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23 Temmuz 2022, 02:38
The following evening, I arrived home to find Margaret sitting at my desk scrolling through photos on a mobile phone.
"Where's Andy?" I asked.
"He's upstairs in his room."
"Is that his phone?"
"Yes."
"What are you doing with it."
I've had a very interesting day," she said.
"I can see that." I pointed at the screen where a photo of Margaret had popped up. "What happened?"
"Well ... let me start at the beginning. And of course, the first thing I had to do was clean up the study. We left the camcorder set up, clothes strewn everywhere and dried semen decorating the Chesterfield. Goodness know what Andy would have made of all that. Anyway, after you'd left for work, I was racking my brains for a better way than just confronting Andy and telling him I knew about the photos he'd taken. He slept in until eight and came down just as I was starting breakfast. He shared the fruit salad and yoghurt and we had quite a nice chat, actually. About his university studies, his hopes of building a career as a photographer, his girlfriend, Rebecca, back in Melbourne. He's a nice lad really, and I ..."
"You didn't get around to telling him?"
"No. I mean I intended to. I was still a little upset at the thought of all those men writing vulgar things about Jayney's body. And I would have done, except the phone rang, and it was Mum."
"What did she want?"
"She suggested we meet in the city for coffee and some retail therapy. Andy was listening, and suggested he ride in with me and then go off on his own to take photos. So I drove to Gordon and we caught the train from there."
"Which explains that," I said, pointing at the photo of Margaret taken on the upper deck of a Waratah double-decker carriage. "Did you know he was taking it?"
"No, he spent most of the journey on his phone, checking and sending messages."
"So where was the camera?"
"I don't know? But ... that's not the only photo."
Margaret scrolled down. There were several more of her, sitting in the seat opposite him, wearing a knee length summer dress, with her legs demurely together. There was nothing out of the ordinary about them, some of them would have made good portraits, except for the fact they had been taken without her knowledge.
Margaret scrolled down further to reveal photos of some of the other people on the train. It was full, and there were people occupying most of the seats as well as standing in the aisle. But all the photos were of women. Sometimes sitting in the opposite seats, or across the aisle, and sometimes standing up.
"See the pattern?" said Margaret.
"They're all of women," I said, looking for similarities, and then it hit me. "They're all in skirts or dresses, short ones, apart from yours."
"It gets worse," said Margaret scrolling down some more. "Look at this one."
"Holy shit, that's an?"
"Upskirt. Look," she zoomed in, "you can clearly see her panties." She scrolled on. "You can see her face in this one. Looks like a Uni student. Sensible skirt, blouse, hair tied back in a ponytail. Then in the next shot, the camera's pointing up her skirt. At least her undies are clean."
"At least she was wearing some," I said, as Margaret zoomed in for another look.
Her laugh had a hard edge to it. "Try these."
As she continued to swipe it was obvious that not all the women in the carriage that morning had bothered to put on underwear. There were full bushes, fancy trims and even one or two Brazilians. I was amazed. Some of the women had been sitting with their legs so far apart that anyone sitting opposite could have seen what Andy had captured. If he was using his phone, then it was as simple as pointing it in their direction. But for those women standing, it looked as if he had put the phone almost right between their legs. How on earth he'd managed it without any of them realising, I had no idea. I had a sneaking admiration for his sleight of hand, which would not have disgraced a member of the Magic Circle.
The last few shots were obviously taken on the escalator at Town Hall. They were also of Margaret. From behind. Up her skirt. All of them. Her pink Victoria's Secret lace panties clear to see. I had to hand it to Samsung. The exposure control on Andy's smartphone was remarkable. Even in the artificial light of the metro station, shaded by her skirt, Margaret's legs and panties were crystal clear.
"And you really had no idea he was doing this?" I asked.
"I think I caught him once, when he leaned out of his seat as the train went round a curve. I thought he was just regaining his balance, or that his arm had slipped off the arm rest. His phone was in that hand, and it passed right under the hem of a woman's skirt.
"How on earth does do that?" I pointed to a picture of a naked crotch. Pubic stubble and the string of a tampon emerging between a pair of meaty lips were clearly visible."
"You can ask him when we give him his phone back."
"Ah. So how did you get it?"
"Patience! I haven't got that far yet. When we grandbetting yeni giriş (http://serieztv.com/bahis/grandbetting/) arrived at Town Hall, we met Mum for coffee at Centrepoint. We had a good chinwag. Andy seemed pleased to see his grandmother, and afterwards he went off to do whatever he had to do. I agreed to meet him back at the station at three, and Mum and I went shopping. I don't know what else he photographed, he had his camera bag with him, but there are more on his phone." She swiped left. The next photo showed a woman's slightly parted legs under a knee length skirt. The light was poor but it was still possible to make out her lace panties. "That's Mum. I think he must have taken it under the table while we had coffee. There are more but I think you've got the idea."
I nodded. Andy had had a very busy afternoon. "So! The phone."
"Well! We met at the station, boarded the train for Gordon and Andy spent the entire journey fiddling with his phone, just as he had on the way in. I think I had a better idea what he was doing by then. I kept my legs together, but some women are so careless. Once I started looking, even I could see panties and pubic hair. And the way some young women stand with the legs apart in short skirts! Public transport's a perverts' paradise.
"Anyway, when we got to Gordon, Andy let me go first and followed me up the stairs. I thought he was rather close behind me; I could feel him brushing against my back. When we got to the top, a woman tapped my arm. She pointed to Andy, and told me she'd seen him point his phone up the back of my skirt. She made a hell of a fuss. Wanted to call the police there and then. I told her Andy was my nephew and that I would deal with him, grabbed him by the arm and marched him to the car. He handed over the phone when I demanded it and, when we got home, I told him to go to his room. Goodness knows what he's getting up to in there. It's been very quiet."
"What did he take?" I reached for the phone.
"You don't need to see any more." She lowered her eyes and clutched the phone to her chest.
"Come on, hand it over. What are you hiding?"
"Nothing!"
Pink spots appeared on her cheeks. She handed me the phone but kept her eyes averted.
"Margaret, you're blushing. What happened?" I glanced at the screen, swiped left and another image appeared. The camera must have been right between the woman's legs as she parted them to climb the stairs. There was enough light under the flouncy skirt to see her upper thighs, her smooth, rounded bottom and the pouty shaved sex. "That's you!" I said.
"It could be anybody." The shake of her head was unconvincing.
"I've seen enough of your vulva to know it when I see it. But why weren't you wearing panties." She'd been wearing her Victoria's Secret lace briefs in the earlier ones. "You must have taken them off."
Margaret's face flushed scarlet. "I ... I ... er ..."
"You knew what he was up to all along. And you took your panties off anyway. Yesterday, you were outraged at the idea of being spied upon. Today you're exposing yourself."
"Maybe it wasn't my best idea." The embarrassed flush had been replaced by a rueful smile. "Yes, I had worked out what Andy was doing. I took my panties off in the ladies at Town Hall. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought it would be fun to play the game, to see if I could stop the fox catching sight of the rabbit. I did my best to keep my legs together when he sat opposite me on the train. I forgot about climbing the stairs."
"And it all went wrong when that lady spotted him upskirting you?"
"Yes. I'd decided to say nothing and just check the website this evening to see if I'd won the game. But now ..."
"He'll know that you knew and that you took your panties off deliberately."
She nodded. "I don't know if I'll be able to look him in the eye again. What do you think I should do?"
I thought for a moment, then chuckled. "It's an ill-wind that blows up a woman's skirt for no purpose."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, yesterday you would have had to admit that you found out about the photos by snooping at his laptop. Today, he was caught red-handed. Okay, you're embarrassed that he'll realise you took your panties off knowing what he was trying to do. But I'll bet that's the last thing on his mind at the moment. He's probably terrified that you're going to report him. When the secret comes out about what he's been doing, it could mean a criminal conviction, expulsion from university and a ticking off from his mother. Have you seen my sister in a rage? Solitary confinement in Long Bay would be preferable."
"But I can't just ignore what he's done," said Margaret.
"No, but on a scale of one to ten? He's got some photos of you in a bikini, and some of your panties and one of your pussy. But no one, apart from the three of us, knows the panties and the pussy are yours. They're perfectly anonymous ... unless there's another person out there who can recognise your vulva?" Actually, there were several that I knew of, if they grandbetting giriş (http://serieztv.com/bahis/grandbetting/) had good eidetic memories. I hurried on. "It's wrong, but there's no real harm done."
"But what about Jayney, and all those other women?"
"Let me talk to him. Being caught in the act, and the fear of his mother finding out, is probably the wakeup call he needs."
"I'll be in the kitchen. I suppose I still have to feed him, even if he does enjoy jerking off to pictures of me."
"You should be flattered." I bounded up the stairs to avoid the cushion aimed at my head.
"Andy?" I knocked on the door of the guest room and pushed it open.
He was sitting at the desk, resting his head on his hands and staring out the window.
"Can I come in?"
He raised his head and turned to look at me. His eyes were red rimmed and his face pale. "I'm sorry, Uncle James. I didn't mean to cause ..."
I closed the door behind me and sat on the bed. "You know that upskirting's illegal? You could go to prison for two years."
He nodded, but said nothing.
"It could be the end of your photography career. And what will your mother say?"
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He cradled his head in his hands.
I leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, as if I'd come to arrest him.
"Listen to me Andy. It's not the first time you've done this. Margaret saw your laptop yesterday. She saw the photos of her and Jayney you posted on the internet. I'm guessing you were going to post the ones from today to the same site?"
He nodded.
"Okay, here's the drum. If you think it's worth going to all that trouble to get a few illicit photos of a woman's pussy or panties, and risk going to prison, then we're sorry for you, but it's your life. But we're not going to dob you in, and you just have to hope the woman at the station hasn't gone to the police.
"Now, as for the photos of Margaret and Jayney ... and of your grandmother ... well, frankly Andy, apart from being pissed off by the breach of trust ... you're a guest in our house for fuck's sake ... you're welcome to them. You'll have to apologise to Margaret, but we won't tell your grandmother or Jayney. If they ever find out ... well you can deal with them then. Your grandmother will probably think it's a huge joke to see an old lady's nickers and Jayney will box your ears."
I laid his phone on the desk. "Look, if you want to take candid photos of women, just ask them. A slapped face is better than a prison sentence. And you never know, some of them might say yes."
I stood and opened the door. "Dinner's in half an hour. Apologise to Margaret and we'll say no more about it." The devil entered my head and I turned in the doorway. "By the way, I liked the photo of her that you took at Gordon station. Email that to me will you."
I found Margaret in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to a casserole. She allowed me to wrap my arms around her from behind and nibble on her ear.
"Are you hungry? Dinner won't be long." She wriggled and giggled as I gently tugged at her earlobe with my teeth. "Stop trying to distract me. How did it go with Andy?"
"I've put the fear of God into him. He's very sorry. I've told him to apologise to you, and then we'll move on."
"And what's he going to do with the photos from today?"
I risked cupping her breasts with my hands. "Come on Margaret. Don't tell me you're not just a little turned on by the idea of being on display for all the world to see."
Her nipples hardened under my fingertips. "So, he's going to see that picture of my shaved pussy. He's going to be sitting at the dinner table opposite me, looking me in the eye, but all the time thinking about what I look like down below."
"And he knows that you know he knows what you look like. It should make for an interesting dinner."
It was. Margaret called Andy when the meal was ready. We were waiting in the dining room. He came downstairs and went straight over to her.
"I'm sorry Aunt Margaret. I've invaded your privacy and abused your trust. What I did today was stupid and juvenile. That lady at the station ... I thought my whole life was in ruins. I've learnt my lesson and I can promise you it won't ever happen again."
It sounded as if he had rehearsed the words, but the sentiment seemed genuine enough. Margaret looked him in the eye and he didn't flinch.
"It's not that you've seen me, Andy. God knows if you want to see a woman's genitals, the internet's awash with them, and there's nothing special about mine. But like you said, it's about privacy ... and trust. It takes a moment to lose, but it might take a lifetime to win back." She held out her arms. "I forgive you. Now give me a hug and start earning back that trust."
There was relief in Andy's eyes as she embraced him.
"Okay, who's ready for dinner." She released him and ducked into the kitchen.
While Margaret served, I poured the wine. The casserole was delicious; Nigella Lawson might have done better, but she would never grandbetting güvenilirmi (http://serieztv.com/bahis/grandbetting/) equal Margaret in bed. Or so I convinced myself, I was unlikely to be able to test either hypothesis. Andy was quiet at first, hardly surprising after almost seeing his life crumble before his eyes, but the cheering effect of good food, and a ten-year-old Penfolds 707, restored his confidence. He was a pleasant young man and spoke knowledgably about fine art and photography, core elements of his media studies degree. I relied on the camera's auto functions for focus and exposure, and I knew little about art, other than knowing what I didn't like, which was high priced splatters and streaks of paint sold to the gullible as post-modern.
Photography would not have been my chosen subject of dinner conversation, after Andy's surreptitious efforts of the past two days, but Margaret asked him about his university course and away it went.
We had cleared our plates and I had opened a second bottle of Bin 707 -- it was going to be an expensive evening -- by the time Margaret asked Andy to show us some of the photos he had taken for his course. He darted away and returned with his laptop. He laid it on the table, turned the screen so we could all see it and hovered the mouse over a file labelled, Portfolio.
Clicking on it revealed nested files with labels describing their contents: Landscapes, Steampunk, Grunge, Portraits, Sport and so on. He opened the Landscapes file. The photos were -- interesting! Not the type of landscapes I took; devoid of people, with tilted horizons and only a rough understanding of the rule of thirds. These were all perfectly composed, but they had something else; that quality of eye that could match form, shape, colour and exposure. They were unique; they were art, not holiday snaps.
The portraits were equally good. Andy seemed to have captured something of the essence of his subjects, as if the camera had read their emotions as well as checking light and focus.
"I have trouble taking portraits," I said. "I don't have enough front to ask a complete stranger if I can take their picture."
"That helps," replied Andy, chuckling. "Most people are happy to let you. Sometimes I have to use a telephoto lens if I can't get close enough to ask."
Margaret raised an eyebrow, but let the remark pass. Instead, she pointed to a file labelled, Fine Art Assignment. "What's in that one."
"Nothing. It's empty," said Andy.
"What are you going to put there," Margaret persisted.
"It's for my end of year fine arts assignment."
"Is there a subject or topic you have to cover."
Andy looked like a rabbit caught in a spotlight. "Er ... yes."
"What is it?"
The question hung in the air while Andy appeared to cast around for a means of escape. Finally, he took a deep breath. "The human body ... nude."
"What exactly is a fine art nude?" I asked. In for a penny.
Andy glanced at Margaret to see if it was safe to answer. She nodded. "Go on then, tell us."
"Okay! Well, according to the definition, fine art photography of the ...er ... naked human body emphasizes things like form, shape and composition as well as the emotional connection they create. At least that's the definition they gave us at Deakin University. There is an ... erm ... erotic element, but that's supposed to be secondary."
"So, what's the definition of pornography then?" asked Margaret, gulping a mouthful of wine.
'It comes from the Greek words porni, which was a prostitute, and graphein which means, to write. So originally it meant writing about prostitutes. Now it means any form of media whose main purpose is the ... er ... sexual gratification of the viewer."
"So, it's a bit like the difference between the male and the female gaze," said Margaret.
"I didn't know you'd studied art at Uni, Margaret," I said.
"I didn't. I smoked pot, burnt my bra and made love like everyone else."
"That was the sixties, you're not that old."
"Thank you! I'm not too old to be a feminist and I'm an expert on the male gaze."
She turned her own gaze upon Andy. "I take it those photos of me wouldn't meet your definition of fine art."
Andy blushed and hung his head. "No, they wouldn't. I'm sorry Aunt Margaret."
Margaret reached over and touched his forearm. "I'm teasing you. Look, I know it's not really an appropriate conversation for the dinner table, but I'm not a prude. I don't object to fine art or erotic pictures of women, or even pornographic ones, as long they're taken legally and the women are properly paid, or at least they volunteer. So, I think it's a good subject for an assignment. Your photos show real talent, you should do very well."
"That's a good point, Margaret," I said. "Andy, does the university pay women to model for photography, the way artists pay them for life drawing classes? Or do they volunteer?"
"I think some of the women model for both," said Andy. "Although I can't draw so I don't take art classes. I'd never thought about how they got paid, until I started planning for this assignment. According to my tutor, a group of students normally clubs together to hire a model. That makes it affordable, but we all end up with shots of the same person in the same poses. I want mine to be different, but I can't afford to pay a model on my own."
"Where's Andy?" I asked.
"He's upstairs in his room."
"Is that his phone?"
"Yes."
"What are you doing with it."
I've had a very interesting day," she said.
"I can see that." I pointed at the screen where a photo of Margaret had popped up. "What happened?"
"Well ... let me start at the beginning. And of course, the first thing I had to do was clean up the study. We left the camcorder set up, clothes strewn everywhere and dried semen decorating the Chesterfield. Goodness know what Andy would have made of all that. Anyway, after you'd left for work, I was racking my brains for a better way than just confronting Andy and telling him I knew about the photos he'd taken. He slept in until eight and came down just as I was starting breakfast. He shared the fruit salad and yoghurt and we had quite a nice chat, actually. About his university studies, his hopes of building a career as a photographer, his girlfriend, Rebecca, back in Melbourne. He's a nice lad really, and I ..."
"You didn't get around to telling him?"
"No. I mean I intended to. I was still a little upset at the thought of all those men writing vulgar things about Jayney's body. And I would have done, except the phone rang, and it was Mum."
"What did she want?"
"She suggested we meet in the city for coffee and some retail therapy. Andy was listening, and suggested he ride in with me and then go off on his own to take photos. So I drove to Gordon and we caught the train from there."
"Which explains that," I said, pointing at the photo of Margaret taken on the upper deck of a Waratah double-decker carriage. "Did you know he was taking it?"
"No, he spent most of the journey on his phone, checking and sending messages."
"So where was the camera?"
"I don't know? But ... that's not the only photo."
Margaret scrolled down. There were several more of her, sitting in the seat opposite him, wearing a knee length summer dress, with her legs demurely together. There was nothing out of the ordinary about them, some of them would have made good portraits, except for the fact they had been taken without her knowledge.
Margaret scrolled down further to reveal photos of some of the other people on the train. It was full, and there were people occupying most of the seats as well as standing in the aisle. But all the photos were of women. Sometimes sitting in the opposite seats, or across the aisle, and sometimes standing up.
"See the pattern?" said Margaret.
"They're all of women," I said, looking for similarities, and then it hit me. "They're all in skirts or dresses, short ones, apart from yours."
"It gets worse," said Margaret scrolling down some more. "Look at this one."
"Holy shit, that's an?"
"Upskirt. Look," she zoomed in, "you can clearly see her panties." She scrolled on. "You can see her face in this one. Looks like a Uni student. Sensible skirt, blouse, hair tied back in a ponytail. Then in the next shot, the camera's pointing up her skirt. At least her undies are clean."
"At least she was wearing some," I said, as Margaret zoomed in for another look.
Her laugh had a hard edge to it. "Try these."
As she continued to swipe it was obvious that not all the women in the carriage that morning had bothered to put on underwear. There were full bushes, fancy trims and even one or two Brazilians. I was amazed. Some of the women had been sitting with their legs so far apart that anyone sitting opposite could have seen what Andy had captured. If he was using his phone, then it was as simple as pointing it in their direction. But for those women standing, it looked as if he had put the phone almost right between their legs. How on earth he'd managed it without any of them realising, I had no idea. I had a sneaking admiration for his sleight of hand, which would not have disgraced a member of the Magic Circle.
The last few shots were obviously taken on the escalator at Town Hall. They were also of Margaret. From behind. Up her skirt. All of them. Her pink Victoria's Secret lace panties clear to see. I had to hand it to Samsung. The exposure control on Andy's smartphone was remarkable. Even in the artificial light of the metro station, shaded by her skirt, Margaret's legs and panties were crystal clear.
"And you really had no idea he was doing this?" I asked.
"I think I caught him once, when he leaned out of his seat as the train went round a curve. I thought he was just regaining his balance, or that his arm had slipped off the arm rest. His phone was in that hand, and it passed right under the hem of a woman's skirt.
"How on earth does do that?" I pointed to a picture of a naked crotch. Pubic stubble and the string of a tampon emerging between a pair of meaty lips were clearly visible."
"You can ask him when we give him his phone back."
"Ah. So how did you get it?"
"Patience! I haven't got that far yet. When we grandbetting yeni giriş (http://serieztv.com/bahis/grandbetting/) arrived at Town Hall, we met Mum for coffee at Centrepoint. We had a good chinwag. Andy seemed pleased to see his grandmother, and afterwards he went off to do whatever he had to do. I agreed to meet him back at the station at three, and Mum and I went shopping. I don't know what else he photographed, he had his camera bag with him, but there are more on his phone." She swiped left. The next photo showed a woman's slightly parted legs under a knee length skirt. The light was poor but it was still possible to make out her lace panties. "That's Mum. I think he must have taken it under the table while we had coffee. There are more but I think you've got the idea."
I nodded. Andy had had a very busy afternoon. "So! The phone."
"Well! We met at the station, boarded the train for Gordon and Andy spent the entire journey fiddling with his phone, just as he had on the way in. I think I had a better idea what he was doing by then. I kept my legs together, but some women are so careless. Once I started looking, even I could see panties and pubic hair. And the way some young women stand with the legs apart in short skirts! Public transport's a perverts' paradise.
"Anyway, when we got to Gordon, Andy let me go first and followed me up the stairs. I thought he was rather close behind me; I could feel him brushing against my back. When we got to the top, a woman tapped my arm. She pointed to Andy, and told me she'd seen him point his phone up the back of my skirt. She made a hell of a fuss. Wanted to call the police there and then. I told her Andy was my nephew and that I would deal with him, grabbed him by the arm and marched him to the car. He handed over the phone when I demanded it and, when we got home, I told him to go to his room. Goodness knows what he's getting up to in there. It's been very quiet."
"What did he take?" I reached for the phone.
"You don't need to see any more." She lowered her eyes and clutched the phone to her chest.
"Come on, hand it over. What are you hiding?"
"Nothing!"
Pink spots appeared on her cheeks. She handed me the phone but kept her eyes averted.
"Margaret, you're blushing. What happened?" I glanced at the screen, swiped left and another image appeared. The camera must have been right between the woman's legs as she parted them to climb the stairs. There was enough light under the flouncy skirt to see her upper thighs, her smooth, rounded bottom and the pouty shaved sex. "That's you!" I said.
"It could be anybody." The shake of her head was unconvincing.
"I've seen enough of your vulva to know it when I see it. But why weren't you wearing panties." She'd been wearing her Victoria's Secret lace briefs in the earlier ones. "You must have taken them off."
Margaret's face flushed scarlet. "I ... I ... er ..."
"You knew what he was up to all along. And you took your panties off anyway. Yesterday, you were outraged at the idea of being spied upon. Today you're exposing yourself."
"Maybe it wasn't my best idea." The embarrassed flush had been replaced by a rueful smile. "Yes, I had worked out what Andy was doing. I took my panties off in the ladies at Town Hall. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought it would be fun to play the game, to see if I could stop the fox catching sight of the rabbit. I did my best to keep my legs together when he sat opposite me on the train. I forgot about climbing the stairs."
"And it all went wrong when that lady spotted him upskirting you?"
"Yes. I'd decided to say nothing and just check the website this evening to see if I'd won the game. But now ..."
"He'll know that you knew and that you took your panties off deliberately."
She nodded. "I don't know if I'll be able to look him in the eye again. What do you think I should do?"
I thought for a moment, then chuckled. "It's an ill-wind that blows up a woman's skirt for no purpose."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, yesterday you would have had to admit that you found out about the photos by snooping at his laptop. Today, he was caught red-handed. Okay, you're embarrassed that he'll realise you took your panties off knowing what he was trying to do. But I'll bet that's the last thing on his mind at the moment. He's probably terrified that you're going to report him. When the secret comes out about what he's been doing, it could mean a criminal conviction, expulsion from university and a ticking off from his mother. Have you seen my sister in a rage? Solitary confinement in Long Bay would be preferable."
"But I can't just ignore what he's done," said Margaret.
"No, but on a scale of one to ten? He's got some photos of you in a bikini, and some of your panties and one of your pussy. But no one, apart from the three of us, knows the panties and the pussy are yours. They're perfectly anonymous ... unless there's another person out there who can recognise your vulva?" Actually, there were several that I knew of, if they grandbetting giriş (http://serieztv.com/bahis/grandbetting/) had good eidetic memories. I hurried on. "It's wrong, but there's no real harm done."
"But what about Jayney, and all those other women?"
"Let me talk to him. Being caught in the act, and the fear of his mother finding out, is probably the wakeup call he needs."
"I'll be in the kitchen. I suppose I still have to feed him, even if he does enjoy jerking off to pictures of me."
"You should be flattered." I bounded up the stairs to avoid the cushion aimed at my head.
"Andy?" I knocked on the door of the guest room and pushed it open.
He was sitting at the desk, resting his head on his hands and staring out the window.
"Can I come in?"
He raised his head and turned to look at me. His eyes were red rimmed and his face pale. "I'm sorry, Uncle James. I didn't mean to cause ..."
I closed the door behind me and sat on the bed. "You know that upskirting's illegal? You could go to prison for two years."
He nodded, but said nothing.
"It could be the end of your photography career. And what will your mother say?"
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He cradled his head in his hands.
I leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, as if I'd come to arrest him.
"Listen to me Andy. It's not the first time you've done this. Margaret saw your laptop yesterday. She saw the photos of her and Jayney you posted on the internet. I'm guessing you were going to post the ones from today to the same site?"
He nodded.
"Okay, here's the drum. If you think it's worth going to all that trouble to get a few illicit photos of a woman's pussy or panties, and risk going to prison, then we're sorry for you, but it's your life. But we're not going to dob you in, and you just have to hope the woman at the station hasn't gone to the police.
"Now, as for the photos of Margaret and Jayney ... and of your grandmother ... well, frankly Andy, apart from being pissed off by the breach of trust ... you're a guest in our house for fuck's sake ... you're welcome to them. You'll have to apologise to Margaret, but we won't tell your grandmother or Jayney. If they ever find out ... well you can deal with them then. Your grandmother will probably think it's a huge joke to see an old lady's nickers and Jayney will box your ears."
I laid his phone on the desk. "Look, if you want to take candid photos of women, just ask them. A slapped face is better than a prison sentence. And you never know, some of them might say yes."
I stood and opened the door. "Dinner's in half an hour. Apologise to Margaret and we'll say no more about it." The devil entered my head and I turned in the doorway. "By the way, I liked the photo of her that you took at Gordon station. Email that to me will you."
I found Margaret in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to a casserole. She allowed me to wrap my arms around her from behind and nibble on her ear.
"Are you hungry? Dinner won't be long." She wriggled and giggled as I gently tugged at her earlobe with my teeth. "Stop trying to distract me. How did it go with Andy?"
"I've put the fear of God into him. He's very sorry. I've told him to apologise to you, and then we'll move on."
"And what's he going to do with the photos from today?"
I risked cupping her breasts with my hands. "Come on Margaret. Don't tell me you're not just a little turned on by the idea of being on display for all the world to see."
Her nipples hardened under my fingertips. "So, he's going to see that picture of my shaved pussy. He's going to be sitting at the dinner table opposite me, looking me in the eye, but all the time thinking about what I look like down below."
"And he knows that you know he knows what you look like. It should make for an interesting dinner."
It was. Margaret called Andy when the meal was ready. We were waiting in the dining room. He came downstairs and went straight over to her.
"I'm sorry Aunt Margaret. I've invaded your privacy and abused your trust. What I did today was stupid and juvenile. That lady at the station ... I thought my whole life was in ruins. I've learnt my lesson and I can promise you it won't ever happen again."
It sounded as if he had rehearsed the words, but the sentiment seemed genuine enough. Margaret looked him in the eye and he didn't flinch.
"It's not that you've seen me, Andy. God knows if you want to see a woman's genitals, the internet's awash with them, and there's nothing special about mine. But like you said, it's about privacy ... and trust. It takes a moment to lose, but it might take a lifetime to win back." She held out her arms. "I forgive you. Now give me a hug and start earning back that trust."
There was relief in Andy's eyes as she embraced him.
"Okay, who's ready for dinner." She released him and ducked into the kitchen.
While Margaret served, I poured the wine. The casserole was delicious; Nigella Lawson might have done better, but she would never grandbetting güvenilirmi (http://serieztv.com/bahis/grandbetting/) equal Margaret in bed. Or so I convinced myself, I was unlikely to be able to test either hypothesis. Andy was quiet at first, hardly surprising after almost seeing his life crumble before his eyes, but the cheering effect of good food, and a ten-year-old Penfolds 707, restored his confidence. He was a pleasant young man and spoke knowledgably about fine art and photography, core elements of his media studies degree. I relied on the camera's auto functions for focus and exposure, and I knew little about art, other than knowing what I didn't like, which was high priced splatters and streaks of paint sold to the gullible as post-modern.
Photography would not have been my chosen subject of dinner conversation, after Andy's surreptitious efforts of the past two days, but Margaret asked him about his university course and away it went.
We had cleared our plates and I had opened a second bottle of Bin 707 -- it was going to be an expensive evening -- by the time Margaret asked Andy to show us some of the photos he had taken for his course. He darted away and returned with his laptop. He laid it on the table, turned the screen so we could all see it and hovered the mouse over a file labelled, Portfolio.
Clicking on it revealed nested files with labels describing their contents: Landscapes, Steampunk, Grunge, Portraits, Sport and so on. He opened the Landscapes file. The photos were -- interesting! Not the type of landscapes I took; devoid of people, with tilted horizons and only a rough understanding of the rule of thirds. These were all perfectly composed, but they had something else; that quality of eye that could match form, shape, colour and exposure. They were unique; they were art, not holiday snaps.
The portraits were equally good. Andy seemed to have captured something of the essence of his subjects, as if the camera had read their emotions as well as checking light and focus.
"I have trouble taking portraits," I said. "I don't have enough front to ask a complete stranger if I can take their picture."
"That helps," replied Andy, chuckling. "Most people are happy to let you. Sometimes I have to use a telephoto lens if I can't get close enough to ask."
Margaret raised an eyebrow, but let the remark pass. Instead, she pointed to a file labelled, Fine Art Assignment. "What's in that one."
"Nothing. It's empty," said Andy.
"What are you going to put there," Margaret persisted.
"It's for my end of year fine arts assignment."
"Is there a subject or topic you have to cover."
Andy looked like a rabbit caught in a spotlight. "Er ... yes."
"What is it?"
The question hung in the air while Andy appeared to cast around for a means of escape. Finally, he took a deep breath. "The human body ... nude."
"What exactly is a fine art nude?" I asked. In for a penny.
Andy glanced at Margaret to see if it was safe to answer. She nodded. "Go on then, tell us."
"Okay! Well, according to the definition, fine art photography of the ...er ... naked human body emphasizes things like form, shape and composition as well as the emotional connection they create. At least that's the definition they gave us at Deakin University. There is an ... erm ... erotic element, but that's supposed to be secondary."
"So, what's the definition of pornography then?" asked Margaret, gulping a mouthful of wine.
'It comes from the Greek words porni, which was a prostitute, and graphein which means, to write. So originally it meant writing about prostitutes. Now it means any form of media whose main purpose is the ... er ... sexual gratification of the viewer."
"So, it's a bit like the difference between the male and the female gaze," said Margaret.
"I didn't know you'd studied art at Uni, Margaret," I said.
"I didn't. I smoked pot, burnt my bra and made love like everyone else."
"That was the sixties, you're not that old."
"Thank you! I'm not too old to be a feminist and I'm an expert on the male gaze."
She turned her own gaze upon Andy. "I take it those photos of me wouldn't meet your definition of fine art."
Andy blushed and hung his head. "No, they wouldn't. I'm sorry Aunt Margaret."
Margaret reached over and touched his forearm. "I'm teasing you. Look, I know it's not really an appropriate conversation for the dinner table, but I'm not a prude. I don't object to fine art or erotic pictures of women, or even pornographic ones, as long they're taken legally and the women are properly paid, or at least they volunteer. So, I think it's a good subject for an assignment. Your photos show real talent, you should do very well."
"That's a good point, Margaret," I said. "Andy, does the university pay women to model for photography, the way artists pay them for life drawing classes? Or do they volunteer?"
"I think some of the women model for both," said Andy. "Although I can't draw so I don't take art classes. I'd never thought about how they got paid, until I started planning for this assignment. According to my tutor, a group of students normally clubs together to hire a model. That makes it affordable, but we all end up with shots of the same person in the same poses. I want mine to be different, but I can't afford to pay a model on my own."