Over Exposure
12
Crikey!
“WE ARE GOING to focus on processing and printing today and tomorrow,” Josh said when we got to our class in the morning.
We’d eventually taken Jane to her host’s house the night before and this morning she looked absolutely radiant when she got to class.
“I want to see the negatives you have from our four shoots this week. We’ll project the best and I want you to tell me your strategy for printing. What paper, timing, and any other details you might have. Then you’ll get time to print them and we’ll have group critique this afternoon. And there is one caveat. The picture you choose to print cannot be from your own photo shoot. That means Ari cannot use a photo from the sanctuary. Lady Jane cannot use a photo from her village scene. Dominique cannot use a photo from the construction site. Nate cannot use a photo from the brothel. Work outside your usual comfort zone.”
Viewing negatives on a light table is very different than viewing them projected on a screen. Josh even had a projector that would project the 4x5 negatives or the 8x10 from Jane’s huge studio box. He pointed out details in our negatives that might have gone unnoticed under a loupe, but were obvious when projected. We each had to tell what we were trying to achieve with the selected photo and after lunch, we went to the darkrooms.
I’d done some work like what I wanted to do with my negatives—most notably Patricia’s ghost scene and the ghosts Judy staged in the cemetery for her birthday. I was using the two 4x5 negatives I’d shot in the village. It would take me three or four prints to get what I wanted out of the two negatives. When I finished with a 12x15 print, I was very happy. It took until four-thirty for us to finish printing and drying the prints so we could display and discuss them.
I was pretty pleased with my photo, but this was an exhibit that showed why each of us had been chosen for participation in this intersession intensive.
Jane and Ari had both chosen their brothel photos. They’d each captured something very different from the other. Jane’s photo showed a bright and cheerful Mel being very seductive in her demeanor. Ari’s photo of Chloe was dark and brooding. It told a very different story of the brothel than Jane’s. I hoped we’d eventually get to display a photo from each of the settings so we could see the differences in the treatments of four photographers in four settings.
Dominique used his photo of the couple at the filling station with the car. He had a shallow depth of field and focus was only on the couple with the setting blurring around them.
That was somewhat similar to my selection of the village setting where I’d shot only two photos. I’d printed the sharp focus image that had great depth of field and a lot of detail in the shadow where my sinister man was standing. I cut the image so I could make a mask of the detailed woman. Then I printed again, blocking out her image. On the same photo, I switched negatives and masked the other part of the photo, printing the blurry woman in the foreground. The result was a clear picture of the sinister man and a soft foreground that could just barely be distinguished as a woman.
We were all pretty pleased with the results of our printing and then Josh critiqued them. Ouch. He wasn’t unkind, but he was unrelenting when he saw something that could have been done better. It was nearly seven by the time we finally headed home for the night. The next day, we were to print a scene of our choice from each of the four days. It would include reprinting our first image, taking the suggestions into account.
“We have just three more days of our little adventure. Four if you count the Lord’s Day tomorrow. Which you should. This is where I turn you loose in the wild. Your task is to find a model and photograph him, her, or it in a setting that you design someplace in the Melbourne metroplex. In doing this, you should incorporate ideas and techniques you have learned this past nine days,” Josh said after our grueling exhibition and critique Saturday afternoon.
“Uh… How are we supposed to find a model?” Dominique asked. Josh looked askance at him.
“There are two and a half million people in the Melbourne metroplex. Surely you can find one person in the batch who will pose for you and give you a release. Those forms, by the way, are available from Larry and Vince. You should take a few in case you need to shoot more than one person.”
“Any other restrictions?” I asked.
“You’re thinking of posing for each other. I’d have to consider that cheating. As would be calling one of the models we have already used this week or using any one of your hosts or the staff here. The idea is to get out and find the right scene and model. Make it happen. You are portrait photographers on the loose in a new city. Find me the perfect portrait. You have until Tuesday at noon to be back here ready to process your film and print your award-winning portrait. We will spend Wednesday with an exhibition. We have started it with your photos done this week. Any additional photos you would like displayed need to be dry and mounted by ten o’clock Wednesday morning when our guests will be arriving for the viewing. Be ready.”
I think we all just stared at him for a minute and then started packing up our equipment.
“I would say that we should go out and start looking now,” Jane said to me. “But I think we are supposed to go on our search alone. And I was hoping I could spend a night or two… um… intimate with you before we need to part.”
“When I left this morning, Dale said she was going into the mountains for a particular scene she wanted to paint and that I had the house for the weekend. Why don’t we stop at the pub for dinner and then go home.”
“Yes, let’s.”
We had a very lazy Sunday morning in bed as we explored each other thoroughly without having a third person to include. By the time churches were out, though, we’d had coffee and were loaded up with our small cameras and releases. My plan was to find a model, get a release, and take some pictures today, then invite her to a specific location to take large format photos on Monday.
Yes. I said ‘invite her.’ I had no plan to find a model that wasn’t female. I’d taken some pretty good photos of men this week, but my heart wasn’t in it to use one for my final project.
We went separate ways and promised to meet back at the house at eight o’clock.
I’d been in Australia for ten days and really hadn’t done anything by myself. Yes, I took the bus from RMIT to Dale’s house, but I left a group of people I’d gotten to know really well and gone directly to the home of a woman I’d known for a year. When Dale was gone this weekend, Jane had happily stepped in as a lover and companion. Now, here I was, just wandering around a foreign country on my own on a Sunday afternoon.
It could have been traumatic, but at least everyone spoke English. Sort of. I still had trouble understanding some of the folks with a heavier accent, and the slang that got tossed around sometimes threw me. When Dom had shown his photos of the couple at the filling station, we were told it was called a servo. And who knew my slacks were called daks? Still, no one seemed to have difficulty understanding my English except, occasionally, Jane.
I mention that because the first thing I did when I stepped off the tram in an unfamiliar part of Melbourne, was to stop at a pub for lunch. It was a lively place and there was a Sunday band playing in one corner. I guess ‘a Sunday band’ was a bunch of locals who got together to play music, but it was really more of a jam session than an organized performance. I got a small beer, having learned already not to try to handle too much Aussie beer, and the waitress asked if I wanted pie and sauce.
“What kind of pie?” I asked. She looked at me strangely.
“The usual. A meat pie. You know. Beef in a shell.”
That sounded okay.
“What kind of sauce?”
There was a moment of silence near me and then people around started laughing. She shook her head.
“Just sit tight, mate. Didn’t realize you were that new here.”
She left and a few minutes later returned with a beer, a pastry, and a bottle of ketchup.
“This is a coldie. That’s a pie. This is sauce,” she explained, pointing to each one.
“Oh.” I nodded and the people near me laughed again.
I bit into the pie and immediately decided the sauce was a good idea. A fellow who looked a little like Walter Matthau dragged a chair up to my little table set his beer on it.
“G’day, mate. Wha’ brings you to Straya?” he asked. “Just on a walkabout?”
“I’m a photographer taking lessons at RMIT for a couple of weeks.”
“Well, now, you want to go out the Great Ocean Road and have a visit to the Twelve Apostles. That’s just a couple of hours south of here. Beauty!”
“Oh. I’m kind of limited to Melbourne proper or the city at large. And I’m a portrait photographer. I’m looking for someone who’ll do some serious posing for me. I do a kind of glamour photos.”
He looked at me and nodded with a wink.
“I know what you’re wanting. The blonde there on the stage with the guitar. That’s my daughter. Jailbait, mind you, but always running around nuddy. I come to watch her play on Sunday’s just to make sure her clothes stay on.”
“I really can’t photograph anyone under eighteen,” I said hurriedly. “She has to sign a model release and her picture would be exhibited at RMIT on Wednesday. It’s our final project.”
“I don’t want to encourage her to that kind of stuff anyway. I’m not pimping out my daughter. Just wanted to make sure I knew what you want,” he said. “So, you want a pretty sheila who’ll bare it all for a glamour photo that will get shown to the public at RMIT and maybe around the world when you leave here and go back home. I suppose you want to sleep with her, too.” He snorted in disgust.
“Uh… No… I never sleep with models. It’s strictly about the photo. And there’s no compensation other than getting a really nice copy of the photo, suitable for framing. How bare she gets depends on how well we work together and whether it feels right. There’s no law that says a glamour photo has to be nude,” I said, justifying myself. I pulled out one of the release forms I had in my bag to show him that I was legitimately with a class at RMIT.
“Hmm. All on the level? Still, you’ve got Buckley’s chance of walking up to a sheila and having her agree. Where you plan to take this wonderful portrait?” he asked. I could tell he was still skeptical. I took another sip of beer, having polished off my pie and sauce. Somehow my glass still seemed full.
“Part of my assignment is to find the right location for the shoot. I’m pretty much just wandering around today, looking for the perfect place. I’d like something that really speaks of Australia. I don’t just want to win the competition with the other three photographers, I want to take something home that really encapsulates my experience here.” I was beginning to wax eloquent, so I stopped and took another gulp of beer.
“What you need is a souteneur?” he said with finality.
“A what?” I asked. He looked at me in frustration.
“A ponce.” Blank. “A pimp,” he tried again.
“Oh, no. Like I said, I don’t have money to spend on a model. She just gets a photo. I don’t want to get involved with someone who wants to sell me something. I could always go shoot an old man playing chess in the park,” I said.
“Shoot one for me, too. There’s way too many of them,” the guy said. “No. I don’t mean a pimp to sell girls to you. I mean someone to pimp your service to the right sheila to get you a model who wants you to take her picture. And a place to take the picture. Allow me to introduce myself. Arthur Hughes, at yer service, mate.”
“Uh… Nate Hart,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Let’s have another round while I consider your needs and what you might have available,” he signaled the waitress to refresh our beers, which I noticed were empty. “Well, some key places would be the MCB cricket pitch, the Flinders Street Railway Station, the St. Kilda Street Bridge, or even St. Kilda Beach. Indoors, there would be Queen Victoria Market, St. Paul’s Cathedral—I could just see a lovely nude stretched out on one of them fancy pews—the State Library Reading Room, the Town Hall, or maybe setting her up on the train. What do you think of those ideas?”
“Well, Mr. Hughes…”
“Art, mate. Yeh don’ call yer pimp mister.”
“Uh… Sure… Art, I don’t want the architecture or location to overwhelm the model. I’d like the location to say Australia without being identified as ‘the art museum’ or ‘the university.’ You know, the other day I took pictures in a brothel. I don’t want to repeat that, but you’d look at the picture and say—that’s a prostitute’s room—without identifying that it was a particular brothel on such a street. Understand what I mean?”
“I got ya, mate,” he said, slamming his hand down on the table. “And this is it. Nothin’ says Straya like a pub. Why not take your picture right here?”
“That’s… That would be kinda cool. Do you think I could get permission to do a shoot here tomorrow during the day?” I asked. “I love the bar.”
The pub was pretty cool. It had a section with a long wooden bar and a lot of little tables, then it had a more open section with a tiny platform for musicians and a dance floor that would hold about four couples at a time.
“You could start taking pictures right now, if ye want,” he said.
“Shouldn’t I talk to the owner or a manager?” I asked.
“Boyo, I am the owner! Get out yer camera and take me picture.”
He pulled a pen out of his pocket and quickly filled in the model release I’d given him. It wasn’t likely that I’d use him as my model, but I had no problems with taking pictures of the guy. He had one of those quirky faces that just screamed to be photographed. I pulled out my Nikon and he posed in what I supposed was intended to be a formal posture. Then he picked up his mug and raised it to me. I moved around a few times to take the pictures from different angles.
“You move around a lot,” he said.
“I have to figure out where the light is best and I have to be sure no one can be identified in the picture except you. I’d have to get a model release from everyone in the pub. I can take their pictures as part of my research, but I can’t exhibit them anyplace.”
“And you think yer going to exhibit my picture?”
“You never can tell,” I said. “When I come back to do the real photoshoot tomorrow, I’ll be using a different camera, a tripod, and maybe an extra light. That’s the one that will be for exhibition. Are you sure you don’t want me to just go down to the park and get an old man playing chess?”
I’d pretty much given up on the idea that I was going to get a woman to model for me. Art had signed a release and he owned the pub. That was pretty good as far as I was concerned.
“Go and take pictures of the pub while I try to figure out where to get you a model,” Art said. “Yo! Blokes listen up! Nate here is doing some professional photography of my pub here, so you need to come over here and sign this form he’s got so I can show the pictures here. He’s going to make the Wallaby Pub famous. Don’t you go hiding from him.”
A couple of people got up and quickly left the pub. I felt bad about that, but there were half a dozen empty mugs at the table they left. I focused on those first and took a picture. Then I turned to the little platform for the band while others in the pub began to file past Art’s table and sign the one release form. I guessed that was okay. Why not have twenty people on one release form? I took a couple pictures of the band. The girl guitarist Art said was his daughter shrugged her shoulders and her shirt fell down baring her left shoulder. It wasn’t indecent, so I took another picture while she grinned at me.
I loved the bar and managed a couple of shots down it as patrons raised their glasses to me. The waitress, who introduced herself as Frankie, invited me behind the bar where I could get a barmaid’s view of the pub. While I was there, she pulled another glass of beer for me and I raised it to her. I might regret so much beer by morning, or maybe yet tonight. I made my way to the toilet to release a portion of my afternoon’s intake and then headed back for my table.
Frankie was at the table in a heated discussion with Art, it seemed.
“And why not me? Am I not pretty enough anymore? You going to replace me behind the bar with a new piece of fluff?”
“Frankie, you know that’s not true, now. I plan to put this famous picture in a frame right above the bar. Now, you really want your bare boobs on display right behind where you’re working?”
She looked over at the bar and the spot he’d pointed at.
“I think I’d get more tips, don’t you?” she asked. “How many times have you told me to pull my shirt down lower or roll my skirt up higher so the blokes would order another round?”
“If you think you want to go naked in the pub…”
“Only for the pickee. What do you think, Nate? Would I be a good enough model for you?” she asked.
She pulled her blouse down below her boobs to show me everything.
“Ah… Yeah. I mean… Wow!” I said. I might have been affected by the booze a bit, but those were really nice boobs.
“See there, Artie? Wouldn’t you like to see them up above the bar?”
She turned sharply enough to slap him in the face with one of her breasts, then pulled her blouse back up into place.
“Well, then, Nate. I think we got everything you need. Setting, a model, permission. What time do you want to get started in the morning? Earlier the better,” Art said. He acted like he’d just successfully negotiated a contract for me. Maybe that’s what he’d been doing.
“I can get here pretty early,” I said. “It will take about two hours.”
“Well, let’s start at nine,” he said. “That will give Frankie just enough time to stuff her norks back in her shirt before I open the doors for lunch.”
“Um… There’s one other thing,” I said as I packed my camera up. “Could you mark where we are on my map? I just got off the tram when I spotted something I thought looked interesting. I have no idea where I am or how to get back to my room.”
I got off the tram after one change at RMIT around six o’clock. Josh had said the lab would be open until nine and I met Vince there. I told him I just wanted to develop a couple of rolls and get some proofs. He said Lady Jane had beaten me back and was in Darkroom two. I went into number three.
I took my time to make sure I got the right mixes and the right length of time for each of the two rolls I shot. I was definitely a little muzzy-headed and had lost track of the number of beers I’d had over my four hours at the pub. It was definitely too much.
Nonetheless, I stepped out of the darkroom with my proof sheets and an 8x10 of Art at seven-thirty.
“Wasn’t sure you were going to emerge,” Jane said from the chair where she was sitting. She was glowing. Her hair had been done, fresh makeup applied, beautiful manicure…
“Are we going out someplace?” I asked.
“It would be nice, since I got all done today,” she grinned. “But not fair since I didn’t warn you. Why don’t we just go down to the pub and have a coldie and pie?”
“Ah… Say, there’s a nice restaurant called the Florentino, Dale told me about. It’s not too far. Why don’t we drop off our things at the house and I’ll pull on a jacket and tie so you’re not ashamed to be with me. I’ve had enough of pub food for today and with you all dolled up, I’d like to take you someplace nice.”
“Aren’t you sweet! Let’s go and we can tell each other all about our day.”
We did. The food was great and I had a few sips from the bottle of wine that Jane drank a bit more from. By the time we got back to Dale’s house, we were both a bit tipsy.
Jane had found her model and location at a day spa near St. Kilda. She said she’d seen it twice before—once on our beach day and once on the brothel day. She’d decided on a full treatment and met a beautician who had ultimately agreed to model for her in the spa tomorrow. She was impressed with the pictures I had of the Pub and that the barmaid had agreed to model.
When we got back, we didn’t really delay for any niceties or small talk. We just ripped our clothes off and jumped into my bed to fuck ourselves silly. It didn’t take long. We both fell asleep before we had a chance for a second round.
Art unlocked the door to let me into the Wallaby Pub a few minutes before nine. Then he relocked the door. Frankie came out from behind the bar in a skirt that was shorter and tighter than she’d worn the day before, but the same type of white peasant blouse she’d worn while hustling food and drinks to the many customers yesterday. She greeted me with a kiss on each cheek and then turned to Art.
“You can leave us. I’ll sign the release and Nate and I can work on the pictures and poses. You’ll try to direct the photos if you stay out here. Don’t worry. We’ll get the photo you want for the bar,” she said.
“I… yah… You know there’s windows,” Art said. I wondered if he was regretting deciding on this.
“They’re still all painted with the Christmas scene. I told you there was no hurry to clean them. Don’t worry, Artie. I’ll be fine.”
Art nodded and headed through the kitchen door to the back.
“He seems a little worried about you,” I said. I got the tripod out and started setting up the 4x5.
“He promised my mum he wouldn’t let me get into trouble when I came to work here.”
“Ah. You’re family?”
“Distant. My mother is his cousin. But… uh… You’re not going to get me in trouble, are you?”
“That word has many meanings where I’m from,” I laughed. “I’m definitely not going to get you contrary to the law, nor am I going to get you pregnant. I might get you naked, though. Is that trouble here?”
“Not if you’re not getting me pregnant.”
“I don’t sleep with models,” I laughed. “So, no sex, no matter how intimate we get with the photos.”
“Then I’m all yours,” she said.
As we worked, she made it very clear that she meant what she said. I shot most of our poses with the Hasselblad, but occasionally used the Linhof to get a pose that I especially liked—like the one where she was bending over the table to serve drinks and I could see down her blouse all the way to her navel.
Eventually, I didn’t need to worry about seeing down the blouse, because it was gone. I was pleased to note that the boobs she displayed were as nice as I thought they were when she pulled her blouse down the previous day. I was afraid I was too drunk to make a good judgment.
And she was receptive to my direction as I positioned and posed her, no matter where my hands happened to touch her. Her boobs felt just as good as they looked.
“This is a lot more fun than I had on my last date,” she said as she leaned back against me and I made sure her nipples were firm.
“I’m sorry to hear you don’t have better dates than this.”
“You’re paying much more attention to me than a football game. If you are around for a while, I could probably get you a dozen other girls who’d pose if you treated them this nicely.”
“Frankie, I think you’re one of a kind. Let’s have one of you leaning toward the bar with a glass, but don’t smash yourself against it.”
“I gotcha.”
We did a few poses with her behind the bar topless, including a couple I thought were terrific and shot on the 4x5. When I pulled her around to the front of the bar, all she was wearing was a very brief pair of panties.
“It’s a darn good thing I don’t have sex with models,” I said as I lifted her up to sit on the bar. “We wouldn’t get any more photos taken.”
“Does that rule bend a little?” she asked. She pulled her knickers down and shuffled them off her feet.
“Are you on the menu today?” I asked as I stepped forward and reached up to kiss her. I ran my hands up the inside of her thighs to the fur around her furrow.
“See anything you want to eat?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. But first we need to get your prize-winning photo. Now close these legs so I’m not tempted further until we get the right shot. Lie here on your side, supporting yourself on your right elbow. Left leg bent so we don’t risk seeing dinner in the photo. We’ll put a mug of beer over here with the handle pointing toward your customer. The other mug here in your hand. Oh, Frankie, you look so tempting.”
“I hope you yield to temptation a little.”
I tweaked her nipples again and gave her a kiss. Then I seriously worked on framing and focusing, shifting her or my camera a little each time. I took six 4x5 frames. That was a lot for me, but so far, I couldn’t decide which would be my favorite.
“I think that’s all the photos,” I said.
She looked at the clock above the bar and leaned toward me to kiss me.
“How about an Aussie kiss?” she whispered.
“What’s an Aussie kiss?”
“Same as a French kiss, but down under.”
I kept kissing her as I pulled her around to face me and parted her knees so I could step between them. Then I kissed my way down her body, paying a little special attention to the two bright nubs on her breasts. When I was facing the bush, I used my fingers to part her lips and get the hair out of the way. Her hair concealed two fleshy inner lips that hung down half an inch. I bathed them with my tongue and slid my fingers around her clit and then down to her hole.
We’d been working up to this all morning, so it didn’t take that long for Frankie to pop. I had two fingers up in her, working on the inner surface of her vagina and she had her hand stuffed in her mouth until she finally pushed my head away.
“Are you a lesbian?” she gasped. “Only my girlfriends are bush-diners like that. About no sex: Are you sure?”
“As tempting as this beautiful wet pussy is, I still have to say no,” I said.
“Come behind the bar with me.”
She practically dragged me behind the bar and was on her knees in front of me working my zipper down and fishing out my cock. In one smooth motion, she swallowed the head of my cock right down her throat. I wasn’t that far behind where she’d been and, in a minute, she was swallowing my come. I pulled her to me and kissed her as I mauled her breasts and felt her pubic hair rubbing against my cock.
I glanced up at the clock and pulled myself together. I went around the bar and found the bits of her clothing that were scattered around and located her shoes. I passed it all over the bar to her and she scurried into her clothes. When the clock above the bar hit exactly eleven o’clock, Art came out of the back and walked straight to the pub doors to unlock. Frankie was behind the bar setting out table services and I was putting my camera away. We were both still panting.
“Need this stuff cleared away,” Art said brusquely. “Customers coming.”
He turned down the lighting marginally and a customer walked through the door as I was getting my tripod into the carrying bag.
“That was a lot of equipment,” Art said. “You manage that all on the Rattler?”
“It wasn’t too bad. I’m used to carting my photography equipment,” I said.
“Well, sit yourself down and have some bangers and mash.”
“I should get back to start developing these.”
“You gotta stop to eat. Better at my pub than at The Ostrich.”
I agreed. Frankie brought me a small beer and a few minutes later came out of the kitchen with a plate of food.
Crikey! I thought bangers were just a British name for hot dogs. I wasn’t sure I had enough beer to wash the heat out of my mouth. But I ate it all, tears running down my cheeks and sweat off my brow. Damn, it was good!
I paid the check, picked up my bags, and turned to the door. Frankie met me with another tonsil-swabbing kiss.
“The exhibit opens to the public at two on Wednesday,” I said. “I hope you’ll be there. I’m afraid I have to be on a plane Thursday morning, so it will be the last chance I have to see you.”
“I’ll be there. I’m betting the whole pub will be there. Artie plans to close it up between two and four. I’ll see you then.”
I kissed her again and headed for the darkrooms.
The exhibition was great. Some of our photos were displayed together as a set of ‘How different artists see the same scene.’ Those were our best work from the week of sharing our styles. I had to admit that Jane’s photo of Mel in the brothel was every bit as good as mine of Tippi. On the other hand, my photo of the sinister guy at the rail station definitely took the prize for that setting. Unsurprisingly, Ari and Dominique showed how far above us they were when it came to architectural and nature settings. I was definitely going to practice some of the techniques I learned from them when I got back to Chicago.
We all exhibited photos from our first day with Krista. And we exhibited our best shots from the ‘Find a Model’ day. It was funny that we all seemed to branch out into the others’ spaces for that project—which is what I think Josh wanted us to do. Dominique did a stunning photo of a zoo keeper caring for the penguins. He was actually out playing with them, spraying them with water and splashing into their pool with them. He was wearing a Speedo which was little more than a jockstrap and he was obviously a body builder. I hoped Dom had as much fun in his photo shoot as I did. He didn’t get back from it until nearly midnight on Monday.
Ari had managed a great boudoir scene, borrowing a lot from my style with a prop and nude model. The only thing was that his nude model was very obviously male and his prop included a leather collar and leash. Still, it was a sexy boudoir photo.
Of course, we were all photographers and we were allowed to exhibit anything from our two weeks in Australia that we wanted. The only proviso was that we were cautioned to only show the best of our work. There might be people viewing the exhibition who would either review or seek out photographers around the world.
In a late-night negotiation that included Jane in bed between Dale and me as the two of us brought her to one crashing orgasm after another, Jane and I agreed to sign releases for each other. So, my exhibition included the wonderful photo of Jane on the floor. Many people stopped to comment on that photo. In my opinion, it was the best of the show. Of course, there were no actual prizes being awarded.
Jane and Dale both were surprised, though, that I’d included a photo of their delicious backsides at the beach. Most of the photos in the exhibition were from our medium or large format cameras. That photo was from my 35. In addition to it, I printed the picture of Art in the pub and a couple more photos in the pub which were displayed around my 12x15 of Frankie. That was the largest we were able to print in the lab, but it was just right for the exhibition.
I found Art and Frankie looking at her picture and the others of the pub. One of the photos was of Art’s daughter in the band and he was pointing it out to another visitor. He turned to me, just as Frankie crushed my mouth to hers and let me know I’d be missed.
“Ain’t she the finest barmaid in all Melbourne?” Artie said, looking at his younger cousin’s picture. “That will have a place of honor above the bar for many years to come. It will go right there, so be sure to come to the Wallaby to see it.” He pointed to a space just above Frankie’s left shoulder in the picture. It was next to the clock where people would always be looking.
“I have your prints for you,” I said, handing him an envelope with more prints than we’d ever agreed to. I had a feeling he’d be showing them around the pub on Sunday, even if he couldn’t display them.
I handed another envelope to Frankie.
“You were a superb model, Frankie. There are a couple of prints of the best photos and proof sheets of all the others. If you’d like prints of any of the photos from our session, send me a note and I’ll print them up and mail them to you.”
“I don’t think you took a picture of your head in my snatch,” she giggled. “Now that would be worth having. As it is, though, I’ve got some pretty spectacular memories.”
“As do I,” I said. We kissed again and she and Art headed back to re-open the Wallaby.
I wanted to extend my stay in Australia—especially when Jane said she was not leaving until Sunday—but I had classes starting on Monday and wouldn’t get home until Saturday as it was. I spent a loving night with Dale and Jane together. Jane was moving over to Dale’s house for the duration of her stay and I had a feeling there would be a great painting emerge from the time. And probably some good photos.
I had a portfolio full of my prints from this week—all duplicates of the pictures that were still on display at RMIT, and would be for the next two months—when I boarded the plane for Sydney at 10:00 Thursday morning. After a two-hour layover in Sydney, I boarded the luxurious plane for Nadi, Fiji at 2:00 in the afternoon. Flying east, we gained some time, but I still enjoyed the comfort of the trip with a nice luncheon and a Bloody Mary cocktail, arriving on Fiji at 5:00 p.m. that evening.
I had to collect my luggage and go through customs, having my passport stamped again, then check my suitcase and bag of tripods for my flight to Honolulu. Apparently, no one had alerted a stewardess to my presence and Lana was not on this flight. It was pleasant enough, but we didn’t take off until 8:00 p.m. After eating a decent meal—but nothing like the service on the flights between Fiji and Australia—I just settled back to sleep. I hadn’t had an opportunity to read during my time in Australia, so I opened to the last few chapters of Lady Chatterley’s Lover and before long was asleep.
We arrived in Honolulu at 5:00 a.m. and I had to go through customs again, getting stamped by US agents for my entry back into the country. It was wild to have a new passport with four stamps in it already. I wondered how many would fit in the little book.
This time I was able to check my bags through to Chicago and settled down to have a bit of breakfast before boarding my next flight. That’s when it finally dawned on me that all my time calculations for when I’d get home were wrong! It was only 6:00 a.m. Thursday morning—four hours before I left Melbourne! I’d lost an entire day flying to Australia, but I’d gained it back flying home. Instead of getting home Saturday, I’d be getting home Thursday evening.
I quickly found a payphone and dialed home. I calculated that it would be about 10:30 in Chicago. Of course, that meant there was no answer. Ronda had gone to class, Patricia to work, and Anna wouldn’t be home from Rockford until evening. I decided to try again from Los Angeles.
Once again, I saw no familiar faces on the plane from Honolulu to LA, nor from LA to Chicago. I guessed Missy had not been able to arrange her work schedule to be on my flight. For God’s sake! Why would she? The world did not revolve around my erection. The fun instances of taking nude photos of my seatmates or fucking stewardesses were not supposed to be routine. I really needed to start thinking in terms of reality instead of my exceptional experiences.
Which meant I needed to figure out how to lug my bags home without a ride waiting for me at the airport. I looked in vain at the gate, but no one was there to meet me. I headed to luggage claim and debated whether to catch a cab home—which would cost at least $20—or to try to negotiate a bus. The train didn’t run out here.
I dragged my tripod bag on the floor in stages as I got my suitcase and moved away from the collection belt. It looked like taxi was going to be my best bet.
Then I heard my name. I turned just in time to be met by the arms and lips of Anna.
“I was so afraid I’d be late!” she said. “I drove here straight from Rockford.”
“I can’t believe you came for me! I didn’t realize until I got to Honolulu that I’d be getting home today instead of Saturday.”
“Patricia had the presence of mind yesterday to look at your itinerary—you know the little sheet of paper they included with your ticket that you left with us? She saw the date and called me last night. Traffic getting here was terrible. You must be exhausted!”
“Yeah, kind of. Even though I arrived here just seven hours after I left Melbourne, I’ve been traveling something like thirty-six hours. I slept on the flight from Fiji to Hawaii some, but it wasn’t very restful. I’m so happy to see you!”
I pulled her into my arms for another deep kiss and we only broke it off when people nearby started applauding. I was really happy to have my girlfriend in my arms. She took my camera case and portfolio while I hoisted up my tripod bag and suitcase. Then we hiked half a mile to get to where she had to park the car.
“Did you get lots of great pictures?” Patricia asked when we got home and carted all the crap up to the apartment. Toni was a little uncertain when I first got there, but as soon as I said, “Dance?” she was up in my arms and we were twirling around the living room. I still managed lovely kisses with my wonderful girlfriends.
“Did you see a lot of beautiful pussies?” Ronda asked.
“Oh, you would not believe it!” I said. “I got some great photos and every one has a story. They’re in the portfolio and ready to display. Some of those photos came with beautiful pussies attached. Did you know I was going to be hosted by Dale?”
“Oh!” Ronda squealed. “Now I really wish I had come with you! I’ll bet that kept you busy at night!”
“Dale and Lady Jane,” I said. “Dale was… very accommodating.”
“She knows how to accommodate both a man and a woman. Tell us about this Lady Jane.”
“Daughter of an English Earl. We met on the flight from Fiji to Sydney. You would not believe the luxury of that flight. Puts all the others to shame!”
“Including Missy’s?”
“Well… different accommodations. Two stewards and a stewardess working the first class lounge, so there wasn’t any fooling around going on,” I said.
“Even with Lady Jane?” Anna snarked.
“It turned out she was a photographer and in the same class I was. There were only four of us in the class with Josh and his two assistants. Ari was from Perth in Australia. Dominique was from Florence, Italy. Lady Jane was going to school in London.”
“Wow! Let’s go around the world and visit them all!” Ronda declared.
“Ari and Dom were both obviously homo and kind of into each other. That threw Jane and me together a lot. And when we got thrown together, we really got together. Now, let’s get food and then we can go through the photos and I’ll give you the whole story,” I said.
“They didn’t feed you on that plane?”
“Too late for lunch and too early for dinner,” I said.
“Let’s go to the Trat!”
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
