Page 126 of The Fed Sex Man

Tyson

My home was stillin repair. It had become a matter of contention between Jo and me, often bringing our discussions to near fights. Unwilling to fight with the woman I loved, but equally unwilling to walk away from the home I was raised in, I decided Jo and I needed some time away.

“I think a vacation is exactly what we needed,” Jo said.

Standing at the edge of the condo’s balcony with the Gulf of Mexico as her backdrop, she looked remarkable.

“Don’t move,” I said. “I want to take a picture.”

“You know I don’t like having my—”

“I know, but it’s one picture. Just one. Having the sun behind you makes your hair look darker. Just let me take it, and you can decide if you like it.”

She sighed. “Okay.”

I retrieved my phone from the room, activated the camera, and positioned her in the center of the screen.

While she wetted her full lips and tossed her hair, I snapped a dozen or so pictures.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” she said.

“I will,” I said as I snapped a dozen more. “Just trying to get you centered.”

The bikini she wore was flattering, accentuating each and every curve of her amazing body. After taking a few more successive pictures, I told her to smile.

I took a few while she posed for them, knowing I’d prefer the first photos to the latter.

“Done?” she asked.

I nodded, opening the photo gallery as she walked toward me. When she stepped to my side, I offered her the photo I’d selected.

Her fingers were in her hair, her eyes were looking off in the distance, and the tip of her tongue was touching her upper lip. Her glasses, as always, were halfway down the bridge of her nose.

Despite our position on the second floor of the beachfront tower, the only background that could be seen was the sunlit beach.

The photo was worthy of publication.

“Snapped that one by accident when you were getting ready.”

She reached for the phone. “Oh, wow. I like that one.”

After studying the picture for some time, she shot me a glare.

“What?” I asked.

She pointed the phone’s screen at me and thumbed through the three dozen or so photos I’d taken. “Snapped it by accident, huh?”

“That one? Yeah. The others were on purpose.”

She scrunched her nose. “Fucker.”

“I love you, too.”

She handed me the phone. “I like that one. You can delete the others.”

I accepted the phone, knowing I wouldn’t delete any of them. I’d saved every photo of her that I’d taken. Each one marked a place in time during our relationship. In reviewing the photos, I recalled each event, scene, or occasion. With those recollections came memories of the progress we’d made as a couple.

I gave a nod. “Okay.”