Curves Couture-Completed

Chapter 3

Chapter3

"Lift your tits!"

"Higher!"

"Bend over to the side a little."

"Yes, like that! Let it all hang out!"

"There, it's drooping to the side."

"Those are some great pieces of meat you have... now spread your legs apart. Wider!"

I was about to let off steam in another two seconds. I was sure my face was flushed red in molten anger, but the photographer appeared oblivious to my mounting anger and continued his ceaseless instructions, sometimes praising, but most times just down right insulting.

I was soon beyond anger and reduced to fuming at near boiling point. Any moment now, and my whistle would blow. And it wouldn't be short and sweet. I was clad in a champagne colored, floor-length gown, for goodness sake. What does it matter that my legs needed to be spread apart beneath it? But I did it anyway.

I shifted awkwardly into a new back-breaking pose and frowned out a grimaced version of a smile. Lights burst into flashes all around me, illuminating the shot to the point that it had me seeing stars.

It was only two days ago that I had a tussle with Erin over my photos. I was now on strict diet and exercise regime to tone down and firm up some excess, and that wasn't helping with my disposition either. Most of my shots had been duds, but the ones taken where I had been reduced to molten anger had been brilliant. Spitting fire and with a sensuality I was in no way naturally capable of. Even I had been stunned to see those shots. But Erin had merely grinned with an I-told-you-so expression—as if he'd actually known. But I wouldn't put anything past him. Erin could very well be all knowing when it came to this world I was trying to fit into. And that was exactly how I should've viewed this new venture into modeling as just another attempt to fit into something that was already too tight for me. But squeezing into where I wasn't wanted was my forte. So, if it were molten anger that they wanted, then that was what I would give to them.

I swung my body into an impossible arc and displayed my assets in a very forward, 3-D pop-art manner. The lewd commentary from Jim Burnet, the photographer, urged me on. I was being made to feel like nothing more than a piece of trash, but I guess that was the price it took to bring out the very worst and best of me.

"I'll frame this one and place it at my bedside," Erin had teased, running a caressing hand down the front of the photo. It had been beyond hot, watching him caress my photo with his finger. I felt a shiver of goose bumps breakout along the surface of my skin as I shifted yet again, this time to stare intently at the camera. Recalling the expression in Erin's eyes had me turning to stare searchingly into the camera lenses before more flashes lit up the room and blinded my vision entirely, if momentarily.

I straightened up from yet another impossible pose as Jim called a halt for a costume change. Then, Marie, my stylist for the day, swept in to cart me away. Rafael immediately took me under his wing to freshen up my makeup and fluff up my hair. Michelle then brought out a skimpy two piece that was clearly several sizes too small. When were they going to start stocking up on something other than size zero? Shouldn't they know my measurements by now? I distinctly recalled having to stand for hours on end in nothing more than my undies for that sole purpose of their taking my measurements. Did they lose the sheet they'd been scribbling on?

It was these mind-numbing questions that had me preoccupied while I accepted the garment change and went through the routine of squeezing out of one outfit only to squeeze into another.