The Selfie vs. The Photographer

The living room mirror had seen Marty's face a thousand times before, but today, it felt like a stranger's face. He was in his early fifties, a fact that wasn't exactly invisible in the beautiful diffused sunlight streaming through the open window, but it wasn't the defining feature of his reflection, either. He ran a hand over his chest, smoothing the thick gray beard that framed his face, then let his hand drop to his waist. His body was muscular and well-defined, the result of years of training and maintenance. He was hairy, his chest and stomach covered in dark hair that caught the golden light, and a large tattoo on his right arm curled around his bicep like a living thing. He looked good. He knew he looked good.

"Right," Marty whispered to himself, a crooked smile touching his lips. "You're thirty years past the prime of your life, Marty. If you don't put this out there, you're going to die alone."

He picked up his iPhone and snapped a selfie. He was naked, the afternoon sun streaming through the frosted window behind him, casting long, soft shadows across his shoulders. He posed, arching his back, flexing just enough to show the definition in his obliques, then turned to the side, examining the angle. He noticed the silver ring on his cock, the weight of it adding to his confidence.

He spent the next two hours in a trance. The living room became his studio. He moved to the hardwood floor, dragging a rug out to take advantage of the natural light coming through the sheer curtains. He grabbed pillows, a leather belt, and even a scarf he used for neck support at work, arranging them like props for a fashion shoot. He snapped photos every thirty seconds, checking the screen, critiquing his posture, his jawline. He was a little taken aback by the older man in the mirror—wrinkles around the eyes, the graying beard—but as he held the pose, confidence bloomed.

He was in the middle of a particularly provocative pose, leg draped over the coffee table, shirt tossed aside, when a sharp knock cut through the quiet of the apartment.

Marty jumped, losing his balance for a second before righting himself. He grabbed a towel to wrap around himself, his heart hammering a little faster than it should have. "Coming," he called out, his voice raspy.

He opened the door, expecting maybe a delivery or a neighbor asking about the noise. Instead, he found a man standing there.

"You don't know me," the man said, his voice smooth and deep, cutting through the air like fine scotch. "But my name is Earl. I live in the condo across from you. Sort of your neighbor. I couldn't help but notice you taking a lot of selfies from my window. I don't mean to intrude, but do you need some help? I'm a photographer."

Earl was striking. He was in his early thirties, about twenty years younger than Marty, but in a way that felt seasoned and dangerous. His hair was dark and styled perfectly, and his face was rugged, with laugh lines etched around eyes that were sharp and observant. He was wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, but Marty could tell by the way he stood that he carried himself with a quiet authority.

Marty was taken aback. He looked at Earl, really looked at him, and felt a spark of attraction he hadn't expected. The younger man's body was lean and trim, different from Marty's thicker build, but equally attractive. "Uh, well, actually... yes. I'm trying to figure out how to date again, and I figured... yeah, a little professional help might be nice."

Earl smiled, a slow, knowing smile.

"Come on in," Marty said as he made a sweeping motion with his hand to welcome Earl in. The gesture was casual, meant to be welcoming, but the knot holding the towel around his waist had slipped. As he gestured, the towel fell away, pooling at his feet and leaving him completely naked in the cool air.

Earl didn't miss a beat. "Don't bother, I'm a nudist too. It's perfectly okay."

Marty looked down at the discarded towel, then back at Earl, a flush rising up his neck. "Then please, make yourself comfortable..."

Earl didn't wait for a second invitation. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing a torso that was lean and muscular, the abs defined but not as thick as Marty's. He unbuttoned his jeans and let them drop to the floor, stepping out of them, kicking them aside. He was naked, completely unashamed, standing in the middle of Marty's living room.

Marty looked at him, a wave of heat washing over him. He wasn't just a photographer neighbor anymore; he was a handsome, young, naked man. He felt a surge of boldness he hadn't felt in years.

They stood there for a minute, drinking coffee, neither looking away from the other. The air between them seemed to thicken, the sexual tension rising like a fog in the afternoon light.

"So," Earl said, setting his mug down and walking toward the living room, his cock soft but hanging heavy between his legs. "I get remarkable results from my iPhone, if that's okay with you."

"That's fine with me," Marty said, following him.

They moved into the living room where Marty had been working. It was a mess of pillows and clothes, the smell of sweat and desperation hanging in the air. Earl set the phone down on a tripod he had managed to bring with him in one hand, and picked up a spare pillow.

"Let's start with the basics," Earl said, his voice transforming into that professional, directing mode. "Come here. Lean against the doorframe."

Marty walked over, positioning himself as directed. He felt a bit silly, like he was in a cheap soap opera, but as the camera shutter clicked—click, click, click—he felt a real connection to his body again. He struck a pose, one hand on the doorjamb, the other running through his hair, his head thrown back slightly. He felt Earl's eyes on him, not just looking at him, but appreciating him, cataloguing his lines and his angles.

They moved around the room. Marty posed on the floor, sitting up with his legs spread, then lying back, draping his arm over his eyes. He was getting into it, feeling the rhythm of the session. He was confident, he was sexy, and he was enjoying the attention. But as the sun moved across the room and the session wore on, physical stimuli began to override the aesthetic ones.

Marty was on his hands and knees, arching his back, presenting himself to the camera. He felt the blood rush to his groin, a familiar pressure building low in his belly. He tried to shift his weight to relieve the sensation, but it only made it worse. By the time Earl called "Nice shot," Marty was fighting a losing battle against a growing, embarrassing erection.

He rolled onto his back, trying to cover himself with his arm. "I think we're done for now," he muttered, his face burning.

Earl lowered the camera, his eyes wandering down to the bulge in Marty's stomach. "We can stop if you want," Earl said, his voice dropping an octave, "but I think that's a perfect shot. I can photograph that, but I need to adjust it so that the balls hang right."

Marty looked at him, the embarrassment fading, replaced by a strange kind of acceptance. "You can move whatever you need to," he said, his voice steadying.

Earl reached out, his fingers cool against Marty's hot skin. He didn't touch the cock directly, but he adjusted the sac behind it, tucking it slightly to the side, shaking it gently to let it settle into a more flattering position. Then he reached out and took the base of Marty's erection in his hand, guiding it to the side, draping it over his own hand.

Marty gasped at the contact. Earl's touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his spine. The younger man's hands were strong, his grip firm.

"That dick would be prettier if it was wet," Earl murmured, his eyes locking with Marty's.

Marty stared at him, the look in Earl's eyes—hungry, intense, unmistakable—cut through any remaining hesitation. "You're welcome to get it wet," Marty said, his voice barely a whisper.

Earl didn't need to be told twice. He dropped to his knees between Marty's spread legs, his hands gripping Marty's thighs. He leaned in and took the head of Marty's cock into his mouth.

Marty groaned, the sensation overwhelming. Earl's mouth was warm, wet, and incredibly skilled. He sucked gently at first, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, then took more of him in, his lips stretching tight around the shaft. Marty threw his head back, his fingers tangling in Earl's hair, holding him there.

"God," Marty breathed, his hips bucking slightly. He looked down, watching Earl work. The sight of the younger man on his knees, taking Marty's cock into his mouth, was a hallucination he didn't want to end. The age difference, the power dynamic—it was intoxicating.

Marty looked down at the floor, then back at Earl. "Can I get some butthole pictures too?" he asked, his voice thick with lust.

Earl pulled back, his mouth popping free with a wet sound. He smiled up at Marty, his eyes dark and dilated. "Absolutely," he said. He took a few more photos of Marty's face, flushed and panting, then had Marty roll over onto his stomach. He snapped a few shots of Marty's ass, the cheeks spread, the pink hole visible between them.

Marty looked back at him over his shoulder, his face flushed. "Would it look better wet as well?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Earl set the phone down on the nightstand, where it would be able to capture the full scene. He moved between Marty's legs and leaned in, his face buried in the crack of his ass.

Marty gasped as he felt Earl's tongue make contact with his hole. It was an aggressive, demanding lick, starting at the base and working its way up to the center. Earl licked and probed, his tongue finding the tight ring and pushing it open, thrusting inside. Marty groaned, his hands gripping the floor, his hips pushing back against the wet heat.

Earl ate him out with a fervor that bordered on worship. He licked and sucked, his nose bumping against the sensitive skin, his tongue exploring every inch of the opening. He used his fingers to stretch Marty open, his eyes fixed on the camera lens, capturing the look of pure ecstasy on Marty's face.

Marty was lost in a haze of sensation, the pleasure building in his belly, hotter and more intense than the one he had been fighting earlier. He couldn't think, couldn't speak. He was just a body on the floor, a receptacle for Earl's desire.

After a few minutes, Earl pulled back, dipping his head back down to finish what he had started. He took Marty's cock back into his mouth, sucking hard, his cheeks hollowing out. He reached around and fingered Marty's wet hole, adding to the sensation.

Marty cried out, his body arching off the floor. He felt the orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing against his defenses. He looked down at Earl, the sight of the younger man servicing him, taking his cock into his mouth, pushing him over the edge.

"Earl," Marty gasped, his voice breaking. "I'm going to come."

Earl didn't slow down. He took Marty deep, swallowing him down to the root, and Marty came, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing as he spilled his seed into Earl's waiting mouth.

Marty collapsed back onto the floor, his chest heaving, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. He looked down at Earl, who was sitting back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked flushed, his cock hard and straining against his stomach.

Marty looked at him, a smile playing on his lips, the lingering heat of the climax still radiating between their bodies. He rolled over and pulled Earl close, kissing him deeply, tasting himself on Earl's tongue. They lay there for a long time, the silence of the room filled with the sound of their breathing, the afternoon light still streaming through the window, the aftermath of passion hanging heavy in the air.

Earl traced a finger down Marty's chest, his eyes locking with the older man's. "I think your profile picture did the trick," Earl murmured softly. "They helped you find somebody who's really interested in you."

Marty swallowed hard, the vulnerability of the question hanging in the space between them. "Would you like to spend the night?"

Earl didn't hesitate. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Marty's forehead before moving to his lips again, capturing the question in a deep, assenting embrace. "I think I'd like that very much."