Chapter 5

Tuesday Afternoon

Okay, if I hear one more person, male or female, of any age, say to me, naked or not, "let's go into the darkroom and see what develops," I am going to punch him or her in the nose!

No jury in the world would convict me.

"Hi, Beth, let's go in the darkroom and see what develops," was the greeting I got from every one of the eight boys in the photography club as they joined me, one by one, by the soccer field. The three girls who were club members winced and groaned, having heard it themselves more than once, they assured me.

Yes, I was the first one there. Didn't I tell you of my obsessive compulsive habit of always being early?

There I was standing self-consciously in front of the home team bench on the main soccer field, feeling the afternoon breeze stroke my naked body with insolent little fingers. Maybe, if you stay naked long enough, you finally become no more aware of that than you are of the touch of clothing. If so, then I haven't been naked long enough yet. I could even feel the breeze toying with my pubic hair.

While we waited for the club's adviser the kids fiddled with their cameras - adjusting this and fixing that, polishing lenses and loading film. They were as geeky a bunch as those in the computer club - some of them did both, in fact.

Finally the adviser, Mr. Kelly, my art teacher, came trotting up, festooned with several cameras himself. "All ready then, are we? Where should we start?"

Not in the darkroom, I thought to myself. Anyplace but that!

"How about the goal net?" Albert Ballantine suggested. He was a sophomore, a kind of big, pudgy guy who I'd thought of as a possible date for Stephanie, until earlier today. Now I wasn't as sure.

"Why not the benches here?" Jimmy Dirk suggested. He was in my math class, a little squirt, not even as tall as me, with pimples. For some reason he had his shirt unbuttoned halfway to his waist. Like anyone was really interested in his sunken chest!

Mr. Kelly made a time out gesture with his hands. "Wait. What's the first thing we need to decide?"

"What sort of pictures we want to take," Julie Shay answered.

"Right," Mr. Kelly agreed. "What's our theme? Since our model is nude, portraiture is obviously - well, not eliminated, but improbable, a waste of resources, you could say. Are we interested in cheesecake? Glamour shots? Perhaps erotica? Are we going for posed shots, or candids?"

"Planning our session in advance determines everything, remember?" he went on. "Everything from the equipment and film we use to the backgrounds, props, the poses - everything!"

"How about smut?" Jimmy Dirk suggested with a smirk, ostentatiously scratching his belly. His shirt was completely unbuttoned now. It was not an improvement.

"Pornography is always an option with a willing nude model," Mr. Kelly agreed calmly. "But it is better accomplished with more than one model."

I nailed Jimmy Dirk with my best glare and an underhanded grabbing and squeezing motion with my left hand before he could volunteer and he froze before he had his hand half way up. He'd seen what I'd done to Freschetti, much to my relief.

"When you have a model, how can pictures be candid?" Julie asked.

"Oh, that's easy enough. Just ask the model to perform some regular tasks and snap away," Mr. Kelly explained. "For example, since we're here on a soccer field, Miss Finch, why don't you, uh, kick that soccer ball around?" he suggested, indicating one that had been left under a bench.

I frowned. "I'm not much a soccer player," I confessed.

"Just play with it a little," he explained. "You can pick it up, bounce it, kick it - whatever you want. Oh, and take off your shoes, please, to give a more natural look.

"Since we're taking action shots, what should our choice of film be?" he went on to the photographer wannabes.

Julie was first with the answer again. "Fast film, so we can use the fastest shutter speeds possible without sacrificing the depth of field we gain with high f stops."

"Right!" Mr. Kelly agreed eagerly.

Kicking off my loafers left me naked but for the usual gold chain around my neck with the simple gold cross. Totally self-conscious, I bent to dig the ball out from under the bench. Picking it up, I tried to bounce it and it hit my foot, and of course it got away from me and I had to chase it down.

Handling it awkwardly, I tried to ignore the cameras being focused on me. Dropping the ball on the grass I kicked it the way I'd seen soccer players doing it, sort of nudging it around the field. The grass was cold under my bare feet. The breeze was playing with my tits and my pussy. My tits were jiggling, and I was waving my arms to keep my balance. Cameras were all around me, snapping away.

I was intensely aware of my exposure.

I was doing pretty well until I accidentally stepped on the ball instead of kicking it. Twisting my ankle, I went flying, legs all akimbo and landed hard on my butt while the ball scooted away from me.

The cameras kept right on clicking as, wincing, I got up and rubbed my bruised bottom, brushing grass clippings off it, then limped after the ball, my ankle complaining. Picking up the ball I walked back, tossing it lamely in the air for some semblance of action for them.

"How about if she plays goalie," Jimmy suggested snidely. "She could sit in the goal with her legs spread and we could try to score."

I decided I could develop a real dislike for that horny little twerp.

"I think that's enough of the athletic candids," Mr. Kelly countered, taking the ball from me and putting it back under the bench. "We'll have June Farrow for that tomorrow, remember."

That announcement was greeted with whistles from the boys.

"And Mr. Freschetti will join us as well for some beefcake," Mr. Kelly added, with a wink to the girls, who did not look thrilled. "Now, why don't we try some poses on the benches here? Now, do we want artistic or cheesecake shots, and who can tell me the primary difference between them?"

Julie raised her hand. "Well, the goal of cheesecake photography is displaying the sexuality of the subject," she suggested.

"But isn't the sexuality of the subject an important element of artistic figure studies as well?" Albert asked.

Julie looked thoughtful. "I guess so."

"Any other ideas?" the teacher asked.

I wished I knew just so I could raise my hand and end the silence, but I didn't. Besides, I wasn't part of the club, I was their model.

"Okay, it's kind of subtle, but with cheesecake and glamour photography, and beefcake and all erotic photography, the goal is to establish personal contact between the model and the audience," Mr. Kelly explained. "For example - uh - stretch out on the bench, Miss Finch, on your side, please."

I did, the bench cold against my naked hip, and I rested on one elbow, folding an arm self-consciously across my breasts, my leg bent to conceal my pussy. Even now, on the second day in The Program, I had this instinct to cover myself.

"Now, an artistic nude," Mr. Kelly went on, "usually will not show the model's face in detail, perhaps not at all. You might take a picture from the back, for example, concentrating on the curved line of her hip, buttocks and legs. Or the model might look at the ground, pensively, never smiling."

He directed the class around me to show them what he was talking about. His hand stroked my hip and ass, my leg. I stayed still, remembering the lessons learned from my art class modeling, in spite of the shiver his touch gave me.

Then they moved around in front of me. "A cheesecake shot, on the other hand, virtually always shows the model's face, and usually she, or he, is looking directly into the camera, making eye contact with the audience, with an expression that invites some sort of response. Look this way, please, Miss Finch," he directed, focusing on me with his own camera. "Now smile in a friendly fashion."

I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly fashion. Staring into the camera made me much more intensely aware of his scrutiny.

"Lick your lips, please," he added.

I licked my lips.

"But doesn't erotic photography show more, too?" Albert pointed out.

"That depends on the market," Mr. Kelly answered.

"Today's market shows much more," Albert pointed out, his hands fiddling nervously with his camera. "Magazines today show everything - pubic hair..." He gulped, sweating. "Everything!"

"Indeed," Mr. Kelly agreed. "Why don't you raise your leg, Miss Finch, and move your arm to reveal your breasts."

I tried to figure out just what he meant, lifting my leg, exposing my pussy.

"Cup your breast, too," the teacher suggested. "Play with your nipple. Tilt your head down and look sultry."

I blushed, and tried to comply, wondering what "sultry" was, feeling the air on my pussy, pinching my nipple, my hand cupping my modest breast, offering it to them. I tried to look like what's her name, Humphrey Bogart's girlfriend in "To Have and To Have Not" as I did, but only felt foolish.

The cameras clicked, flashes winking at me.

"Very good, Miss Finch. And class, remember, when working in bright sunlight, either to set your flashes to fill in the shadows, to reduce the contrast, or use a reflector to do the same thing," Mr. Kelly went on.

"Now, one of the tricks to posing a woman is to shoot from an angle that shows one breast in profile. And the nipple should be stimulated so that it is erect. One way to accomplish that is to rub it with an ice cube. Lacking that, tactile manipulation, combined, perhaps, with some fantasizing by the model can accomplish the same effect. Miss Finch, if you please."

I tilted my body. Lacking an ice cube, I pinched my nipples and fantasized about Carl toying with me. My nipples were not the only parts of my body that reacted. I felt my pussy flush and blossom.

The session went on, much faster than in art class, of course. I followed directions as they shot picture after picture of me. It wasn't possible, of course, to look directly at each camera, so I chose first one of them and then another, deliberately avoiding Jimmy Dirk's smirking, drooling attention as much as I could.

"Show us some pink," he ordered at last.

"Some pink?" I asked, puzzled.

"Cunt," he explained. "Spread your pussy."

I blushed brighter, looking at Mr. Kelly for some protection, but he just indicated I should continue.

I reached for my pussy, spreading the lips, feeling the air strike deeper into my damp slit. Jimmy got down to get a good angle on my exposure, moving into what I can only describe as a gynecological close up. I was mortified, but tried to comply as the requests became more and more provocative.

I could hear the band practicing on a distant field, and thought of Carl, how he'd marched so naked during the homecoming game, standing out from the group even more by marching alone to "Dot the 'i'" during the half time show. I remembered how proud I'd been of him, his bravery, and it stirred me to try to comply with the photography club's requests.

"Play with yourself," Jimmy suggested. "Get a finger in there!"