Shutter Speed
14
Decisions
“Emily” by NAS CREATIVES, ID158880194 licensed from Shutterstock.com
WE GOT ONLY A PIECE of the story at a time. Patricia had been called out of class after lunch and her father Tor had picked her up. Tony’s parents were at her house along with a car and two army officers. She’d sat and listened in stunned silence as they told her Tony had been caught in action during what was supposed to have been a New Year’s ceasefire. He was killed a few hours after midnight on January 2.
The officer and the chaplain who brought the news said Tony had died bravely in service of his country. What bullshit. He died a wasted life for the profitable military industrial complex of rich people funding the war. He died because a fucking racist on our county’s draft board wanted to get rid of him.
Tony’s body would be shipped home for burial. Shipped. In a fucking coffin. Because they were married, the army left all the arrangements for Tony’s funeral to Patricia. They gave her a fucking check for $10,000, as if that would help, and said Tony’s back pay and other compensation would be forwarded to her.
Thank God for my mother! She took Patricia under her wing and guided her through the funeral arrangements for when the body arrived. They asked if she wanted Tony buried in the Camp Butler National Cemetery. Patricia said that Tony loved her and loved Tenbrook. She wanted him buried in our cemetery. Mom took over the arrangements and met with the regional representative to see that Tony was shipped home to Tenbrook. They told us he would arrive on Thursday the eleventh. The funeral home in town would receive the body and make sure it was prepared for burial on Friday.
I think I failed my stupid economics test the next day. By that time, word had spread around the town that Tony had been killed in action in Vietnam. Patricia stayed home from school. Word was out among those who didn’t already know that she and Tony had been married for six months.
Maybe the most helpful visitor Patricia had in those few days was Mary Lamonte. She’d been married about the same length of time when her husband was killed in World War II. And she looked after her son, Billy, who’d been wounded in Vietnam just a few years ago.
Stoney was helpful, too. He’d served there and was Billy’s captain—now our town constable. He organized an honor guard for Tony’s casket and funeral. And he used his channels and connections to find out more information.
Friday night, Christine’s period arrived like clockwork and I spent the evening holding her in front of the television and making sure she had whatever she needed. I have no idea what was on television. Every time I forced myself into awareness, tears dripped out of my eyes.
I wasn’t up for anything on Saturday or Sunday. I hung out in the studio and developed the pictures I’d shot on Thursday when we got the news. The pictures were so pathetic, I couldn’t enlarge them. Anna came into the studio and took the proof sheet and negatives from me. She gave me a little kiss and filed them away. At one time or another all the girls came in except Patricia. They each wanted to know if I’d hold them for a little while, which I did. It seemed like that was the only thing I could do for my friends.
Otherwise, we just hung out and pretended to study.
Monday, I skipped school and took Christine to a pharmacy in Dubuque where she could get prescription for birth control pills filled. Not for birth control, of course. For easing menstrual cramping.
“It will only be a month now,” she said. “We’ll have sex every day. You’ll put your cock in my pussy and fill it with come.”
We found a place on the way home where we could park and make out on the mattress in back, even though we didn’t make love. I still made sure she got a good orgasm. And she gave me a blowjob that nearly blew my mind. For a little while, we forgot all our sadness and our friends. We were just the two of us, isolated and insulated from the rest of the world as long as we were in each other’s arms.
It turned out they’d held a little memorial service for Tony in the gym for those who wanted to say a prayer. I wasn’t upset that I missed it except that I should have gotten a photograph. The actual funeral was after school on Friday. I’d sat in the funeral home with Patricia the previous afternoon as Tony arrived with the honor guard in a hearse and people came by to pay their respects. I say I sat with her, but so did all our friends.
It was cold as hell out Friday afternoon. Patricia rode in a funeral car with her parents and Tony’s parents and sister. Billy carried a flag to the cemetery, even though it was snowing out. I had the seats in the van and the studio crew all rode with me. The pall bearers were all military men, but the rest of us, including a couple of Tony’s motorcycle buddies and their girlfriends, gathered around Patricia and her family and Tony’s family. My dear little sister, Kat, stood next to Patricia and held her hand. Tony’s sister was on the other side.
Mom continued the words she’d preached at the funeral and said the true blessing left by Tony Kowalski was in the lives of the people gathered. Lives he had touched and people he had called his friends and family. There was no longer anything we could do for Tony. All we could do now was live a life filled with love and joy. No matter what the army said about his honor and bravery, the legacy he left behind was of love and joy.
I was surprised when the honor guard that had accompanied him fired a volley of shots in the air as the casket was lowered into the ground. The flag draped on the casket was folded and handed to Patricia by the senior officer.
“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.”
Patricia took the flag and her tears dropped on it.
I don’t know how Stoney arranged all the honors, but as the casket was lowered into the ground, a bugle somewhere in the cemetery played Taps.
Nothing is ever over when it’s over. Members of our church and of the Catholic Church and even a few people from the two Lutheran churches brought food to our church and the entire funeral party was invited to the basement for dinner. People stood or sat to chat while we were all together. Gradually, laughter broke out in the room as people remembered something funny that Tony said or did.
It was all a way to regain our equilibrium and hold our dear ones in our arms to reassure them that we were there and were ready to support them.
“Nate, don’t ever let them take you,” Patricia whispered to me. “We should have done what you said and gone to Canada. Or anyplace. Tony gave me this. Take it and wear it and never ever let them take you.” She pressed a necklace into my hands that I’d often seen her wearing. A peace symbol. I hugged her.
“I will wear it and I will never let them take me,” I said.
She put it over my head and it hung down on its braided cord in front of my shirt.
And that’s what brought me to my room around midnight when I was still holding my draft card in one hand and a box of matches in the other. I needed to find some effective way to protest the whole thing. If I wore the peace symbol, that would only be a start. I needed to do something! What could I do?
Take your place on The Great Mandala
As it moves through your brief moment of time.
Win or lose now you must choose now
And if you lose, you’ve only wasted your life.
I wondered how many protest songs I could quote the lyrics of. God forbid I try to sing them. But Peter, Paul, and Mary’s haunting tune continually echoed in my head.
I got up and went downstairs into Mom’s office and picked up the phone. Elizabeth said she had a private line and to call her any time. We’d talked a couple of times in the past two weeks and she was sympathetic. I hoped she was serious about being woken up in the middle of the night. It rang twice before it was rattled off the cradle.
“’Lo?”
“Elizabeth, it’s Nate. Your photographer boyfriend.”
“Nate, you don’t have to introduce yourself when you call. I know who you are and I love to hear your voice anytime. Baby, it’s after midnight. Are you okay?”
“No. I haven’t been to bed. I’m just… We buried Tony this afternoon.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Nate. It must have been terrible.”
“It was a beautiful service. Touching. Too much military and not enough apology. Food. Tears. My poor friend, Patricia. Tony’s been her anchor ever since they’ve known each other. I don’t even know what to say to her,” I said.
“Take her picture.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious. I’ve seen her picture and she loves to pose for you. It would be something familiar for her to hang onto.”
“But all the photos we took were for Tony.”
“Exactly. Take another set of her for Tony. Remind her about how much he loved to see her pictures.”
“You’re good. You’ve never even met the people I talk to you about.”
“You sent me a set of prints of the girls who model for you. I’m sure you have better pictures of them that I’ll get to see one day. How about me? Have you shown my picture to them?”
“Only to Chris, Ronda, and Anna. I don’t really have permission to show your pictures, you know.”
“Nate, I give you permission to show any picture you’ve taken of me to your other girlfriends. And when they ask, just be sure to tell them the girl in the photo is the model Starr, not your girlfriend Elizabeth.”
“You know I’m going to have a terrible time keeping them separate.”
“Yeah, me, too. I want to see you, Nate. How soon can you come to Chicago again?”
I stopped to think about that. It had been two and a half weeks of pain and sorrow since I was in Chicago.
“How about now?”
“Now? It’s one o’clock in the morning! How can you come now?”
“I have my own wheels,” I said.
“Oh, yes. The van with the bed in the back.”
“Right now, it’s got the seats in. I needed them to transport everyone to the funeral.”
“Take them out and put the mattress and blankets back in. It’s cold here and we’ll need someplace warm to make love.”
“I can do that,” I said, yawning.
“NO! Wait. You’re dead tired. Go to bed and get at least four hours of sleep before you get in the car to come to me. I’ll plan to see you about noon.”
“Where shall I meet you?”
“Let’s meet at the Camera Warehouse. Then we can go out and play together. And by play, I mean make love. Got it?”
“I’ll see you at the Camera Warehouse no later than noon,” I said. “I’d better get started on that four hours of sleep.”
“Goodnight, lover. Dream of me in your arms.”
I got six hours and woke up feeling pretty good as far as being awake was concerned. I started a fresh pot of coffee brewing when I reached the kitchen and Dad came to find out what had me moving so early on a Saturday.
“I need to go to Chicago for a photo shoot,” I said.
“I didn’t know you had anything scheduled for today.”
“It was a last-minute thing. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“What about your responsibilities here?” Mom asked as she came into the kitchen.
“I’ll do laundry when I get home. I won’t let it go. But I need to get out of here right away this morning,” I said.
“And?” she asked.
I sighed. I’d known this day was coming for a long time. I knew exactly what she was asking.
“Unless I stumble into a church in Chicago in the morning, I guess my perfect attendance record is history,” I said.
“There aren’t any more pins for it anyway,” Mom said. “But is what you’re going for worth it?”
“Yes, Mom. Yes, it is.”
“Let’s get some breakfast going. It’s either eat now or you’ll need to stop by the time you get to Fulton.”
I had everything I needed from the studio, including storing the seats and getting my camera equipment and the air mattress in the bus by eight-thirty. I hadn’t said anything to anyone else. I just hit the road.
I pushed the little 50 horsepower engine right up to sixty miles per hour and held it there all the way across Illinois, except when I was going uphill. In a way, I hoped Elizabeth would pose for a couple of pictures for me. I needed to justify my fast trip to Chicago. I’d need to get gas as soon as I got near town so I’d have a full tank the next day. Gas stations were funny about being open on Sunday. At least I got nearly thirty miles per gallon from the little nine-gallon tank.
I rolled up to the Camera Warehouse right at noon and found a parking space in the garage next door. I grabbed my camera case and headed into the store.
I was met by a joyful bundle of sexy girl who wrapped her arms around me and just hugged, barely letting me set my camera case down so I could return the gesture.
“I’m so glad you could come into town! After such a short time together, I feel like I shouldn’t miss you as much as I have,” Elizabeth said. “I’m just glad you could come to be with me.”
“I’m glad to have you in my arms,” I said. “Do you just want to go someplace and catch up?” I guess I had in mind going as far as the van and making use of the mattress in back.
“You have a client,” Elizabeth said. “I took her upstairs and just ran down to see if you were here yet. Come on.”
She led me to the back stairs and I tried not to just maul her on the way up to the studio, but I had to focus on being a professional. We got upstairs and I saw my client for the first time. She was standing on crutches and wore a football helmet.
“Hi! I’m Nate,” I said, walking right up to her.
“I’m Emily Bronson,” she answered, freeing a hand from her crutch to offer me a handshake. It was pretty firm, but I could feel a little shaking in it. I wondered if it was part of her problem or if she was just nervous.
“I’m looking forward to taking your photos today. Why don’t we sit down to chat before we get started? Let me grab a chair for you.” I grabbed the comfy arm chair and set it behind her. She backed up and kind of collapsed into it. “What kind of photos are you interested in today?”
“I want a photo for my high school yearbook that doesn’t make me look like a creep. You might have noticed, I have PI.”
“I don’t know what PI is,” I said, puzzled.
“Photographic Impairment,” she giggled. Okay. She had a sense of humor.
“I really understand,” I said. “I’m a PK. That’s a preacher’s kid. It’s probably a lot like your impairment.”
“Not from what I hear. Lizzie said you have a bunch of girlfriends.”
“Well, a few. Tell me, is the helmet always necessary? I’ve taken some pretty good pictures of football players in their helmets. I just need to make sure to set the lights correctly.”
She giggled again and I heard Elizabeth splutter. She came over and lifted the helmet off Emily’s head. Emily shook out fairly long brown tresses.
“We found this in your junk room while we were waiting for you,” Emily laughed. “Lizzie said it wouldn’t even faze you and I didn’t believe her.”
Emily spoke slowly and deliberately, but clearly and to hear her, you wouldn’t recognize a disability.
“And were the crutches back there, too?” I asked, chuckling.
“No. I really need those. I have Cerebral Palsy, also known as CP. Mostly it affects my walking, but I sometimes have twitches that are called spastic palsy,” Emily said.
“I’ve heard of that, but I don’t know much about it. You’ll need to be straight-forward with me about what you can and can’t do. I don’t want to tell you to get in a position you can’t get into, or to do something you can’t do,” I said.
“If you’re talking about sex, I don’t get on my hands and knees very well,” Emily said. She was straight deadpan and I honestly couldn’t tell if she was serious or not.
“I hope that Lizzie told you that I don’t have sex in the studio and I don’t date models.”
“Yeah. She sure got around that, didn’t she?” Emily said.
“Don’t be a brat,” Elizabeth said. “And Emily is the only person allowed to call me Lizzie. You can use Beth if you like. No one really calls me Elizabeth unless they’re mad at me.”
I smiled at her and she made a kissy face.
“Well, Emily, can you sit on a stool or is that too precarious?” I asked.
“If it’s not too high. If my feet can’t touch the floor, I’ll probably need that football helmet.”
“Well, let me set up the drop for your school portrait. Are you a senior?”
“Yes. And I’m eighteen and I signed the model release Beth gave me,” Emily said.
“That’s great. Beth, could you help Emily by making sure her hair is brushed out after being squashed under the helmet? Any other makeup needed?” I asked.
“We’ll go over it,” Elizabeth said.
I pulled the red backdrop down and out onto the floor. There was a low stool behind the privacy screen that models could use as they were dressing. I wasn’t sure if anyone had actually used it. I put it in front of the backdrop and started arranging the lights. Everything was in exactly the same position I left it in almost three weeks ago.
When I had everything set and the camera loaded, I turned to Emily and Beth.
“Okay, I’m ready for the star of this show,” I said. “Can you make it okay on this stool, Emily?”
“I could if I could get out of this armchair. Could you give me a lift?”
“Gosh. I made you sit there and didn’t even think about getting you out. That’s the kind of thing you need to tell me,” I said.
At first, I offered her my hand, but she didn’t have enough strength in her legs to press up from the deep chair. I put an arm around her and lifted her to a standing position so she could get her crutches under her. I steadied her until she was balanced and she walked over to the stool. I was there to support her as she sat and she thanked me.
I quickly snapped a picture and then went to her. I generally fussed around her so she’d know I was paying attention. I smoothed an imaginary strand of hair, lifted her chin a little and tilted her head to one side.
“You’ve got a good sense of humor,” I said. “I’ll bet you smile a lot.”
“I have a chipped tooth.”
“Really? Where?”
“Right here,” she said, pointing to the right side of her mouth.
“Oh. As it happens, we already took care of that, so you can smile as brightly as you want.”
“How?”
“You’re facing off to my left. I can’t see that corner of your mouth.”
“Kewl!”
I took the portraits, having her try different expressions, but being cautious not to show her chipped tooth in any of them.
“That’s a wrap,” I said when I’d finished the roll.
“But what about…?” Emily started. Elizabeth held up a finger and pulled me aside.
“Emily wants an Attic Allure photo,” she whispered. “Are you not able to make her look sexy because she has crutches?”
“That’s not it. I thought… Are you sure that’s what she wants?”
“I told her all about my session and she wants the full treatment. Except fucking you in the darkroom. She’s very excited about having a glamour picture that shows her the way she imagines herself to be,” Beth said. “Just remember, if you touch her breasts, she might want to kiss you. It would be a first.”
“Why? Why does she want this?”
“Because she’s seen your photos. She’s placed herself in every one. She’s a sweet and loving girl who has simply never had an opportunity to show it.”
“Okay. Let me figure out a couple of scenes for her.”
I walked over to my model and knelt beside her. Her brow was furrowed and it looked like she was getting angry.
“Emily, I was trying to explain to Beth that it is going to take me a few minutes to get set up. I just got to town and haven’t had a chance to look through the junk room to find the right props and everything. Would you like to sit in the comfy chair while I look around back there? I need to find the right things for you.”
Her expression relaxed and she got a slight smile. She nodded.
“Help me up, please.” I put an arm around her and supported her until she had her crutches in place. “You should make sure she treats you extra special tonight for all the extra work she’s putting you through,” she giggled.
“Any way she treats me will be special,” I said. I held her steady as she sat in the chair. “Oh, if you have a different outfit you want to wear for your Attic Allure photos, we can move the privacy screen over here so you don’t have to climb around things to get behind it.” I headed into the props area to see what I could dig up and left her in Beth’s care.
It was nice to have a whole different pile of junk to work with than what I had in Tenbrook. I’d had a feeling that some of my pictures were beginning to look the same as all the others. How do I explain that? Attic Allure was a style that posed a model with a bunch of junk, basically, and made her look special in contrast. But in the studio, I had a bed and a fainting couch and a chair. Unless I just seated the model on a stool in front of a blank background, I repeated using the same props a lot. I didn’t want to become the photographer who always posed models in front of a brick wall, or who always wrapped a model in drapes on a bed, or who only took pictures of models on a fainting couch.
I would have the same problem here, eventually, but right now it was all fresh junk. I just needed to find the right junk to make Emily beautiful. When I found a stack of paintings and picture frames, I saw the whole thing gel in my mind. I had to hunt around, but eventually found some wire I could use to hang them.
I rolled up the backdrop completely and pushed the stand back against the wall. The wall was a kind of pebble texture plaster that had been banged into at some point. It had a chipped area and a crack that ran diagonally from floor to ceiling. I started hanging a jumble of pictures from the top of the backdrop frame. They were at a lot of different heights and not particularly straight. A couple even overlapped each other. When I was done, I had eight miscellaneous pictures hung against the plaster wall as a backdrop.
I turned to get the camera set and saw Beth and Emily standing there looking at the mess I’d created. The pictures looked like the kind of prints that people who couldn’t afford artwork bought at the dime store and hung in their homes to decorate them.
“What is all this?” Emily asked. She’d changed into a lovely powder blue blouse that was thin enough that I could see her lacy bra through it. She was also wearing a maxi skirt, which was an interesting juxtaposition. Since she’d been in slacks before, I thought she might be a bit self-conscious about showing her legs.
“You can blame this all on Beth’s father,” I said, much to Beth’s surprise. “He said I’m a goddamn artist and that I turned my model into artwork. So, I decided I want to put you in my gallery.”
“You’re going to hang me?” Emily squeaked.
“It’s an interesting idea to suspend you somehow, but I don’t think I have the materials here to do that. No, we’ll use the stool for now since you seemed pretty stable on it and I’d like to take your crutches. May I position you on the stool and take your crutches, Emily?”
“Yeah. Just don’t leave me stranded there. I hate crawling around.”
“Honey, I would never do that to you. Here, let me lift you into the position I want and you can hand the crutches off to Beth.”
I positioned the stool and she hobbled over to it. I just scooped her up in my arms and seated her where I wanted her. She had a little gasp when I picked her up that was just short of a scream, but she quickly handed the crutches to Beth and wrapped her arms around my neck. That wasn’t unpleasant at all. I moved her around and adjusted her, testing her leg positions so I knew where they were and straightening her posture.
Then I handed her a picture frame.
“Now, I’d like you to hold this in front of you. I need to frame my newest work of art.”
She was able to hold the lightweight frame without any difficulty and I moved it slightly to get it centered where I wanted it. I hopped to the camera and framed the shot. I made some lighting adjustments and took more pictures, then went to her and took the frame.
“We’re getting close to that work of art,” I whispered to her. “Would you mind unbuttoning a few of the buttons on your blouse?”
“Um… When I unbutton things on my own, I have a tendency to pop them. You’ll have to unbutton it as far as you want,” she said.
“To do that, I might touch you a little more intimately than you are used to. Do you want me to touch your breasts, Emily?”
“Do I have to say that out loud?” she asked, turning red.
“I’d ask you to just nod, but I want to make sure it’s the answer to my question and not just… you know.”
We both snorted a laugh.
“Yes. You may touch my breasts. You can take all my clothes off if you want to. You can… whatever.”
“I doubt we’ll get to whatever. I never have sex in the studio. I might do all those other things, though.”
I unbuttoned her blouse, letting my hands graze her breasts and folding back the collar to make sure her lacy bra was exposed. I gave her the frame and she held it where I asked.
“Tilt your head forward a little and look up at me. Just a little smile,” I said. “Mysterious. Mona Lisa.” She followed my directions well. I needed something more, though.
“Emily, I’m going to move you back to the chair for a minute while I change out the stool. Do you mind if I just carry you there? Beth will have your crutches for you.”
“Okay.”
I set aside the frame she’d been holding and she put her arms around my neck as I picked her up and moved her to the chair. When I leaned over to set her in the chair, she kissed my cheek. I smiled at her and ran my fingers down between her breasts.
“Don’t bother buttoning this again. We won’t use it in the next scene.”
I found a table in the room and set it up where the stool had been. It was a kind of banquet table with folding legs and a wooden top. I locked the legs in place and tested to make sure it was stable and wouldn’t collapse. It wasn’t as cool as my plank table in the studio, but it would work. I found a bunch of pillows and used fabric to cover the table. I wanted the table instead of the daybed because it would give me nearly a foot of extra height to where she was lying down. Finally, I picked up Emily to move her back to the table.
“I don’t think we need the skirt for this scene,” I said. “Beth, can you give me a hand unzipping and pulling it off Emily?”
“I don’t like my legs,” Emily said, turning her face to my chest.
“I wouldn’t like my legs if they didn’t work right, either,” I said. “We’ll make sure only the good parts show in the picture. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
Holding Emily’s bare legs as I carried her to the table was just as sensual as holding any other girl’s legs. I looked down at them and other than seeing that her toes pointed down all the time, I thought they looked great. She wore a matching white lace bra and bikini panties. When I laid her on the table, I made sure I had to adjust her position by running my hand up the back of her leg onto her butt. She squeezed my neck. I piled the pillows around her so she was supported in the position I wanted and then set a bigger frame in front of her. It would include her head and torso all the way down to her butt. I showed her how to put her left hand through the frame and grab it from the front. Her right hand reached up to hold the top of the frame.
“This set is our Modigliani Reclining Nude,” I announced. “Beautiful!” I took the first picture, changed the settings, and took a second.
“But I’m not nude,” Emily giggled. I stepped back to her and took the frame.
“Oh, but honey, you will be,” I whispered.
I unclasped her bra and she gasped. She didn’t move, and I thought she might be holding her breath. I held her while I pulled the blouse completely off and then removed the bra, exposing a beautiful pair of breasts to the light and air.
“So pretty,” I whispered as I spent a minute just caressing her and smoothing the crease from her bra under her breast. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m so, flawed. No one can see past my crutches.”
“Hmm. Somehow, I missed seeing your crutches,” I said as my fingers slid across her nipples. “I see a really pretty girl. I’m going to take another picture now. Here’s your frame. In a minute, I’m going to come back and take your panties. Think about that while you look toward where your hand is gripping the frame. So pretty.”
I loved the effect of breaking through the frame with her arms extended. When I took her panties, her crotch would be just inside the frame. Of course, the picture was not of what was in the frame. I supposed I could crop it so that was all, but this was a full frame composition that would include her legs sticking out beyond the frame and the several pictures behind her.
I opened the aperture and sped up the exposure to get less depth of field. I wanted Emily to be the focus of this picture and everything else to blur into just shapes in the background.
“You’re doing really well, Emily. I’m just going to slide these pretty panties off and move your legs slightly. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
I had to lift her a little to get the panties off, and then bent her legs at the knees so her lower legs were hidden behind her. I made sure, though, to stroke her thighs and calves and gently massage her feet. I didn’t know how much pressure permanently contracted muscles could stand. She glanced down and smiled at me.
“I pay a therapist thirty dollars a week to massage my feet. Want the job?” she teased.
“I’m afraid I’d get distracted too easily,” I said.
I took the picture the way it was set. Emily’s dark bush was almost too much of a focal point. I reloaded the camera and grabbed some of the transparent fabric I’d used for Charity a few weeks ago. I draped it over a corner of the frame and arranged it so it looked like it had just been pulled away from this beautiful work of art. Her bush still showed through the thin fabric, but was just slightly obscured—as if someone ‘tried’ to hide it and failed.
I took another picture and then changed the temperature of the lights and the direction of the fill. I went back to Emily and petted her long brown hair, pulling a lock of it forward to fall across her breast. It did nothing to obscure her bright rosy nipple. I made sure the nipple was firm and stuck through its veil. I didn’t want the other to feel left out, so I spent a minute rubbing it, too.
“Did Beth tell you what I did to her nipples?” I asked.
“With the lipstick? Did you really suck it all off?”
“As much as I could.”
“Are you going to do that to me?”
“No, honey. Beth and I are lovers. She’s my girlfriend. I just want to make sure you’re having a nice time while we take your picture. Are you having a nice time?”
“Yeah. No one’s ever touched my breasts like that.”
I leaned forward and placed a long gentle kiss on her lips. When I pulled back, she was a little glassy-eyed.
“Any boy with sense would want to scoop you up to make you his own,” I whispered. “Don’t worry; he’s out there.”
I went back to the camera and shot the rest of the roll as she went through a range of expressions on her face.
“I think I’ve done all I can do here,” I said. “I’m eager to get these into the darkroom.” I took the frame from her hands and helped her sit on the edge of the table, hanging on to me. “Beth, can you help get Emily dressed so she can relax? I’ll steady you, Em. I don’t want you plunging off the table.”
“Thank you. I can’t believe I’m letting a boy watch me put my panties and bra on.”
“You let him take them off,” Beth whispered.
“Oh, yeah. That didn’t seem nearly as embarrassing.”
“You were all turned on, trying to take my boyfriend away from me,” Beth laughed.
“Oh, Lizzie. I wouldn’t really take your boyfriend away from you. I know you’ve just barely managed to seduce him. I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you. I’ll just be hanging around waiting until you’re done with him.”
“You really are a brat today.”
“No. I’m a work of art.”
Elizabeth said she’d give me a couple of hours in the darkroom while she took Emily home and then she’d be back and we’d go out to dinner. Her kiss was a definite promise of more to come, so I took the film and started processing it. I printed proof sheets of the four rolls I’d processed, but there were only two images I wanted to print. The first was the portrait for her yearbook. The second was the reclining nude. One of the pictures had turned out perfectly and I blew it up to full 16x16 size on archival paper. It was the first time I’d wished I had a larger format I could print. This was a full frame photo, so there was no changing the aspect ratio for a 16x20. Too bad.
Elizabeth knocked on the darkroom door at six o’clock and I opened it up to show her the prints. She threw her arms around me and kissed me more passionately than she’d ever done.
“That girl may be using crutches today, but she’s walking on air. Oh, Nate, that was so wonderful.”
“I kind of ignored you while I was working. I’m sorry. I really came to see you. I just want to hold and love you, Elizabeth.”
“Soon. Let’s go get some food and then find my bed.”
I packed up and we headed for the van. She directed me to a kind of funky Greek restaurant on the north side of the river. I really didn’t care about the meal. All I wanted was Beth. She ordered, though, and I ended up gobbling down this incredible stuff called Pastitsio. I guess it’s like Greek macaroni and cheese. I didn’t realize how hungry I was and thought back to the breakfast I had at home before I took off driving for Chicago.
“We could just find a parking garage and spend the night in the van,” I said, pointing at the bed in back.
“Someday, I’ll take you up on that. For now, take me home.”
That was abrupt. I thought we’d be spending a few hours together. Maybe all night. I just silently followed her directions to a nice looking house across from a park. She had me circle around to an alley in back and park next to a Lincoln under a carport. Damn! This was a family with a lot of money. There was still another slot open in the carport. I reminded myself that her father was my patron—or one of them.
Instead of walking her to the front door to kiss her goodnight, she told me to bring my bag and camera with me. Even in this neighborhood, they weren’t immune to break-ins and theft from cars. It seemed a little excessive to me, but when we got to the back door, she didn’t hesitate to pull me into the kitchen. There was a stairway off the kitchen that we used to go upstairs to her room.
“Elizabeth? Are you inviting me into your bedroom?” I asked.
“Yes, silly. No matter how nicely you and Chris and Ronda have fixed up the VW, my bed is far more comfortable.”
“But your parents…”
“Nate, Dad knows you are with me tonight. We won’t throw it in his face by going to find him and say hi, but no one is going to disturb us here. I have my own bath and Mom and Dad are at the other end of the hall. Probably not even home yet, so they won’t be disturbed. Now, lover, remind me of why you are my boyfriend,” she said.
I put my bags down and caught Beth in my arms. I kissed her with as much love and passion as I could put into it. She led me to her bed and we undressed each other, petting and caressing as we went. I lost myself in her loving and filled my hands with her body as I filled her body with my cock. We both rose to a peak and finally settled down to rest before we started in again.
“I came to Chicago just to be with you,” I sighed as I continued to kiss her lightly.
“No, you didn’t,” she whispered. “I mean, yes, of course you did, but that wasn’t what you were looking for. If you just needed to make love, you’ve got like three girlfriends and half a dozen willing girls in Tenbrook. You’ve got no shortage of pussy.”
“But… the girls…”
“The girls are wrapped up in their own grief and you didn’t want to interfere with them. I know. Nate, it’s hard on all of you, not just you. All of the girls around you are grieving for Tony. If not for Tony, then for Patricia. And if not for Patricia, then for you because you hurt so much.”
“And you don’t,” I said.
“I’m sad for you and for your loss. But I didn’t know Tony and don’t know Patricia. I only know Chris and Ronda and Anna from what you’ve told me and the picture packet you sent me. I’m free to comfort just you without needing to be comforted myself.”
“I guess you’re right. That’s what I needed. Thank you, Beth.”
“Oh, you’re more than welcome. I was beginning to believe I’d just fantasized the boy who stripped me in front of an audience and took pictures of me. The boy who saw me for the clown I really am. That was one of the reasons I set up the photo session this afternoon instead of just rushing off to be with you. I needed to see you in action again.”
“One of the reasons? You had others?”
“Yes. It was for you. We talked a long time on the phone last night. I could hear the frustration in your voice. Nate, there is nothing you can do to make it better for Patricia. Her husband is dead. I know that makes you feel angry and frustrated and helpless. I wanted to give you a situation you could do something about. I saw my friend Emily blossom in your hands. I witnessed you showing her how beautiful she is and lifting her above her disability. Could you cure her? No, of course not. But you changed her. She completely believes now that she is a work of art. And she’s right.”
“How did you figure that all out? When I was working with Emily, I actually lost track of where you were in the room. I got so focused on her that everything else faded away. I just wanted to bring out the beautiful girl I saw there. How did you know?” I asked.
“I experienced it. Maybe all your models don’t experience it as deeply as I did, but some do. I felt what you did to me. I don’t mean just rubbing my nipples with lipstick. Damn! I sure felt that. I mean I felt you bring out the clown I wanted to show. I had no idea what you would do with her this afternoon. I mean, I figured you’d get her naked and she’d feel a boy’s hands and eyes on her for the first time. But that setting! I had no idea.”
“I’ve come to look at the junk room, both in this studio and the one in Tenbrook, as filled with stories that are waiting for a main character to show up. I can’t tell the story just looking at the junk. The character comes into the studio and I immediately know that her character wants to tell that piece of junk’s story. It’s like I just need to match up the right things with the right models.”
“You know what I feel? I feel a piece of your junk between your legs that would definitely fill my story. Make love to me again, Nate. Fill me.”
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
