A Rose By Any Other Name_(0)

Fbailey story number 692


A Rose By Any Other Name


Right after I finished high school I realized that I couldn’t get a job and that my parents couldn’t afford to send me to college. My friends tried to talk me into taking out loans but I didn’t want the debt. So there I was at sixteen without any future. All I had was a diploma and my love of photography.

I had received a nice digital camera for Christmas and in the past six months had become pretty good at photography.

We live on a dead end road with a dozen other houses and farms. It was a four-mile long dirt road.

My mother grew roses, very fragrant and large roses. She had a variety of colors.

One day I picked the prettiest yellow rose, wrapped it in a wet paper towel, and took my photo album down the road to our neighbor.

Mrs. Smith was older than my mother was, her husband worked at the local bank, and her children were in college or married.

When she answered the door I handed her the rose and said, “I can take pictures of you that will make you look prettier than this rose. May I show you some of my work?”

Mrs. Smith let me and offered me a glass of iced tea. We sat in the kitchen and she looked at each picture. She commented on several of them. The last four were of my mother. I had talked her into posing one day. She put on a dress that she wears to church, put her hair up in a bun, and applied some makeup. She put on a tight sweater with a bra and hard nipples and a short skirt. She put on a bikini and nothing else needs to be said about that. Mom looked great. In the last picture Mom was blushing, she had gotten very bold, and she put on a sex negligée for me. Apparently she didn’t know how easy it was to see right through it…or did she. It was light pink, it was thin nylon, and she was nude underneath. Her nipples, areolas, and pubic hair were visible. The light coming in the window made the ends of her hairs on her head glow and showed the gap between her legs under her pussy more visible.

That was the picture that Mrs. Smith stared at for a minute or two. Her nipples were hard and her one hand was cupping the opposite breast. She wasn’t even aware that she was doing it.

Finally Mrs. Smith asked, “Can you do one like this for me?”

I replied, “Yes, but I had to take a lot of pictures of her all over the house before I got that one.”

Mrs. Smith said, “I don’t care if it takes all day and hundreds of pictures. I want one that makes me look that good.”

I asked, “Is it for your husband?”

Mrs. Smith said, “No! I have a friend, a male friend, perhaps a boyfriend…only he’s no boy.”

I asked her if tomorrow would be good for her.