Whenever my best friend and I had sleepovers as kids, we’d dress up and take pictures of ourselves. She’d wear a flowery hat and pretend she was Blossom, or I’d put on a miniskirt and beret, hold a tie, and pretend I was Monica Lewinsky (not that I understood any of that tie stuff).
Once, in between shoots, I went to the bathroom. I was wearing underwear and a kimono, which I took off to go pee. As I was washing my hands, Mary burst in with the camera and took a picture. I screamed and shielded myself and she ran away cackling.
A month later, my parents called me into the living room for a talk. They had taken the photos to get developed and found a very disturbing shot of me with my hands up in a “no, no, stop” pose and a grimace on my face and my right nipple in full view.
“This is very serious,” my mom said. “They could have reported us.”
At the time I just laughed it off, but in hindsight that could have been pretty shitty for them.
Also in hindsight, I wonder why the photo lab didn’t report them. I would have.