Southend Surrender
"Beach photographer Chiamaka captures tourists at Southend pier—but the thick Nigerian-British tourist who insists on a private photoshoot has something more intimate in mind."
The request was unusual.
"Private sunset shoot. Just me. On the beach."
Chiamaka looked at the woman—thick, beautiful, British-Nigerian like herself, money evident in every accessory.
"That'll be expensive."
"Money isn't a concern." She handed over a card. "Dara Okonkwo. Tonight. Eight PM."
Sunset painted Southend gold.
Dara posed like she'd done this before—confident, sensual, curves displayed to maximum effect.
"More exposed," she requested.
"Exposed how?"
"However you want." She unfastened her wrap dress. "I trust your artistic vision."
The photos grew bolder.
Dara in lingerie. Dara in less. Each shot more intimate than the last.
"Why are you doing this?" Chiamaka finally asked.
"Because I saw you photographing couples all day. The way you captured desire. I wanted you to capture mine."
"Your desire for what?"
"For you."
The camera fell forgotten on the sand.
Dara kissed her as the sun disappeared, thick body warm against Chiamaka's.
"I noticed you the moment I arrived," Dara confessed. "The way you moved. Your focus. Your beautiful hands."
"This is—"
"Perfect. This is perfect."
On a private stretch of beach, they surrendered to the evening.
Sand and skin and salt air. Dara's curves beneath her, around her, overwhelming her.
"Yes—Chiamaka—just like that—"
The waves covered their sounds.
They lay tangled as stars emerged.
"What now?" Chiamaka asked.
"Now you send me those photos." Dara traced her jawline. "And then you accept my invitation to dinner. And breakfast. And everything in between."
"You're very confident."
"I know what I want." She kissed her softly. "And I always get it."
The photos were never published.
But the relationship that followed was very public.
Southend's beach photographer found that some shots were worth keeping private.
And some subjects were worth keeping forever.