The Model Sneezer
The young model heard the shrill BEEP! BEEP! of her alarm – insistent needles of sound pricking her into wakefulness. She sat up, yawned, and stretched her slim elegant arms above her head. She froze for a moment, full lips parted, eyes unfocused…and then she sneezed.
“AAAIISHOOO!! Bless me!…AAACHIEW!! Bless me again!”
She began a volley of sneezes, the sounds of her explosive spasms ricocheting off the bedroom walls like gunshots.
“Have to dust sometime soon,” she said to herself. Then she sniffed, rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, and headed for the shower.
Three quarters of an hour later, following a breakfast of muesli and toast, she got into her BMW and began the drive to work. The day was bright and clear, and the sunshine irritated her huge eyes, making them feel watery and itchy. As soon as she turned out of her road, she felt an enormous sneeze building. Impossible to restrain.
It was the start of another fit. She rocked in her seat, her medium-length raven hair bobbing forward, her tiny glasses, which she wore for driving, nearly falling off her nose. And with every sneeze a fine mist sprayed before her.
She did not dare take a hand off the wheel to cover her nose and mouth.
Some of that damn dust must still be up my nose, she thought, as the attack subsided. And she knew from the blaring horns of other motorists that her driving had become very erratic.
She arrived at the studio and made her way down a white-walled corridor. She hadn't sneezed for a while now, and wondered if the rest of her day would be sneeze-free. The model had always been prone to protracted sneezing fits. Her sneezes were rarely solitary, and normally she could expect to sneeze seven or eight times in succession. She had multiple allergies, frequently caught colds, and if she heard someone else sneeze, it made her want to sneeze too.
Sneezing was the bane of her life. Or it should have been. In fact, oddly, she loved it. Not when people were around her – then she was embarrassed; but when she was alone there was nothing she liked more than to lie on her bed and sneeze and sneeze and sneeze.
If it wasn't hay fever season, and she didn't have a cold, she might sniff some pepper, or watch one of her videos. Her favourite was called Drop Dead Fred, which starred Phoebe Cates (who looked a little like the model herself, on a bad day). In the film, Phoebe had an imaginary friend whom she could blow away by sneezing.
The model kept the video tape permanently wound to a couple of minutes before Phoebe’s first sneeze. When Phoebe sneezed, the model would immediately respond with a sneeze of her own.
The model’s sneezes were very loud – this had always been the case, and it had always been a source of much embarrassment.
At the end of the corridor was her dressing room. She sat in font of the mirror, removed the hairclip that kept her fringe off her forehead, and began to chat to the make-up girl, Fiona. Fiona was a cute little blonde who wore dinky little gold-rimmed glasses. The model had always found her compact, curvy figure attractive, though Fiona was not, of course, in the same league of sheer gorgeousness as the model herself.
Fiona picked up a container of facial powder; but the lid wouldn’t budge. She pulled harder – the lid flew off, and a cloud of white dust swirled up around her.
“Uh-ch!” Fiona sneezed quietly and politely. “Excuse me.'”
It was the kind of sneeze that could be excused anywhere. The model envied girls who sneezed like that. So ladylike, and so unlike her own earth-shattering sneezes. She smiled at the irony of it all. She, the envy of all women, envying another woman because of the way she sneezed. Ridiculous! The model found Fiona’s sneeze rather cute. Perhaps when Fiona was alone, she too was a loud sneezer. Or maybe not.
The model’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden tingling in her nose. She must have inhaled some of the powder, and a sneeze was brewing.
“AAAAACHIEWWW!!!” She let it all out.
“Bless you!” said Fiona. “That was from your boots! Uh-ch! Wish I hadn't spilled that – Uh-ch! – powder.”
“It's – AAAACHOOO!! – Okay…These – AAA ISHOOOO!! – things ha – CHOO! – happen.”'
The girls continued to sneeze, with AAAACHOOOOs from the model and cute little uh-chs from Fiona, occasionally punctuated by a few slightly louder uh-choos.
“That's some sneeze you've got there!” Fiona said when at last she finished the model’s make-up.
“You too!” said the model, smiling as she left for her photo session.
In the studio, the photographer explained what she had to do. “Just stand here holding a bunch of flowers and looking alluring. But you don't need any help with that.” Her grinned at her sycophantically. He often told her she was his favourite model. “That okay with you, gorgeous? I'll just go and get the flowers.”
Oh no! Flowers! The model was highly sensitive to pollen. It brought on her loudest, most powerful sneezes, and caused her longest fits. All right if she was alone; but not in front of the leering photographer. Still, she prided herself on her professionalism. If the job required flowers, she would hold back her sneezes. She might be able to do it. But even the thought of flowers made her want to…
“Bless you,” said the photographer from the next room. “Hope you're not coming down with something.”
“I've had the sneezes all morning,” she said.
A moment later, he returned with the biggest bunch of flowers the model had ever seen. Beautiful, but trouble. Big trouble. She gulped.
“Pretty impressive, eh? The florists did a fine job on these. I told them – your most beautiful flowers for our most beautiful girl.”
The sweet scent was overpowering. And the bunch included gladioli, the flowers that had the most powerful effect on her nose.
She couldn’t keep the urge to sneeze in check. “AAACHOOO!!”
“Bless you, baby! I hope it's not the flowers making you sneeze.”
“It's okay. I’m fine.” In truth she was far from fine. The model was trying her very hardest to hold back another sneeze. If she let it escape, it would be certainly be the start of the biggest fit of her life.
Breathing deeply, trying to stay calm, she took the flowers and got into position.
Her nose was burning, but she tried to look confident and sexy. She bit the inside of her mouth hard. Pain would keep the sneezes at bay.
The photographer was setting up his camera. And he was taking his time. And God, she still needed to sneeze.
“Won't be a minute,” he assured her.
A minute was an hour right now. Come on. Set the damn camera up; take the goddamn pictures and let me get out of here so I can sneeze, you stupid man! She smiled at him sweetly.
Then the tune Greensleeves came burbling from the photographer's mobile phone.
“Sorry. It's my wife,” he said as he recognised the number. “Won't be a tick.”
He left the room, and the model waited an icy moment, till the door was firmly closed and she heard him begin to talk. Was this her chance? What if he heard her through the door?
But everyone's gotta sneeze, even gorgeous models. She decided, yes, she was going to sneeze, sneeze like never before from the sickly sweet scent of pollen that filled her elegant nose.
“AAH...AAH...AAH…” She surrendered to the maddening itch. “Ahh...Ahh...” She gave a series of small, sharp gasps. “Oh...ehh...ahh...” A million tiny daggers pricked her nasal passages.
“Sorry about that. Why can't her majesty leave me in peace when I'm at work? Where were we?”
The photographer's jaw dropped when he looked at the model. Her face seemed frozen in a scream, her breasts were heaving beneath the skimpy red number she had put on for the shoot, and the whole of her lovely form was trembling. She was, incredibly, more beautiful than ever at that moment. But what was happening to her? An asthma attack? No. An orgasm?
The photographer stood transfixed as the model quivered in her strange breathy state. Her hair shimmered, her lovely mouth was opening and closing, and her beautiful sea-green eyes were watering.
The model abandoned herself to cascade of sneezes. “AAAACHOOOOOO! AAAAAACHOOOO! AAAAAAAACHOOOOOOO!!!”
The paroxysm went on and on. Some sneezes bent her double, and the flowers went everywhere. Both photographer and model wondered if her fit would ever end.
On an impulse, he raised his camera and pressed the shutter button just as she uttered a final mighty: “AAAAAAAAACHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”
And the hurricane-force breath generated by her slender form contained a cloud of droplets that covered the camera lens in fine mist.
“Bless you,” said the photographer. Surely the most well earned bless you in history.
“Thank you,” said the model. What must he think of her!
He wiped the lens with a cloth. He cleared his throat. “Well, I guess we should ditch the flowers. Can I get you a tissue?”
* * *
After the model had blown her nose, the rest of the shoot was relatively uneventful. She went home at lunchtime, ate a chicken salad, and made herself a cup of herbal tea. The stuff was supposed to soothe one’s nerves, according to the blurb on the packet.
Then the doorbell rang. She opened the door, and there was her elderly neighbour, Mrs. Grimshaw, cradling a big, longhaired white cat in her brawny arms.
'”Ohh, you look lovely today, dear. Have you been modelling?” She handed the cat to the model. “Arthur and I are going away for a weekend break. And I know it’s short notice, but would you look after Munchkin for us? He’s no trouble, honestly.”
“Well, actually, I’m allergic.”
The model sighed and smiled. “Never mind. It’s all right. I’ve got medication. And he seems like a nice cat.”
“Thank you, dear, I knew I could rely on you. Here's the keys. Munchkin needs feeding morning and night, and he likes half an hour out to do his business. Oh, and he loves being stroked. Try tickling his tummy.”
“Will do, Mrs G. Have a nice time.”
As soon as she closed the door, the model let out a loud: “AAAAISHOOO!!” She had resigned herself to a sneeze-filled weekend. In fact, she was looking forward to it.
Then the doorbell rang again.
“Did you forget something, Mrs Grimshaw?“
But it wasn’t Mrs Grimshaw. It was Fiona. “Hi. I just thought you might be missing this.” She handed a hairclip to the model. “You left it in the dressing room.”
“Oh.” The model grinned, and Munchkin leapt from her arms and ran into the living room. “You shouldn’t have. It’s not worth anything. But that’s so nice of you!”
Fiona shrugged and returned the grin. She glanced away shyly, and the model thought how cute and sexy she looked. She enjoyed women’s company at least as much as she enjoyed men’s; and she particularly liked the soft feeling of another woman’s skin.
“Would you like to come in? I’ve just made a pot of tea.”
“Thank you but I’ve got to…” Fiona shrugged again, her smile lighting her face and seeming to lend energy to her compact form. “Oh, what the hell. I’d love to come in.”
“It’s herbal tea.”
“I’m not fussy.” As she stepped over the threshold, Fiona gave one of her dainty sneezes. “Uh-ch! Excuse me. I think it’s your cat. I’m allergic to cats.
“He’s not my cat.” The model was captivated. She suspected that Fiona’s niceness concealed a knowingness, an exuberant sexuality. “Munchkin belongs to my neighbour. I’m looking after him for the weekend.”
“Uh-ch! Excuse me again.”
The model laughed. “You’re excused. Actually, I’m allergic too.”
They drank the tea in the living room, sitting at either end of the small sofa, angled toward each other so they could talk, their knees almost touching; and Munchkin skulked in the background, shedding hairs.
The women talked about work – about leering photographers and temperamental models. “But you’re not temperamental in the least,” said Fiona. “You’re really great.”
The model began to reply, but her words were absorbed by a sudden gasp. “AHHH…” Carefully she placed her cup and saucer on a low table. Her eyes narrowed and her long fingers ascended towards her face. She kept her hands poised in front of her for a few seconds – a startling pose – before: “AHHHIISHOOO!! AHH…AHHHCHOOOOOO!!”
“Bless you again.”
“That cat’s getting to me now…AHHHHCHOOOO!!! CHOOOO!! AHHHISHOOOOO!!!”
Fiona watched the model in awe. “Wow! Your sneezes would wake the dead. They’re incredible.”
The model sniffled. “It’s embarrassing. I wish I sneezed like you. Nice cute little sneezes.”
“No no,” said Fiona. She glanced away shyly again. “Don’t you think there’s something, um, sexy about sneezing?”
“You mean a sneeze is like an orgasm? I’ve heard that somewhere.”
“Yeah. And if a sneeze is like an orgasm, your orgasms must be…wow!” And, as if to emphasise her point, Fiona sneezed abruptly: “Uh-chooo!”
“Oh-ho.” The model nodded, smiling. “Louder than normal. I hope it was good for you.”
“Uh-chooo!!!” Fiona’s sturdy little body jerked forward, and she put out a hand to steady herself. The hand came to rest on the model’s smooth thigh. Fiona began to remove it, but the model covered it with her own palm.
The women stared into each other’s eyes. Fiona said haltingly: “When you sneezed at the studio today, I thought that was so sexy. It sent tingles down my spine.” She looked away. “God I’m sorry. You probably think I’m really weird now.”
“Not in the least.” The model leant towards her, and kissed her mouth tenderly.
Fiona returned the kiss with passion, and put her arms around the model. Kissing feverishly, they rolled off the sofa and on to the carpet. The model unzipped Fiona’s jeans and thrust her fingers into her lover’s vagina. Fiona’s hand crept under the model’s short skirt and began to caress her clitoris. The room was filled with the women’s hot, juddering gasps.
“I’m so wet!” cried the model.
“Me too,” said Fiona. ”You’re so hot. I’ve always wanted you!”
Munchkin watched from a behind a magazine rack, purring moodily. He opened his mouth and said: “Merrrwow!”
Then he ran forward, a fine cloud of fur swirling in his wake. He hurried past the women, flicking his bushy tail so that it caressed their faces, shedding silver filaments – the seeds of allergy.
Munchkin leapt on to the sofa and turned to look at the humans and their puzzling antics. The tall, slender dark-haired woman was gasping wildly. Munchkin watched with interest.
The model gave a series of high-pitched gasps, and sexual pleasure and an overwhelming urge to sneeze fused with spectacular results.
“AHHHH…EHHH…AHHHISHOOOOOO!!… IIISSHOOOO!!…AHHH…AHHCHOOOO!!!! AHHHCHOOOO!!!”
Fiona groaned and thrust her fingers against the model’s pudendum, stroking faster. Her own nose was suffused with a tingling rush, as if a beautiful insect was beating its flimsy wings against the soft passages inside her skull. She began to sneeze, and buried her head in the model’s cleavage. “Uh-ch! Uh-ch! Uh-chooo!!”
The room seemed to fade and become insubstantial as the women drowned together in an ocean of pleasure.
“Ooh, Fiona…that was sooo good.”
“For me too.” Fiona sniffed and sighed. “Let’s hope we never stop being allergic to cats.”
“Well, if we do, there’s always your face-powder!”
They began to laugh, hugging each other. And Munchkin, curled on the sofa, eyes closed, purred in his sleep.