Free Escapades of an Erotic Spy - Part 1 A Spy is Born by Lexington Manheim Page A

of
furniture. In fact, other than photographic equipment and the large
street-scene backdrop that still hung along the far wall, there was
pretty much nothing in the room other than the leaves and few props
that comprised the set. The principal prop of the day was, again, a
bicycle. However, this was a different bicycle than the one I'd
used the day before. This was a two-seater.
    Despite my reservations about having another
girl there, I was fully aware, even then, that I could have kept my
clothes on and walked right out the door, and not a person could
have stopped me, even if they were of a mind to. My choice to stay
wasn't the result of fear, intimidation, shame, false bravado, or
even a desperate need for money. There are some things even money
couldn't persuade me to do. No siree! I willingly chose to stay
because, following the previous day's experience, I trusted
Monsieur Robinet. I trusted him as an artist. Even more, I trusted
him as a man—and a man devoted to his art. If he wanted a picture
of two naked girls riding a bike through the streets, then I was
convinced it would be an erotically tasteful work. I had no fear it
would be anything else.
    As I was stripping off the last of my
clothing, Nanette got up, padded over to the bicycle, and mounted
its front seat. Now that she was off the floor, I got a good look
at her. Nanette St. Claire was a little taller than me, and she had
a little more meat on her. Some might say she was even a tad pudgy,
but in the good way. It gave her nice curves around the waist and
buttocks. It also provided her with deliciously voluminous
breasts—not as large as mine, but full, like a pair of pink sacks,
each carrying a large grapefruit. Amidst small dark areolas, a red
nipple jutted out from each in what almost appeared to be a
constant state of arousal. Her legs were smooth, strong, and
muscular, and her arms were sinewy. Her face was round, with a
small nose, full lips, and deep-set hazel eyes. Pinned to the sides
of her head was a dark brown crop of very full hair that
highlighted the roundness of her face. And then, of course, there
was that plentiful bush engulfing her crotch. Its dimensions stayed
within the typical triangular pattern. But, inside that delta—long
and dark and curling about the meaty folds of her pussy—was a
veritable jungle of pubic sprouts. By comparison, my crotch was a
sparsely vegetated open field. I thought her bush was remarkable.
It even occurred to me—silly though I knew it to be—that, if only
we could harvest just some of that pussy hair, we might create a
toupee that could cover all of Mendel Bardach's bald spots.
    Wouldn’t that be a lucrative business! That
is, if you ever get tired of modeling, Nanette. I mean, do you know
how many bald men are out there?
    I deposited my drawers atop the rest of my
discarded clothing. I was ready.
    “ S’il vous
plait .” The photographer waved his hand
toward the bike. From her perch on the front seat, Nanette turned
and gave me a look of impatience. Had I
taken too long undressing? Feeling
somewhat flustered, and not wanting to cause a problem, I scurried
to the bicycle, swung my left leg over the rear tire, and planted
my ass on the back seat.
    “ Très
bien .” The old man ducked behind his
camera. He was back in his professional business
character.
    Odd though it felt, and
strange as it must have appeared—two naked girls sitting on a
two-seater bicycle in what was made to look like a public
street—from this point forward, I knew I’d be in the safe hands of
an artist. I wasn’t worried—just feeling really, really weird.
    For the first series of
shots, he posed us in a manner that suggested we were pedaling
through the street fast. A wise way to
pedal through the streets if you happen to be a naked woman. He had us lean forward. Leaning made our breasts
hang away from our bodies, giving a full view of the entire shape
of our dangling delights. I remember looking down for a few