Picture Me With You

“She sent you a photo of that?” What sort of a woman sent a man she didn’t know—and Jane was still wondering if she did or didn’t—a picture of her pussy? A blind man on a galloping horse could see it was an open invitation to sex.
“I don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do.” Who the fuck is this woman? Jane returned the photo to him. That Lawson was turned on by it didn’t surprise her. He loved women. He made no secret of it. “It’s kinda weird if you ask me.”
“Kinda sexy I reckon,” was his response.
Jane looked at the tall, blond man before her. He was gorgeous in a surfer-dude, punk-rocker kind of way. Lawson’s blond hair was collar length yet tousled as if the sun and the waves had made it so. His left eyebrow was pierced with a solid silver bolt and his left arm was covered in a sleeve of swirling tribal tatts. He looked mean, lean and dangerous. That was until he smiled. And when he did, Lawson had the look of the gallant knight in shining armor. He was the kind of man women dreamed of. He was dead sexy. Lawson was her friend and her lover. There were times when Jane stood and looked at him and wondered why someone like him spent time with her. She was plain and average and euphemistically “Reubenesque”. Jane would have called herself fat. But she was what she and didn’t delude herself into thinking there was more to it than that.
Jane looked at the photo in his hand. Who the hell would take a picture of their cunt? A spear of jealously shot through her. The first photo had been of the unknown woman’s nipple. They had both laughed when they saw it figuring it was some joke from a mutual friend. But this? Jane wasn’t laughing now. To her knowledge only lovers sent photos like this to each other. Who was this woman? And, more importantly, what was she to Lawson?