SONORAN WANDERLUST

They could not resist the desert's siren call.

 

K.S. Geary

 

© Copyright K.S. Geary, 2022-2025

 

Part 1: Exposures

 

Chapter One

 

Violet reclined on the granite ledge, stared up at the limitless blue sky for a moment, and closed her eyes.

So this is how it feels.

The experience was still unfolding in real time, but now she knew: it was exhilarating.

"You look great," said Kyle as he peered at her through his camera from ten feet away. "Really amazing." She heard the tiny click as he pressed the shutter button. "Try raising your right knee a little."

Pushing her dark hair over her shoulder, Violet lifted her knee and gazed in Kyle's direction, attempting a relaxed, languid expression.

"Awesome. Just awesome!" Click.

She had never posed for a real photographer before. School pictures, sure-class photos and head shots for yearbooks. But nothing remotely like this. She certainly did not consider herself a "model." The word conjured images of runway shows, fashionistas and Victoria's Secret women. Yet here she was, presenting herself to Kyle and his camera in the great outdoors, wearing nothing at all.

As in naked. Stripped. Unclothed, disrobed, unclad-the adjectives came to her as if from the dog-eared pages of the old thesaurus on her desk, back in California.

Wait, she was wearing something: her birthday suit. Violet giggled.

Kyle looked up from his camera. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," she said. "You know, I could get used to this."

He grinned. "I'm glad you're not uncomfortable."

Violet looked about her, confirming once more that she and Kyle had only the low-hanging sun and the wind and the vast Sonoran Desert for company.

On weekends, in cooler months, they might have encountered a few hikers or mountain bikers, Kyle had said. Maybe even a horseback rider or two. All were highly unlikely now, on a Thursday afternoon in late May, in Arizona's scorching desert. The throngs of tourists who descended on the state in March for baseball spring training had long since gone home. Local residents who weren't at work would be sheltering in their air-conditioned homes or cooling off in their backyard swimming pools.

When she searched her feelings, Violet found that the public setting and the threat of discovery, however small, was actually part of the thrill of this risqué photoshoot. Another part, undeniably, was Kyle himself.

In the unequivocal light of day, Violet saw that he was even more attractive than she'd perceived in the darkness of the last two nights. Tall, sandy-haired and roughly her own age, Kyle had the kind of rugged good looks that Violet often saw in magazine ad models but seldom came face-to-face with in person. When she did, the guy was usually some leading man on the set of one of the movies or TV shows she wrote about for a living-someone vain and, quite often, empty-headed. Kyle, on the other hand, projected a smart, quiet confidence without being cocky. He was both genuine and earnest, qualities that appealed to Violet. His clear blue eyes, square jaw and frank manner inspired trust. Otherwise, she never would have been out here in the desert with him, a man she'd only known for a couple of days, posing nude for his camera.

She wanted to know him better. To take things to the next level. Sure, she had to return to California tomorrow, but they still had today. And, perhaps, tonight.

When Violet made her impetuous offer to help Kyle achieve his ambition, they'd both been surprised. Thinking it over since then, however, Violet realized her proposal wasn't really that crazy. Self-confident and generally uninhibited, she was not shy about her body; she took good care of herself and was proud of her fit figure. Growing up in the beach towns of Southern California had allowed Violet's natural exhibitionist tendencies to grow and flourish. Now 27, she was still the same sensualist provocateur at heart. She and two girlfriends shared a small Redondo Beach apartment one block from the sand and half an hour's drive to her magazine job in LA. On weekends she still played beach volleyball in eye-catching bikinis, and after dark, she hit the nightclubs wearing her slinkiest attire. Boyfriends came and went, and the occasional girlfriend too; she embraced her casual bisexuality and the varied experiences it brought to her life.

Nightclubs and beaches were far from her thoughts at the moment. The Arizona desert enveloped her, a place so different and unfamiliar to Violet that one might think she'd traveled half-way around the world to get there. Yet she had made the journey in her Mazda Miata in eight hours, driving down the coast to Interstate 8 and then heading east, all the way to the Grand Canyon State.

Since her arrival in Tucson, she had found herself increasingly captivated by her new surroundings. This was not a barren, bone-dry scene of salt flats or sand dunes stretching from one horizon to the other. This place, this Sonoran Desert, was more lush than that, though it certainly was hot-and hostile, too, with its prickly flora and venomous denizens. There were more than 100,000 square miles of it, she knew from a little pre-trip online research. The majority lay south of Arizona's border with Mexico, and a fraction stretched into southern California. The rest covered Arizona's southwestern region. Despite the Sonoran's dangers, Violet saw its unique beauty, too-a land dominated not by people and cars and buildings like her native Los Angeles, but by stark, mysterious mountain ranges and valleys dominated by the green-ribbed giant cactus whose name she had only recently learned: saguaro. Violet had seen them in the movies and on TV, of course, but never in real life. She thought they were wonderfully exotic. They were flowering this month, too-big, showy white flowers at the top of the arms.

She had always loved sunshine and hot weather, so in that respect, she was a natural for Kyle's endeavor on this particular day. Still, the sun was intense, and she was glad she had taken the time to apply sunscreen before leaving her hotel room. Smoothing SPF15 lotion on those parts of her body where, normally, the sun never shone, had been her first novel experience of the day. Standing naked before the bathroom mirror, she had found herself thinking of Kyle and wishing it were his hands applying the lotion to her skin, his touch arousing her, priming her for the sexy shoot.

Now the sun's rays bathed her skin, slowly erasing her tan lines. The rocky ledge on which she lay radiated heat as well, and Violet loved the sensation. A light breeze blew her hair about her face and shoulders. She felt eddies of warmth caress her skin everywhere. A rush of excitement quickened her pulse, ignited her senses, and made every nerve in her body sing with arousal. Five feet above the ground, she was a naked woman on a sun-blasted granite prominence, vulnerable yet ecstatic.

She placed a hand on her knee, aimed her hips in Kyle's direction, and opened her legs a little. They had discussed poses beforehand. Kyle's taste in nude photography ran more to the artistic and glamorous than to the pornographic; he wasn't looking for open-leg spreads. Yet Violet found herself inching in that direction anyway, of her own accord. She was pushing the boundaries and enjoying the vibe that created.

Kyle's gaze slid over her figure, assessing her pose and taking in details. She loved the way he was drinking up the sight of her, like a man dying of thirst who comes upon a clear, rushing stream. His gaze lingered appreciatively on her buoyant, medium-sized breasts, and then paused again on the creamy curve of her hips. His eyes rested finally on the smooth skin of Violet's shaved genitalia, fully exposed in the direct light of the sun. Her breath quickened and she felt herself growing wet as a wave of desire swept through her. She angled her body in a way that made sure Kyle could see everything.

With an effort, he ducked behind his camera. Violet saw that, ever the professional, he was trying to hide his arousal. That made her smile. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The whisper of the wind and a hawk's distant call were all that broke the silence.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Violet quipped. "Oh, wait a minute, isn't that what we're here for?"

That made him lean back from his tripod and laugh. Violet saw that he was blushing, and she couldn't help a laugh of her own.

He peered through the camera again and snapped away, making adjustments to the lens between each capture.

"Cool. Very, very cool. All right, let's try something else. How about some standing poses?"

"Sure." She got to her feet and tried a strong, Wonder Woman-type of pose-hands balled at her waist, legs forming an inverted V, muscles tight.

"Wow," Kyle said.

Violet couldn't help but try to draw him out. "'Wow' what?"

"Just, wow! This is all sort of surreal." He dipped behind his camera once more. "That's good. Yes! Hold that and look toward the horizon. Let the wind blow your hair back."

She did as he directed.

"That's it," he said. "Nice. You are beautiful."

"Thank you. Anything else?" she teased, looking right into the camera.

He straightened, met her gaze and said frankly, "Hot. You're very hot, Violet." He sensed her invitation and allowed himself to stare. "How about crazy sexy? You're that, too."

She grinned. Lifting one foot behind her, she reached back to grab her toes and leaned out over her other foot, balancing herself in a fair approximation of the natarajasana pose her yoga-obsessed roommate Annie had taught her. The pose presented a side view of her most private area to Kyle's camera. He swallowed and bent to the viewfinder again. Could he see how wet she was through the lens? Considering his professional-grade equipment, she didn't doubt it.

He captured the explicit image. So much for his insistence on chaste imagery, she thought, but then again, she was the agitator, purposely pulling him in a different direction. Changing the nature of the shoot.

She was having a great time, but it would be even better if she could get Kyle naked, too. And then, if she could, she would dispense with all the professional distancing, the slavish devotion to etiquette. She was sure he would go along with her. She just had to demolish the final barriers.

 

Chapter Two

 

Two days earlier, Violet stood in the shadows behind the Klieg lights on the set of World Gone Crazy, a low-budget sci-fi comedy that was filming on location outside of Tucson. "Sci fi" and "comedy" didn't often work well together, she reflected, but whatever the movie's merits or faults, she was glad to make the trip. Set visits could be fun, and besides, it got her out of the office. Take Two was on the hook for her expenses, but Violet had agreed to drive her car to Tucson so the magazine wouldn't have to pay for airfare and a rental car. Even so, she knew it might be the last such business excursion she would take for a while, given the publisher's financial woes. Violet felt lucky that Trent, her editor, had approved the trip.

At the moment, she was watching the cast and crew film a scene inside a dilapidated ranch house. The cast was comprised of mostly unknown actors, though the hunky hero and the svelte femme fatale in the lead roles each had a few decent credits to hang their hats on.

Amy, the unit publicist, stood close at Violet's side, her thin arms folded beneath her perky breasts as she watched the proceedings with mild detachment. The young woman had met Violet upon her arrival and, taking her role as studio chaperone quite seriously, she had stuck to her visiting writer like glue ever since. Violet didn't mind. Not much, anyway. She liked Amy, whose unconventional style came across as authentic rather than pretentious. Despite her age-Violet thought she couldn't be more than twenty-three or twenty-four-Amy exuded the self-assurance of someone older, more experienced. She was certainly striking in appearance, with her blue-highlighted hair, indigo eyeglasses and startling azure eyes, a triple whammy of coordinated cerulean brilliance.

Everyone fell silent as director Val Bryant, seated behind a monitor, called "Action!" The film's leading man burst through the front door into the house. Violet understood that his character was being chased by aliens, but the scene was part of the movie's climax, so she hadn't been told the details. Another actor, the woman who shared top billing, greeted her castmate in the kitchen, and panicked dialog ensued. They finished the scene and the director yelled "Cut," but he had seen something he wasn't happy about, so they did it again. This time the sound guy picked up the noise of a passing airplane, ruining the take. They did it again, and other things went wrong-a flubbed line of dialog, a hesitation, an incorrect expression. Violet counted eight takes before the director was happy. Finally the crew began to set up for another scene elsewhere in the house.

For a while, Violet enjoyed watching the process. Eventually, though, it became tedious. It usually did.

On the other hand, World Gone Crazy promised a couple of steamy sex scenes, and that piqued Violet's interest. One of them was to be filmed later that very night. Two characters would be getting it on, "raucously" according to the script, on the kitchen table. One of them-a lovely young actress who had been getting a lot of parts featuring nude scenes-would reveal herself to be an alien. Violet wanted to hang out with the crew and watch them film the scene, which Amy had told her would "push the boundaries of an R rating."

However, when the time came, Amy touched Violet's arm and said, "Come on outside. They want a closed set for this part."

Privacy for the actors and their stand-ins-Violet understood that. Still, she felt a pang of disappointment. She had allowed herself the secret hope that they might forget she was there, lurking in the shadows behind the camera. It wasn't like this was some highly anticipated blockbuster with vainglorious big-name stars, after all.

Amy brushed her tinted bangs out of her eyes and flashed Violet a knowing look. She sensed Violet's disappointment and, perhaps, shared it. There was, Violet thought, something lurking behind those lovely peepers of hers, something smoldering just beneath the surface. She realized she was staring and busied herself with putting her recorder away.

Amy turned and headed out of the room. Ducking around a large fan and stepping carefully over the mess of power cords snaking along the floor, Violet followed the publicist out of the house. Amy's black skirt, mid-thigh in length, swished from side to side as she walked. Violet couldn't help but observe that she had a cute butt.

They weren't the only ones who had to clear out. All but the director, the camera man and a few others spilled out of the house into the warm, dark night. A few of the displaced headed for the snack table by the craft services truck. Others dropped into chairs or just sat on the ground. Someone made a joke that Violet didn't quite catch.

She could tell her fellow Californians from the local Arizona crew based on their reaction to the heat. The former fanned themselves vigorously with call sheets or script pages or whatever else was on hand, while the latter, more accustomed to 85-degree temperatures after dark, merely sweated with stoic indifference.

Violet had driven from LA that morning and arrived at the film company's location in the afternoon. Now, an hour after sunset, countless stars filled the night sky. She had completed multiple interviews, watched the company film three different scenes, and taken copious notes to give her article that "you are there" feeling. Now she just needed a few minutes with Bryant, the director. Some quotes from him were essential.

When she mentioned this to Amy, who was still at her side, the girl shook her head. "I don't know if I can get Val for you tonight. He's going to be busy for a while. I know he'll talk to you, but you may have to come back tomorrow. Will that be a problem?"

"No, I can do that," Violet said. "I'm not expected back in the office until Friday." She had planned for tomorrow-Wednesday-to be an extra day for sight-seeing, as she had never been to Arizona before and might not ever be back. At least the movie was shooting at night; she could still do some exploring during the day. On Thursday, she would drive home.

"Good," said Amy. "We'll be using this house again, plus some exterior locations in the desert around here. Come back around four o'clock tomorrow. In the meantime, you haven't talked to Tommy yet, have you?" She tucked a strand of tinted hair behind her ear and nodded in the direction of the house's front steps, where a few of the cast and crew were lounging beneath the porch light. "Tommy Giles plays the lecherous Sheriff McClusky. He's free right now. Let's get you some time with him."

Oh yes, Tommy Giles. Violet had forgotten about him. His part was small, but it wouldn't hurt to ask him a few questions. Hastily, she fished her recorder out of her bag as Amy returned with Giles.

"Violet's with Take Two," Amy explained to the actor. To Violet, she added, "Tommy's got about 10 minutes." A look passed between the publicist and the actor that made Violet wonder if they had some history together.

"Welcome to our humble movie set," Giles said with a wolfish smile. Barrel-chested, deeply tanned and somewhere north of 40, the man possessed a swagger befitting his role. He tipped his Stetson to Violet and rested his hand on the butt of his movie-prop pistol as his eyes, close-set beneath heavy brows, wandered over her figure. Don't bury yourself in the part, Violet thought. She couldn't remember seeing him in anything else; she made a mental note to look up his credits.

Pointing her recorder at Giles, she launched into her standard questions for the supporting cast members. "What attracted you to the part... Tell me about your character... What's it like working with..." and half a dozen others. Giles handled them reasonably well, but he seemed a little distracted, like he was in a hurry to be doing something else. His gaze kept flicking over to Amy, who stood beside him, listening to the exchange while shifting from one foot to the other. Violet wondered at her impatience; this interview had been her idea.

Questions answered, Violet thanked Giles and switched her recorder off. He promptly turned to Amy and said, "I have that record I was telling you about yesterday. The one you wanted to borrow, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Amy replied.

"I have it in my trailer," Tommy went on. "Come on, let's go get it before I forget."

Violet expected to have to tag along with them. If only she could talk to Bryant. Then she could excuse herself, thank Amy, and drive back to her hotel in Tucson. It had been a long day and she was ready to get some sleep.

Amy surprised her. "Wait here for me, Violet. I'll be back in just a few. We can check in with Val's assistant as soon as I get back."

"Oh. All right," Violet said, but Amy hadn't waited for her response; she was already walking off with Giles toward the cast trailers down the road.

Violet took out her phone and deleted several junk emails without reading them. She had one text message, from her roommate Belinda. "Just want you to know that Cyrano's doing fine, but he misses you," the text read. Bel had included a photo of the aging cat looking rather forlorn on her bed.

Violet smiled, typed "Aw, so cute! Back Thursday." She sent the message, put the phone away, and looked up at the night sky.

She had never seen so many stars in her life.

"Now's the time we hurry up and wait, right?" came a voice to her left.

Violet turned and saw, dimly in the gloom, a man approaching her. He wore a baseball cap backwards and carried a camera and tripod over his shoulder. Realizing he'd addressed his comment to her, Violet said, "I suppose so." She glanced at the guy's expensive photographic gear. "You must be the unit still photographer."

"Yep. But I'm not getting much done tonight," he said affably. "Amy wanted some night shots, which I loathe, but whatever, I said fine. Yet here I am, standing around and trying not to fall asleep on my feet."

Violet chuckled. "It's the same for me."

"The visiting journalist?"

She nodded.

He stuck out a hand. "I'm Kyle."

"Violet." Her hand felt small in his.

"I saw you earlier," he said. "You've been recording a lot of people and taking notes. Who are you covering this little gem of a movie for?"

"Take Two. It's a small magazine based in LA," she hastened to add, expecting that Kyle wouldn't be familiar with the publication.

"I know Take Two," he said with an arch smile. "I've been on a couple other sets where you guys had a writer."

"Oh?" She was surprised, and pleased.

"Sure." He scratched his chin, thinking. "A few years ago, when I was just getting started in this racket, there was that crime-drama thing that filmed in Phoenix. It hit a handful of screens and disappeared in about five minutes. You guys had someone there. And, um, I think I met another Take Two dude when that Steven Clay picture spent a day filming in Yuma."

"Yep, there you go," Violet said, though in truth she thought he might be mistaken about his first reference, unless it happened before she started at the magazine. Her editor did send a writer to the Yuma set, a guy she'd never really known because he quit a week later. She'd spent a week doing phoners to complete his unfinished article.

"Do you think this movie will be any good?" she asked Kyle.

He sighed. "Well, the studio's not really behind it. The budget's tight. Plus, first-time director, mostly unknown cast. Still, anything's possible."

Violet studied him from the corner of her eye. She liked his easy-going manner and the sexy timbre of his voice. She wanted to keep the conversation going, but her mind went blank.

Kyle came to the rescue. "Is Take Two entirely online now," he asked, "or is there still a print version?"

"It's still printed monthly, but that might not last much longer." She didn't elaborate; it was too depressing. If the rumors floating around the office were true, the end of the print magazine was imminent and would coincide with a significant downsizing of the staff. It was possible that the publisher would kill the brand altogether. Revenues were down, the market kept changing, and in Violet's view, the publisher had lost faith in the magazine while mis-managing it for the past couple of years.

In a month's time, Violet might find herself out of a job.

Kyle saw the worry on Violet's face. "Lots of magazines have made the transition," he said, "but I guess plenty haven't, huh? The numbers just don't favor print in our internet world. Me, I like having an actual magazine I can hold in my hands."

Violet nodded. "Me too." And I like being employed.

"Who else do you need to talk to for your article?"

"Um, I need a few quotes from Bryant. Other than him, I'm finished with the interviews and on-set stuff. But I get the feeling Amy's done trying to wrangle him for me tonight."

"Hmmm." Kyle nodded toward the farmhouse. "He in there, right?" With a sly grin, he added, "He's getting what this picture needs to assure its place on some streaming service."

Violet chuckled. "Right. I wanted to take a peak from the sidelines, but they threw me out."

Kyle grinned. "Nice try."

Amy should have come back by now, Violet thought. Well, she didn't have to get back to her hotel room just yet. Hanging out with Kyle was all right.

"Your chaperone seems to have disappeared," Kyle said, after a silence.

"I know. Maybe the aliens got her."

There was another issue she could no longer ignore.

"Is there a honey wagon around here? Or is everyone just going behind the nearest cactus?"

Kyle laughed. "This may be a low-budget production, but it's not that low-budget. The honey wagon's down there, near the trailers." He shifted his camera gear. "C'mon, I'll show you."