Veronica was from Trieste, in the north of Italy. She had come to Australia on a working holiday. She was working at my favourite Italian restaurant, il Paradiso.

At first, I thought she was from the eastern bloc. Her voice was husky, possibly from too many cigarettes, her accent was strong. The combination was alluring. She was young, at least twenty years younger than me. I don’t usually find young women attractive, they are too vapid and in any case, they are usually not interested in me, either. A situation I find perfectly satisfactory.

I regularly met some business colleagues for lunch at the restaurant. I found myself arriving early to chat with Veronica, about Italy, about Australia, and about food.

She was very relaxed and easy to talk to. I noticed that I wasn’t the only one of her regulars that was smitten. I loved watching her as she chatted to them. She had a great figure and usually wore black jeans with a low cut black top and a waiter’s apron. She wasn’t skinny but you would never think of her as fat, her breasts weren’t huge but she certainly made the most of what she had.

One day, while waiting for my buddies, she asked what business I was in. I told her I was a photographer.

She said, “A photographer of women?”

"Sometimes," I said, "I mainly do advertising.”

“Advertising, like in magazines?”

“Yes, mostly,” I replied.

“Can you stay for a coffee after your lunch? I would like to discuss some photography.”

“Okay,” I said, thinking ‘not another camera nut’.

After lunch I told the guys I would settle the bill and see them next week. Veronica brought over a tray with two coffees and two limoncellos. Holding up the limoncello, she said, “Salute.” We downed our limoncellos and settle to our coffees.

“So, photography,” she said leaning in toward me, giving me a wonderful view of her cleavage.

“You’re interested in photography?"

“Sure, of course,” she replied, “you have photographed many women?”

“I guess so.”

“Are you a good photographer?” she asked.

“Quite a few people think so,” I replied.

“Would you take photographs for me?”

“Sure, what do you need photographed?”

“What?” She says in surprise, raising her eyebrows, “Not what, me.” 

“Oh sure,” I replied in surprise, “what kind of photos would you like?”

“Some photos with Sydney, I will call you.”

She called and asked if the following Monday was good for me, it was her day off. She gave me the address of an apartment in Darling Point. The apartment building was right on the water. I parked in the basement car park and she buzzed me up. Veronica answered the door wearing a short summery dress; she was wearing her light brown hair out instead of the usual ponytail she wore at work. Overall she looked more sophisticated and womanly. The apartment was a sub penthouse with panoramic views of the harbour.

She air-kissed me on both cheeks, “Ciao Giuliano, come in.” As she turned to walk into the bright living area, I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to be naked under her almost sheer dress.

“Do you live here?” I asked incredulously.

She laughed huskily, “No, no, it’s a customer's, he’s away in another city, he loaned it to me.”

“Very generous,” I replied.

“He’s a lovely man, I introduce you. Upstairs has a better view, maybe we start there.” I followed her upstairs, with my gear, into an enormous bedroom with a large lounge suite and a featherstone chaise at the end of a king size bed. Whoever had fitted this place out, hadn’t cut any corners.

Veronica hauled a battered suitcase onto one of the lounges and opened it.  I got out a camera and started to look for shots. Veronica was right, the room had a great aspect, and the balcony had glass balustrades giving an unbroken view of the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. After taking in the view, I turned back to see Veronica holding up a simple black maillot. “Giuliano, what do you think?”  I was somewhat surprised; this was obviously more than a simple portrait to send Nonna.

“Glamorous,” I replied, “Do you have some sunglasses, black heels, and maybe a headscarf?”

“Sure, she replied, scusa,” She went into the ensuite as I started to set up some reflectors and a tripod.

I called out to her, “Are these photos for your boyfriend?”

Again the throaty laugh, “Boyfriend, no I have no boyfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” I queried.

“Giuliano!" She called out. After a moment I heard her voice closer

“Giuliano,” she paused. I looked up to see her standing naked in the doorway holding a lipstick and lipstick brush. “I’m Italian from Trieste not Greek from Lesbos.” With that, she turned back into the ensuite.

After I picked my jaw up off the floor and plugged my eyes back into their sockets I called out, “Sorry”.

“Okay,” She replied. She came to the door of the ensuite. She had made her face up very professionally, in a fifties/sixties style. She had a Pucci scarf around her hair and a pair of black and gold Chanel sunglasses in her hand. She gave a little twirl and said, “What you think?”

“Incredible, gorgeous” I replied. She never wore makeup at the restaurant. The transformation was remarkable. Maybe not Carla Bruni, but she wouldn’t look out of place on the Italian Riviera.

I started shooting her on the balcony with the view in the background. She knew exactly what she wanted; I hardly had to direct her. She seemed to have memorized poses from all the iconic sixties fashion photographs. We got some great pictures and then she said, “Prosecco, I have some, let's take a picture with that.” She walked over to a cupboard behind the lounge and pulled out two champagne glasses and from a bar fridge, a bottle of Prosecco.

I studied her as she opened the bottle; the bathing suit had a very low back and high cut legs. Her legs looked very long with the heels. Her legs and butt were firm but not gym-toned. ‘Just youth,' I thought. She returned with the glasses; we touched glasses and toasted “salute”. She took a sip with a straw. Interesting, she must have seen models do that to avoid ruining their lipstick. She removed the straw and took up a pose with the glass to her lips and the sun behind her.

We shot some more pics and then she said, “Allora, can I look at the pictures?" I had the camera tethered to a laptop that was sitting on the bed. I kneeled down next to the bed and started to go through the pictures. She kneeled next to me, leaning in to study the screen as I showed her what we could do with the photographs. Some were going to look great as black & whites.

“Giuliano, you make me look beautiful,” she cooed as she put her arm around me and squeezed.

“I was just taking pictures of what was in front of the camera,” I replied

“Sure,” she said and gave me another squeeze. “Okay," she said and jumped up. “I change my makeup and outfit, why don’t you photograph while I do my makeup?”

“Okay, sounds good,” I replied as the ensuite door closed. I guess it was a rhetorical question. I brought in my reflectors and waited. I heard the toilet flush and the taps running. Shortly after, she opened the door wearing a white robe and white towel around her hair. The ensuite was huge, with a double shower and a large freestanding bath. I set up my reflectors and camera for a profile shot while she started on her makeup. When I announced I was ready she took up some poses applying lipstick and eyeliner.

After we had shot for a while, she asked to look at the computer again. “Merda, casalinga!” she exclaimed when she saw them.

I looked at her blankly, “What?”

“Oh, sorry, Giuliano, I look like a housewife. Okay, I know.” She went back into the ensuite and disappeared into the room, she returned shortly after, naked except for the black heels and towel around her head. As I stood there somewhat shocked, she looked at herself in the mirror before looking down and taking a nipple in either hand tweaking them.

She turned to me, “Okay, better, no? nipples should be erect.”

"Now that you mention it, indeed they should," I replied.

I noticed for the first time that she had no tan lines; her tan didn’t look fake, though. She turned back to the mirror and started posing. After a while, she wanted to look at the computer again. She looked at the first profile picture and said, “No, my mons.”

“What?” I said

She replied, “Look my mons, is too big.” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation.

“Umm, looks pretty normal to me, maybe a little pronounced. I can make it smaller in retouching.”

“Okay, you make it smaller but maybe take some photographs where you cannot see it.”

So I moved my camera into the bathroom. I could shoot from below and the side where you could see her reflection repeated in the bathroom mirrors. As I moved around I couldn’t resist taking some shots from behind, her body was like a violin and was lit on either side by the makeup lights. It was a great shot. “I think we got the shot,” I said.

She put on the robe and we went out to the computer. She loved the shots, when we got to the later shots she exclaimed, “Giuliano, my pussy!” I was so preoccupied with the shape of her body in the light that I hadn’t noticed the keyhole at the top of her legs with a clear view of her smooth pussy. Two perfectly formed hamburger buns.

“Oh, I can hide that in retouching," I said. She leaned in closer, I looked at her to see what she was thinking and noticed the robe was gaping open giving me a view of her firm full breast and slightly puffy nipple. She looked at me and said, “No, it looks good, you think?”

“It sure does,” I said, “depending on who you are sending them to.”

She laughed heartily and her boob fell out of the robe, causing more laughter.

TBC