Several years later, while I was doing some shopping at our local mall, I noticed a man seated on one of the benches staring at me as I browsed through the discount bin in front of the bookstore. He alternated between looking at me and focusing on his smart phone; he seemed to be searching for something.
I'm not a beauty. Average, really. And, being in my middle forties, my body had begun to show the effects of gravity. I didn't generally attract much attention. So to have this man, who seemed average himself, covertly studying my face and figure, made me curious. And a little frightened.
All at once his demeanor changed. He sat back, nodded his head, and tapped the screen of his smart phone.
I went into the store to pay for the books I'd found and in the process almost forgot about him. When I came out I did notice he was no longer sitting on the bench.
About half an hour later, as I sat in the food court eating my lunch, he approached my table with his smart phone in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
"Would it be all right if I joined you?" he said.
I hesitated, looked around, and then made a gesture of permission. There were enough people that I didn't think things could get too out of hand.
"I thought I knew you from somewhere," he said after he sat down. He took a sip of his coffee.
I stared at his face trying to make his features fit into the lines of someone I recognized.
"No, no," he said, "you wouldn't know me. I saw your picture."
"My picture?" I said.
"Yeah," he said, "online."
"Online?" I said. "I don't have any pictures online." I stopped. "Except for Facebook."
"No," he said, "It wasn't Facebook. Definitely not Facebook."
Something about the way he said it made me think that he was thinking I would understand. I didn't have a clue. I just looked at him.
"Aah," he said. He frowned. His body jerked as if he were about to get up and then he relaxed. "It's a nude photo," he said.
I stared at him, my mind blank. And then I started to get angry.
"What kind of crap is this?" I said. "Do you get some kind of perverse thrill out of doing this to women? Jesus."
He held up his smart phone. There I was in all my average middle-aged glory; droopy boobs and all. The moment I saw it I remembered although I couldn't fathom how it had gotten into his possession. He put his phone down, careful not to let anyone else see the image.
I was stunned. And apprehensive.
"What do you want?" I said.
"I don't want anything," he said. "Well, I don't want to do anything to hurt you."
"Why do you have my picture?" I said.
For the first time he seemed unsure of himself. He looked down at his coffee.
"I like to look at naked women," he said in a voice I could barely hear. "I love the Internet." He perked up a little. "I've gotten into putting pictures of women who are supposedly local on my phone. You're the first one I've ever actually seen."
I shook my head. The whole situation seemed bizarre to me but he appeared to be harmless. A pervert, but harmless.
"Okay," I said, "you've seen me. Can we wrap this up now?"
He slumped down again.
"I'd like to take pictures of you," he said in that barely audible voice.
"Nude ones, I suppose," I said.
"Yes," he said.
"I don't think so," I said.
He gathered himself and looked into my eyes. "I know you think I'm a weirdo," he said. "And I don't blame you. I suppose I am. But I do love to see women naked. And I would like to see you naked and take pictures of you. My wife," he stopped, looked down at his coffee for several long seconds, and sighed, "my wife doesn't like to be naked. She definitely won't let me take pictures of her. I thought because you'd put your picture on the Internet you'd be willing."
"I didn't put that picture on the Internet," I said, "I don't know who did. I can't believe the woman who took it would have."
"Okay," he said, "I'm sorry." I had the impression that he was about to get up.
"Why would you want to take pictures of me anyway?" I said. "I'm just your average middle-aged housewife."
"Oh, but that's what I like," he said, "real women with lived in bodies."
"You're kidding," I said.
"No," he said.
"Why don't you go to strip clubs?" I said. "You could see naked women there."
A look of repugnance flashed across his face. "I hate strip clubs," he said. "It's based on men's fantasies, it's a caricature. I hate Playboy for the same reason."
"I thought all men liked Playboy," I said.
"No, they don't," he said.
"You'd rather look at my saggy old body," I said, "than at some fresh perky young thing?"
"Yes," he said. "I would. I like your body. I like that you don't shave, well, not completely."
"Only down there," I said, "I shave my armpits and legs." I was feeling that the conversation had suddenly gone off the tracks; here we were discussing my pubic region.
"Will you think about it?" he said.
I looked at his face. He had a florid complexion with a scattering of freckles. His eyes were light blue and his hair was dirty blond with traces of grey. He met my eyes and smiled tentatively. I didn't see any ill-intent or obsession, only a boyish look of fragile hopefulness.
"I'm an idiot," I said, "but okay."
"Okay what?" he said.
"Okay I'll get naked for you," I said.
He tried to hide his exhilaration but it was obvious. "When?" he said.
"We'd better do it now or I'll never work up the courage again," I said.
He frowned with concentration. "Okay. Okay," he said, "there's a motel not far from here, on Lansing. The Dover Inn or something."
"I know it," I said.
"I'll get a room and meet you there, okay?" he said.
"Now hold on," I said, "let's get this straight. This is only about photographs. No sex. Right?"
"Right," he said. "Oh God, this is great. Thank you."
"You're welcome," I said. "I'm going to stop for some wine coolers. I don't think I can do this completely sober. So I might be a little while."
"Okay," he said. "I'll meet you there." He turned several times on his way out as if to convince himself that I wasn't some phantom out of a hallucination.
I gathered my things and followed a ways behind him.
I sat in my car for several minutes before turning on the ignition. Alone, honestly examining my feelings, I had to admit that I found the idea arousing, more because this was so unlike me, so unlike the routine of my life, than because of any sexual urge. Within a short time I would be revealing myself to a stranger in a way that only my husband and a few old boyfriends had seen. In person, that is. The photo that had started this had revealed me to untold numbers. I wondered what he would want me to do, what poses he would ask for. I realized then that I didn't even know his name. I shook my head and then covered my face with my hands. And then I started the car.
I got the wine coolers at a quick mart and drove to the motel. I decided to park on a side street on the off chance that my husband would drive by and see my car. Very unlikely but I didn't want to be sorry. I grabbed the coolers and my purse and walked down to the motel.
"Oh God, I thought you weren't going to come," he said. He had a camera case hanging from one shoulder and a laptop bag hanging from the other.
"What's your name?" I said. "I realized I don't know your name. I'm Clara."
"Roger," he said, "my name's Roger." We shifted our burdens and awkwardly shook hands.
"Well, this is the room," he said, stuffing the card in his left hand into the slot. The light turned green and he pushed the door open. It was a standard motel setup with two beds, a dresser, a small table, and two chairs.
"I need to use the restroom," I said. I pulled one of the coolers out of the carton and went into the bathroom, closing the door. I put the bottle against my forehead and looked at myself in the mirror. Then I twisted the top off, threw it in the waste basket, and drank most of the contents. I sat down on the lid of the toilet. After a moment I took a deep breath, emptied the bottle, sent it to join the cap, and struggled to my feet. With a wry look at myself in the mirror I opened the door and walked out.
Roger had set up his camera on a tripod and was now sitting at the table working on his computer. He looked up and smiled uncertainly. I pulled another cooler out of the carton and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the table.
"What now?" I said.
"Are you ready?" he said.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I said and started to unzip my jeans.
"Wait," he said and got up to go to his camera.