u/lucenamne

It was late afternoon in the office. Most people had already gone home. I sat alone at my desk, scrolling through my self-portraits on my phone. As a 36-year-old man with a positive relationship to my own body and with passion for photography, a few days earlier I had been experimenting with artistic shots of my own body — in the evening light, both clothed and naked, in various poses...

I didn’t notice anyone entering the office at all. Until a quiet voice behind me said:

“Still here?”

She stood behind me, elegant as always — black sweater, tight skirt, perfect hair. She was fifty, but looked so good that I always turned my head when she passed. She looked at me and instantly knew she had interrupted something intimate.

I quickly turned off the phone screen, but it was too late.

“Interesting. That was you?” she asked with a smile that held more curiosity than surprise.

I stayed silent.

She slowly stepped closer, leaned against the desk right beside me, and for a moment simply watched me in silence.

“You don’t even have to answer. I recognized you,” she said. “You took them yourself?”

I felt my face burning.

She leaned in closer.

“Yes,” I admitted quietly.

“Nice,” she smiled. “And you know what? I won’t tell anyone. Not a single word.”

“Thank you,” I breathed out.

She smiled again, this time slower, more deliberately. “But I have one condition.”

I looked at her. My heart was pounding.

“Next time,” she said, leaning in a little closer, “when you’re taking more photos like these… I want to be there.”

“Where did you take them?” she asked.

“At my place,” I answered. “In the bedroom…”

She fell silent for a moment, as if imagining it.

“So what do you say?” she asked. “Do we have a deal? Next time you’ll take me with you. I want to see how you prepare everything. How you set up the camera, how you undress. How you search for the right angle, the perfect light. I want to see your face when you know I’m watching you. The entire time.”

She placed her palm on my shoulder for a moment — lightly, but very intentionally.

All I could get out was a brief “Okay.”

“And then you’ll show me all the photos. Not just the good ones… but also the ones where you felt ashamed.”

She let go of me, straightened up, and headed for the door. Just before she left, she turned around one last time:

“I’m already looking forward to it. I want to see how you feel when someone sees you exactly as you really are.”

She looked me straight in the eyes one final time and disappeared behind the door. All that remained in the office was silence and my pounding heart.