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Baron von Lind (Jerry Lind) (b.1937) – American pin up artist and illustrator, published in miscellaneous art magazine and where he began to be made a name in the Glamour Art. Great friend of the famous illustrator Gil Elvgren, this one became his mentor when both published their Pin up in the 50’s and 60’s for Browne and Bigelow publisher of calendar. This is that way that Elvgren passed on to him its style, that he never stop to perfect over time.

Read “Her Modeling Days”

a Short Story Inspired by Baron von Lind

Click to Read Her Modeling Days

We’d been going out for a month or so before I discovered that Ada used to be a model. She’d moved on by the time I met her, of course, and she rarely talked about her past. Anytime I brought anything up she’d roll her eyes at me. “But Richard, that was all so long ago,” she’d say, as though I was talking about ancient history, rather than things she’d done.


Ada was a fiery one, and she’d had a lot of different jobs in her time. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me to discover her photograph in an old magazine. In fact, it was pretty amazing that I even recognised her. She looked so young there – with her long red hair loose down her back, a twinkle in her eye, and no clothes to speak of except a flesh-coloured brassiere and white lacy stockings and suspenders.


I must have spent a good ten minutes just staring at that picture. Although it was undoubtedly taken some time ago, it seemed to perfectly capture the essence of Ada. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. When I showed it to her she smiled and nodded. “I remember that shoot,” she said. “It went on forever, and it was so cold in the studio. After a while they had to get some tape for my chest.” She grinned wickedly. “I was a minx about it, of course. You should have seen the photographer blush.” “You look gorgeous,” I said. “I never knew you did this kind of thing.” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Jealous?” she said. “Worried that the guys at the office are going to try and move in on me now that they know I’m such a fox?” I laughed out loud. “Not jealous,” I said. “Just… blown away. Why did you ever stop?”


She rolled her eyes and kissed me on the mouth. “I’d been in that game too long,” she said. “You have to keep moving in this world, Richard. That’s the key to everything.”


We said no more about it for a while, but I kept digging through the piles of old magazines I’d found in the old storeroom at work. Every so often, I’d come across a picture or two of her, and without exception each and every one absolutely stole my breath away.


Of course, Ada was a beautiful woman. I’d known that from the moment I set eyes on her. With her bright red hair and her luscious body she was pretty much the envy of every single one of my colleagues. But seeing her dressed up and posing for a shoot like that really turned me on. There was something about her in those pictures that was just so arresting. I took the magazines which featured her home, and stashed them at the back of my desk. I didn’t really mention it to Ada again – I had some vague notion about surprising her with them as a gift at some stage, but part of me was also definitely hoarding them so that I could show her off next time I had guests at the house. The trouble was, Ada discovered the magazines before that could happen. She wasn’t mad. That’s not Ada’s style. I bet she was definitely amused though – I can imagine the smirk on her face as she flicked through one glossy old publication after another, taking in the images of her younger self.


When I got home from work that evening, she had arranged something of a surprise for me. I found her in the bedroom, where she lay splayed on the bed, wrapped in a thin white gown. The magazines were stacked neatly on the bedside table. “You know, Darling,” she said. “I thought we might have a little shoot of her own.” And then she knelt up and whipped off the gown to reveal what must have been the same flesh-colored bra and lacy white panties that she’d been wearing in the very first picture of her I saw. They had been impressive in image form, but in the flesh they accentuated the curves of her body even more, and I felt my mouth go completely dry.


“Well, don’t just stand there,” said Ada. “That’s hardly professional.” She gestured to her dressing table, where she’d placed my old Olympus camera – freshly loaded with a new belt of film. “Tell me how you want me,” she said, with a coy look in her eyes.


And so I picked up the camera and proceeded to direct her through a series of poses. I had her replicate the ones from the magazines, and then a few more besides. It was a sweet little game, but I struggled to concentrate on the process of lining her up in frame – especially when her radiant presence was so close, so within reach.


Touching was, of course, forbidden – at least until we’d reached the end of the roll of film. By the time we did, the tension had built to an almost unbearable level. We ripped off one another’s clothes and fell into bed together. Ada and I had always had a pretty intense sex life, but nothing quite compared to that evening. We went at it like animals, and she was so wet that she was practically dripping.


At last, once we had fallen into a sweaty and panting heap on the bed, she disentangled herself and padded, naked, over to where I’d put down the camera. She picked it up and deftly removed the film, dropping the canister into the pocket of her gown.


“I’ll hold onto this,” she said. “Maybe sometime in the future I might even let you have a look.” I smiled, and kissed her as she returned to bed. That was how Ada was – wild, impulsive, creative and just a little bit wicked. You can see that in the pictures of her… if you know where to look.

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