'll bet a gorgeous girl like you has a date."
I shrugged and said, "No I don't. I split up with my boyfriend two months ago and haven't met anybody I've liked." I was flattered that she called me 'gorgeous'.
