Chapter 4

The next few days and nights were spent making the enlargements, selecting the best images among them, then matting and framing them as we had done all the others. It was a lot of work.

Every now and then we got so turned on by the pictures that we had to stop and make love right away. After a few times, we didn't even bother to wear any clothes. We did all our work in the nude, sticky and dripping with our love juices.

One time, Helen was bending over the table working on one of the pictures. The view of her luscious white bottom with her vagina peeking out between her legs was too much for me to resist. Silently, I moved up behind her and entered her quickly, but not roughly. Helen collapsed her upper body on the table as I pumped in and out her her. She remained motionless as I reached around in front of her to stroke her clitoris. She came almost instantly, as did I, once I felt her vaginal muscles contracting around my swollen penis.

But even with all the distractions we managed to get all the work done and bring the finished photos to Joan at the gallery. Her initial reaction was one of complete disbelief.

"Oh my god!", she cried, putting her hands up to her face. Tears began to roll down her face as she flipped through the 36 pictures we had brought her.

"Ohhhh," Joan exclaimed breathlessly as she got to the image of Helen's juice, dripping down her ass crack into what appeared to be a molten pool.

Joan's hand had absent mindedly started fingering her crotch under her dress as she stared at the seemingly alien images of Helen's pussy with my penis inserted into it. Suddenly, Joan's body went ridgid.

"Oh, jesus. I just came in my underwear!", Joan cried. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't help myself. These images are so fucking erotic!"

"It's OK, Joan. I know just how you feel. As we worked on the pictures we got aroused many times and had to relieve ourselves occassionally, if you know what I mean," Helen responded.

Joan's eyes had the glazed over look of a woman who's just had an orgasm.

"These are so wonderful. I know just how to display them, too. Leave everything to me. Now go away and let me get to it."

As we left the gallery, I looked back to see that Joan had hiked up her dress and had pulled down her soaked panties. They laid in a pile at her feet as she stepped out of them and kicked them into a corner.

When we returned to the gallery later that evening we found that Joan had, indeed, been true to her word. She had added the pictures of Helen's labia to the bodyscape display and added the images of Helen's juices to the comescape display.

"Now, we're complete. The new pictures tie everything together perfectly. You two are just awesome. I'll bet you had a great time making all the pictures, yes?"

Helen and I nodded and grinned broadly. We had both come every which way a person can come, and plenty, too. Not only amounts of come juice, but also in terms of numbers of times we each had had orgasm. To this day, when I think of the gallons of fluids that must have come out of us, I wonder how we didn't collapse from dehydration!

"I can't tell you enough how great an exhibit this is going to be. Everybody is going to be as stunned as I am when they realize what the images really are," Joan said.

"Over here," she continued, pointing at the bodyscape images, " we have the male and female body in all of its most erotic forms. Just look at the curves and shadows and how they make the mind create the rest.

"Just look at the alien landscapes and shapes of the male penis and the female labia. At first you don't know what they are because the pictures are so close up and the play of the lights creates an unnormal spectrum. But then, it dawns on you what they are. Who could help being instantly aroused. I just about wet myself every time I look at them. Hell, I even wet myself when I think about them!

"And then over here, the pictures of your come, Carlos, suspended in mid-air, dripping off the end of your dick, so close you can almost see the little spermies wiggling around. And the puddle of come on the floor, holy shit. At first it looks like a lava lake from a volcano on Mars. But then, you realize, 'Oh my god, it's a puddle of come!'.

"And Helen, the pictures of your pussy lips, shining and dripping with your juice, and the ass crack pictures, the stream flowing down your ass slit, the lake forming beneath you. Oh god, it makes me want to drink every drop from you. How did you ever get these ideas? You're a genius, Helen, a fucking genius!

"Guys, this is going to be the best exhibit I've ever done at this gallery. Already the few advertisements I've down have generated a ton of calls. Every art and photo critic is coming, not only from here in town, but all over the art world.

"But for the formal advertisements in the papers and magazines, we need to select one image that once anyone sees it, they'll just have to come see it for themselves. Which one should it be?"

All three of us examined the almost 450 images to see which one we thought could be publicly printed. My favorite was the so-called "ass crack" picture. But if it ever got out what it was a picture of, it would cause a lot of problems for us.

So in the end, we settled on one of Helen's original bodyscapes, the one with the model's vagina just out of view. If anyone figured out what it was a picture of, there'd be nothing in the frame itself that couldn't be seen at the beach on any summer day.

But all three of us had selected the "ass crack" picture as our favorite. Every time I looked at it, I could see in my mind Helen's perfect ass as I entered her from behind, so white and unblemished, so perfect feeling as my penis sank into her and my shaved balls bounced against her bald pussy, and my abdomen came in full contact with the soft roundness of her ass cheeks.

On the day of the grand opening of the exhibit, all of us were scurrying around taking care of last minute details. There was the caterer, the live music, the waiters, the exhibit catalogs -- so many details I never thought we'd get it all done.

Only one hour, now, until the doors opened. We were nervous, yet confident, confident that we had done everything correctly and well, confident that Helen's work would be well received, and hopeful that we could sell enough of the pictures to at least get the exhibit to pay for itself.

"You know," Helen mused, "What would happen if the exhibit turns everyone on so much that we cause an orgy to break out?"

"Maybe we should arrange a private area where the aroused can go to take care of things, if you know what I mean," I said.

"Probably not a bad idea," Joan replied. "So if we see somebody starting to get too amorous we can tell them there's someplace they can go to relieve themselves. I know, I have a storage room upstairs. C'mon. I think we can set it up quickly."

We hurried upstairs to the storage room and arranged a few portable panels to cordon off the room into half a dozen sections, each section having privacy from the others. Then, we scattered a few throw pillows and cushions on the floor in each section. I found a low output lightbulb and put it in the overhead light fixture while Joan and Helen quickly made a sign to put at the bottom of the stairs. It said, "Private Viewing Room Upstairs".

"OK, that's it. We're ready. Open those doors."

One of the attendants we had hired opened the double front doors. A crowd had already gathered outside and they poured into the gallery, rushing first to the bar and food, then browsing through the exhibit.

Helen, Joan, and I stood off to the side, welcoming the people as they came in. Every so often Joan would recognize one of the critics and introduced him or her to Helen and me. I was introduced as Helen's "assistant." But I didn't care. It was such a thrill just to be there.

Most of the people coming to the gallery were very well dressed. While no one was dressed in gowns or tuxedos, there were quite a few people dressed in formal suits and cocktail dresses, as if they were going to a special occassion.

I was dressed in a nice shirt, slacks, tie, and sportcoat while Helen was wearing a modest white skirt, coming up to about mid-thigh, and a white matching blouse, buttoned to let just a hint of breast mounding show at the vee. The combination of the white skirt and blouse and the whiteness of Helen's skin was a powerful statement of her innocent yet savvy demeanor.

Joan, however, was dressed as if she wasn't expecting to be wearing her clothes for very long. Her micromini-skirt barely covered her crotch and ass cheeks. And the pullover top with obviously no bra underneath vividly displayed her bouncing mid-sized breasts, with navel peeking out seductively as she moved her arms to shake hands or to embrace someone she knew.

"I don't think Joan is wearing any panties," Helen whispered in my ear.

I looked over and watched Joan as she moved. I couldn't see anything covering her cheeks as the bottoms came into view as she bent over slightly when she hugged someone.

"I can't tell for sure," I whispered back to Helen. "She might be wearing thong underwear."

Helen leaned over to Helen and whispered something in her ear. Joan responded by suddenly grabbing Helen's hand and pulling it to her crotch. That Helen's fingers shined with wetness told me that Joan, indeed, wasn't wearing any panties.

"She's not wearing any panties," Helen whispered to me.

"I know," I said, "your fingers are all wet."

Helen looked at the juice on her fingers and put them up to my lips. The aroma of pussy was very strong.

"Do you want some of this?", Helen asked.

"No, I only want some of yours," I replied.

"Good," Helen said, "I'm not wearing any panties either."

She smiled up at me and winked an eye, an invitation for something to come later. I reached under her skirt from behind and rubbed a finger gently along the length of Helen's wet labia, then I put my fingers up to my lips and licked them seductively.

"Ooooo," Helen mouthed noiselessly.

"Much better," I whispered.

The amount of people coming in had slowed down and the gallery was almost wall to wall with bodies. Occassionally we could hear oo's and ah's as the people examined the photos.

"OK, kids," Joan said to us. "It's showtime."

Joan walked up to a small dais and podium that was set up at one end of the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please."

The crowd quieted and everyone turned to face Joan.

"Ladies and gentlemen, journalists and critics, thank you for coming to the Sexscapes exhibit here at the Unexpected Images Gallery. We have assembled what we think are some of the most astounding and erotic images ever seen in this city or anywhere in the country, maybe even world, by the amazing photographer, Helen Hunter."

Joan pointed at where we were standing. Helen smiled broadly and waved as everyone turned their heads to look at her. The crowd applauded with enthusiasm.

"As you can see," Joan continued, " there are almost 450 images for your pleasure and consideration. The labels next to each gives technical details of the exposure as well as the price. As you know, all the images are available to be owned by you. So please consider it as you examine them. And don't be afraid to ask Helen, her assistant, Carlos, or me if you need more information.

"Once again, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Please enjoy the refreshments, the music, and most of all, the works of Helen Hunter."

There was another round of enthusiastic applause, which upon dying out was replaced by the live music from the band we'd hired. Over the music could be heard the clinking of glasses and plates as the refreshments were consumed, as well as the muffled roar of people engaged in conversation.

Almost immediately, people started coming up to Helen, congratulating her on the exhibit and complimenting her on her work. It looked like she was going to be busy for quite some time, so I squeezed her hand and winked at her before wandering off to mingle with the crowd.

Joan, also, was busy with some of the people she had indicated to us as critics and journalists as we were welcoming people as they came in earlier. The exhibit was open that night for four hours, so I readied myself for what I thought would be a non-stop onslaught of progressively noisier and drunker people. I was right, as it turned out, but I was hopeful that the drunnks would want to buy Helen's pictures, both for her and her career, and for me, too, because I had sunk a considerable sum of my own money into the exhibit.

A man grabbed my arm as I tried to edge past him.

"Aren't you Carlos, Helen's assistant?", he asked.

"That's right. How can I help you?"

"This picture here, what is it and why should I think it's erotic?"

"I'll give you a hint. It's not what it is, but what it isn't."

"Huh?"

"Take a closer look at it. What's this right here?" I said pointing to the curve of the model's hip, thigh, and waist.

It suddenly dawned on the guy what it was.

"It's a nude woman. This is her waist. See how it curves up to her hip? And here's her thigh right here," I said, pointing to the picture.

"Jeez," the guy said, open-mouthed. "If this's her thigh, then this must be her..."

"Yes, exactly. But you can't really see it, except in your mind, of course."

"Holy shit," the man said. I left him to examine the other pictures, now that I had given him some clues.

"Excuse me, Carlos."

I turned to see a very pretty woman speaking to me. She was wearing a very tight dress cut to her navel in the front. It didn't take much imagination to see that she was well-endowed in the breast department. Her nipples were about to poke holes in her dress.

"Does Helen ever need models?", the pretty woman asked.

"Yes, occassionally she does. Why, are you interested in modeling for her?"

"I'm trying to build a career as a professional model."

"Do you have a card? I'll give it to her when we get back to the studio."

"I brought my whole portfolio with me. Would you like to see it?"

"Not tonight. This isn't the best time to sit down and talk with you. As you can see we're very busy. But if you give me your card, I'll make sure Helen gets it."

"I don't have any with me," she said, indicating that there was no place on her person she could put anything. "But I have some out in my car."

"When you get a chance, go and get a card for me from your car and bring it to me. I'll be around here somewhere."

"I'll go get it right now," she said, turning around and heading through the crowd.

I watch her sumptuous ass bounce up and down as she disappeared into the throng. I turned around and almost bumped into someone.

"I'm sorry," I said, "Are you OK?" I took a step back to see who I had bumped into.

"No problem," the woman said, "It's really crowded in here. I've been bumping into people left and right. Hi, I'm Phyllis Fearson, art critic for the Post. You must be Helen's assistant, Carlos.