This is a sequel. If you haven't read "The Photographer" then don't read this one.
If you're not 18, then you shouldn't read this, ever. Close this file, sign out of this website, and go find a chat room somewhere where there are probably pedophiles LIVE ON LINE waiting to seduce you and then torture and kill you and bury you in the hills of Kentucky. Yeah, that's a much better idea.
It had only been a couple days since my wild photo session with Bob and his beautiful wife Krystal. It had started out as a glamour photo session (even though I've mostly only done nature stuff as a hobby) and ended up with a three-way. Krystal, shy as I've always known her, really let loose when she had her husband in front of her and me behind, servicing her at both ends, so to speak. Anyway, my phone rang, and I went to answer it. I was surprised to hear her voice on the line since she rarely called me; it was Bob and I who hung around together mostly.
"So about those pictures..." she started. "Bob is out of town until Thursday, and I thought it would be really cool if I had a set of them to show him when he gets back. Do you have them developed yet?"
"Unfortunately not," I replied. "My developer broke, but I'm getting it fixed." I didn't tell her that I had ruined one of the rolls before discovering the problem with the developer. Luckily that roll was the first one I shot, and didn't have anything important on it anyway.
"Oh, too bad. Well, how long do you think? A couple of weeks, or what?" she asked.
"No no, just a day or two. I should have the developer back by tomorrow, and then give me an evening to get it all done. If you want to come over on Wednesday night..." I offered. I knew that would be tight, but I could blow off work a little early tomorrow and get started. By Wednesday night I'd have all the film developed and the contact sheets printed. I just wouldn't have time to do any enlargements. She was thrilled, and said she'd see me Wednesday.
I immediately got in the car and went to the liquor store. I was out of wine, having finished it off when she and Bob were at the house, and I wanted to make sure I'd have plenty. You never know, you know? Then I stopped at the photo shop which was repairing my little developer. Bad news. The guy said it would take a couple more days to repair; one of the little gears on the crank had busted, and it was such an old model they didn't have a replacement in stock.
I told him to forget it, and I bought a new one. I came home with my purchases and got to work. All in all I had shot 12 rolls of film with Bob and Krystal. Forget the one ruined one, and I still had nearly 400 shots of her (and a couple of him) to wade through. I got started.
My darkroom is tiny. It's just a converted closet, really, in my basement. And because it's a closet, the ventilation is terrible. The smell of the chemicals is bad enough, but because the door has to be sealed shut to keep out the light, it gets muggy and humid and uncomfortable as hell, especially from late spring to early fall.I was used to doing my business in there standing just in my slippers and jockey shorts. Even then the sweat would pour off my body. I kept a towel hanging on the back wall just to wipe myself off from time to time.
As each roll came out of the developer I inspected it. I liked what I saw. Even though I was looking at the negatives before printing a contact sheet, there was no mistaking my subject in the pictures. Krystal was some gorgeous babe, and here I had shot after shot down her low-cut top, up her skirt, under her panties. Whew, as I reviewed the pictures I remembered how the evening had ended, with me fucking her from behind while she blew her husband. I got hard and stayed hard.
Finally I had all the rolls developed and the contact sheets printed. Well, almost all the rolls. When the action in my kitchen had started getting hot and heavy I had taken one old camera, loaded it with super-fast film, and set it on automatic on the other side of the kitchen. It took a picture every 20 seconds or so, without flash. I hadn't told either Bob or Krystal that I was doing it, but what the hell, I had the camera and the film, and I just did it. Because I was sneaking it, I hadn't gotten behind the camera and aimed it or anything, I just set it on a counter and pointed it in the general direction. I figured I'd get some hidden-camera private shots, if you know what I mean.
The next night Krystal showed up promptly at 7:00, and knocked on the door. I had hoped she'd be dressed all sexy, maybe even ready for a rematch. Instead she was (as she usually was) dressed in a plain blouse and a baggy brown skirt the hung to her knees. The outfit did its best to conceal her figure. I tried to conceal my disappointment. I wasn't exactly going to win a fashion award either, though. I had on soft blue gym shorts and a T-shirt. Then again, I knew how hot the darkroom got.
"What, no wine?", I asked.
"Oh no. I shouldn't have had so much the last time," she blushed. "Wine makes me loose. Horny. Always has. I guess Bob thought it would help relax me. Well, it certainly did... but... no, I didn't bring any wine."
"Oops," I said. I motioned over to the kitchen counter, where two empty wine glasses stood, ready to receive their nectar. "I went out and got a couple of bottles, in case, you know, in case, ah..." My voice trailed off while I thought. I recovered. "I didn't realize it had that effect on you. I just thought it would be nice, you know, and I, ah..." I was stumbling around like a high school kid.
"Yeah, definitely horny. I mean, it's not like some aphrodisiac for heaven's sake... I'm not out of control or anything... it just loosens me up." She paused. "Listen, Mike. I'm a little uncomfortable with this. Because what happened on Saturday was out of the ordinary for me. I mean, waayyy out of the ordinary. And I don't want to... I mean, it was great, and a real memory, for sure, but I don't want you to think... Ah, why am I having so much trouble with this? You know what I'm trying to say, don't you?" It was her turn to fumble.
"Yes. We got wild on Saturday, and now you're feeling guilty. Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. Is Bob OK with what happened?"
"Oh sure," she replied. "He thought it was the greatest turn-on on earth. Actually, so did I. I just wouldn't want you to get the idea..."
"... that you're a horny bitch," I interrupted.
"Well, that's sort of a coarse way to put it. But now that you mention it, I am horny by nature." She giggled. "Most people don't think so because I'm so naturally shy. I just don't like to meet people, mostly..."
"Well, do you mind if I pour a little for myself?" I tilted the bottle of wine and let some dribble into the glass. "I bought it yesterday and the guy in the store highly recommended it. In fact if I remember correctly he said it was from de-hornified grapes."
She laughed at my pathetic attempt at humor. "Don't be silly. Go right ahead." Then I heard, "In fact, if you're pouring, pour a half-glass for me. I'll just watch myself."
I thought, "I'll watch you too!" I poured a full glass for myself, and the biggest half-glass you ever saw. Her glass was about 80% full. We chatted while we sipped the wine. Within 10 minutes both glasses were empty and I suggested a refill. She chided me, but agreed, but insisted this time that I REALLY only fill her glass half-way. I filled mine about 80% and hers about 60%. It was a reasonable compromise.
While we were still nursing our glasses, she suddenly piped up, "So when do I get to see the pictures? Are they any good? Do you think Bob will like them?"
I said "He'd have to be dead not to like them. I modestly would have to say they're some of my finest work."
"Oooo. Let's go see," she exclaimed.
"OK," I said. "But I have to warn you, my so-called darkroom is downstairs, and it's small and stuffy. It might be a little uncomfortable."
"Fine, fine," she answered politely. If she only knew. Well, we'd just have to see what developed.
We headed for the stairs. As I walked past the kitchen counter, I grabbed the bottle of wine. It was still about half-full. With my other hand I flipped on the stair light and opened the door. At the bottom of the stairs was the darkroom door. I announced our arrival:
"Ladies and Gentlemen on today's tour... This is the darkroom. It began life as a really big closet. It was converted 4 years ago to a really small darkroom. Please file in single-file." I got a smile for my efforts.
Knowing that she was coming over, I had done some modest rearranging. I had rebottled or tossed the chemicals, and cleared off a good portion of the short counter which I had built on one side of the 8 foot deep closet. On the left side was about 2 feet of countertop, then my enlarger, then a small light-table, and another 3 feet of counter top. At the far end was a 2 drawer file cabinet and a wooden stool. There was just room for two, maybe two-and-a-half people to stand.
Now to be perfectly honest, there was no reason for us to be in the darkroom. All of the processing had already been done. We could have just as easily taken the contact sheets to the kitchen table to look at them, but hey, photographer... darkroom... I had planned my strategy, and wanted to have every advantage. Kind of like the coach on game day, you know?
.... There is more of this story ...