by Zoey Long
“Oh!” she turns, surprised. “I was..this is Stephenson’s old office, right? I had him freshman year as an advisor.” She drops her hands to her sides and sits in the chair opposite my desk.
“Yes, it was,” I confirm. I shut the door behind me, walk across the room and sit down at my desk. The chair squeaks loudly as I reposition myself. It’s the only sound in the room. I make eye contact with her. She looks absolutely ethereal sitting there, like she’s not a real person. Her posture is perfectly straight, her legs are crossed, she has her hips slightly to one side. Every line of her body is pleasing. Then I realize it. She’s posing.
“So, Carrie... what were you reaching for?” I ask, genuinely curious. Her cheeks color in the most delectable way. I’ve embarrassed her. I didn’t think that was possible.
“I thought I saw... I was hoping it was one of your older portfolios. I’ve seen the portfolio on your website, and the one the school posted.”
I give her a half smile and look up at my bookshelf to spot the maroon-fabric spine of the title she’s referencing. I nod.
“Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me what excites you about photography.”
She sits back, furrowing her brow for a moment. Then she sits up again quickly, like someone pinched her, ready to answer.
“I love images. I’m an actor, right? I just find it fascinating. Film is one version of visual art, but photography is very different. It’s capturing one moment in time, as opposed to several. In theatre, you’re just going on and on and nothing is captured, it’s transient. But a photograph ensnares the moment. It vibrates on the page. Does that make sense?”
I smile. “It does. That’s actually a beautiful way to describe it. Images do look alive, fluttering like an insect.”
“Exactly,” she says, licking her lips.
“And what, may I ask, attracted you to my class in particular?”
Now she really is blushing. I’m so hard in my pants right now that I thank god I put on my suit jacket before sitting down and that there’s this big wooden desk in front of me.
“The truth is, I’ve always loved vintage lingerie and burlesque. I’m completely infatuated with pin-up models and portraits. I have a Gil Elvgren print up in my room. I first discovered him in the library in my hometown, when I let myself stray deep into the photography section. When I saw the description for this class, I jumped at it. And not even for the reason that all my friends did. Well, not entirely.”
She reaches for a pot of lip balm in her bag, opens it, and dots it slowly on her puffy lips.
“What reason is that?”
“Oh, come on!” she exclaims. “Have you not noticed that the entirety of your class is made up of young women and gay men?”
“I didn’t, why does that matter? This entire school is filled with...”
She laughs. “Yes, but there was a waiting list for your class. Sex sells, but so do you, if I may say so. Adam, think about it. You’re young, hot, and take pictures of half-naked girls.”
Carrie runs her hands through her hair, it’s the color of deep copper. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t desperately want to know if she’s a natural redhead.
“Okay, so what have you been taking pictures of?”
“My friend.”
I can only imagine what kind of pictures she’s been taking of her friend. I wipe my brow. “Are these the pictures you want me to help you develop?”
“Yes, please. I’m scared to mess them up.” She smiles at me cheekily with fire in her eyes.
Right. I highly doubt that Queen Carrie is scared of much of anything. I think she just wants to get me alone in the dark room with her. And god help me, I want to be alone with her, too.
Chapter 5: Carrie
“Hold your leg up.”
“I am!”
Alexis giggles, straining to hold her leg up straight above her head, the point of her stiletto heel digging into the cheap white plaster wall of my dorm room. I snap the shutter of the camera three more times.
She readjusts her hips and ass on the bed. She’s wearing a leather waist cincher with metal stays like a corset, thigh-high stockings, a black thong, and heels. No bra. Her firm tits are slightly smaller than mine, and even though she’s lying on her back they pointing straight up at the ceiling. Her pink nipples are stiff. I put her hair up in a kind of vintage-looking chignon. She insisted on doing her own makeup, dark lipstick and mascara, nothing else. She’s trying so hard not to laugh. She’s failing, but it works for the shot.
“Oh, that was good,” I tell her. “Lift your hips up again.” She puts both feet on the wall and lifts her hips up, in a kind of bridge pose. She looks strong and sexy. “Yes! Just like that. Hold it.”
I click the shutter feverishly with excitement.
After a few moments she lets her hips drops to the bed and they land on my plain white bedspread with a small thud.
“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” she says, smiling and covering her face.
“What? I’ve seen your tits before,” I remind her, eyes still focused through the lens.
“Right. I know. But you’re taking these for Mr. Clark,” she says. I cock my head to the side.
“Oh, Jesus. It’s not FOR Mr. Clark. You make it sound so sordid. And so what? You’re not in the class, he doesn’t know you. And this is an assignment. It isn’t porn. It’s art. It’s not like I’m taking dirty pictures of myself and sending them to him. ”
“Mmhm,” she says. “Yet.”
I roll my eyes. The thought of posing for Adam is incredibly arousing to me and always has been, if I’m telling the truth. The idea of being a muse for him, allowing him to put me in any position he wants to, my muscles burning to keep the pose, the pain I’d experience in service to him. It excites me more than I’d like to admit.
“Okay, now turn over please.”
Alexis looks up at me with an arched eyebrow and a little smirk. She rolls over as she’s instructed, careful of the corset laces at the back of the waist cincher. That was a bitch to get on. I practically had to push my foot into the small of her back to get it as tight as I wanted. I know she can barely breathe. She props herself up on her elbow, face in her palm, and looks at me. Her eyebrow is still in its arched position.
“Should I remove my panties now, sir? Or later?”
“What, no!” I yell. “Don’t be cheeky, miss.”
“I’m fucking with you,” she smiles. “You just sounded so...authoritative.”
My face pricks hot. I move close to the laces of the corset and snap the shutter. I move to take some shots of her back and shoulders, her stockinged thighs.
“This is really hot though. Being photographed like this,” she says, lying completely on her stomach now. She dreamily lays her cheek down on the bed.
“You should try it. Where’d you pick up these clothes anyway?”
“Some I picked up, some I found in the costume department,” I lie. The clothes are all mine. I have a small collection of pinup-esque wear I’ve bought over the years with birthday and Christmas money from my parents.
She wriggles slightly and one of the straps on her garter belt comes undone.
“Damn it!” Alexis says, breaking pose. “Again?”
I haven’t quite gotten the hang of affixing the garter to the stocking. It annoys me to no end.
I put down the camera that I’ve rented from the photo department safely down on my wooden desk chair. It’s labelled with the number 541. I wonder if anyone else at the school has used it for a purpose like this one.
I take my middle and forefinger and slip them under the top of Alexis’s stocking, grabbing the strap of the garter with the other hand. I put the delicate fabric between the nub and the lip of the clip and attempt to fasten it closed. It pops open.
Alexis’s body begins vibrating with laughter against the bed. I can smell the sweetness of her skin. My attraction to women is aesthet
ic, I think. I don’t quite know what to do with that, to be honest.
“Can you imagine if someone came in right now?” she says. “What would they think?”
“We’d either be expelled or make some very excited new friends. I might lose my scholarship. Just kidding,” I wink.
That’s it. She breaks into total laughter now, snorting uncontrollably.
“That’s hot, Alexis,” I tease.
She rolls over on her back, exposing her firm tits to me again. She props up on her forearms and bites her lip, crossing her legs, teasing me.
I feel completely underdressed in my heather grey sweatpants rolled down to my hip points and cotton Earnsley t shirt.
She narrows her eyes at me.
“Have you ever fucked a woman?” she asks me, deadpan. I start coughing and it takes a moment to catch my breath.
“Come on, Carrie. I’ve never flat out asked you that. I figure since I’ve exposed myself to you so fully today...”
I throw a big red pillow on top of her, half the size of her entire torso. It covers her breasts. She catches it and lets out a noise like it’s way heavier than it is.
“Tell me!” she insists. “I know you’ve kissed girls, but...”
“I’ve kissed you,” I say. She smiles at that.
“Yes. I remember.”
“And… No. If you must know, I haven’t ever fucked a woman,” I admit. I look at her half-naked on my bed, not knowing what to do now.
“That wasn’t an invitation. Don’t get scared,” she laughs.
Alexis is bisexual, openly so. She’s dated women before, most of my friends have. It’s crossed my mind, sure.
“You’re missing out,” she says, throwing her head back. She closes her eyes for a moment and playfully squeezes her thighs together as if recalling something in particular before opening them again.
“And that’s all I have to say about that.”
The day that Adam agrees to meet me in the dark room, I have the negatives from my shoot with Alexis in my bag. I’m standing in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear. My roommate is in class and won’t be back for a few hours. Truthfully, I didn’t have any material yet when I first asked him to help me. I was planning on shooting Alexis from the moment we got the assignment, and I knew I wanted to get him alone in the dark room.
I run a pair of thick black tights over my feet and work them up my calves and thighs, continuing to shimmy them up my body until I have them at the waist. No panties. I fasten my lace bra, slide on a simple black sweater dress and boots, and head out.
God, he’s gorgeous. There’s something that exists between us, I feel it more and more every time we interact. It’s like moving your hand closer and closer to a cast iron pot on a fire. You know it’s hot, you know it’ll hurt you, but it’s so warm, so dangerous. That conference meeting. In an alternate universe, I imagined clearing all the papers off his desk in one go, crawling up on top of it on all fours, sliding on my knees across the glossy wooden top of it, and mounting him right in that ridiculously squeaky chair. I’d put my hands over his mouth before he could protest, undo the zipper on his pinstripe suit pants, then slip his achingly hard cock inside me before he uttered a word, making sure he’d instead have to concentrate on keeping quiet.
His resolve and mine are getting tenuous, I know it. My heart is beating fast and it’s not just from the cold.
It’s much chillier out this week. A cold spell means I’ve broken out my puffy winter coat with the huge fur hood. I’m not easily spotted on campus in this thing. I like that, for a change. My breath puffs hotly against the cold air as I walk toward the visual arts building. I see Mr. Clark by chance through the window of the center cafe. He’s sitting alone at a square black table, reading some papers and writing in his Moleskine. He’s a parody of the yuppie academic. I love it. He’s even drinking a cup of coffee from some fancy espresso bar in town, I recognize the label with the block font on the side. He sees me through the glass and smiles, packing up.
“Miss Desmond,” he says, nodding, meeting me outside the cafe.
“Such formality, Mr. Clark,” I tease.
“I was hoping it’d get warmer soon,” he says.
“Eh, we have a few more weeks of this. At least,” I reply.
We walk to the building in silence, maybe our vocal chords are stunned from the cold air. He opens the door of the visual arts building and allows me to enter before him.
“Thanks,” I smile, walking ahead.
There aren’t many students around the lobby right now, it’s near dinner time. We make our way to one of the dark rooms and put our coats down on some empty chairs nearby. He looks me up and down in an instant, so quickly he doesn’t think I’ll notice.
“What?” I ask.
“Aren’t you cold? I see lots of people in dresses and I have no idea how they’re not freezing,” he fumbles.
“These tights are warmer than you’d think,” I answer him.
Once we get into the dark room, the infrared light is glowing on both of us.
“Okay, you have your film?” he asks me.
“Of course. Would you mind just reminding me about all the chemicals, a little refresher?”
He prepares the chemicals for me, the developer and the stop bath. I watch his movements and I know he must have done this a million times and me asking for help seems pedestrian, but he is my teacher after all.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve developed my own prints,” he says.
I laugh. “You’re kidding me.”
“I mean, everyone uses digital now. That’s what I work with in my business. I can do it, obviously.”
“You’re teaching a course on it.”
He looks at me and our eyes lock. It smells pretty terrible in here, but I ignore it for the sake of my desire. I pop the film canister open and unspool my negative. I decide on the image of Alexis with her feet up against the wall of my dorm. He clears his throat.
“This is... okay, I am going to ignore the fact that that’s probably a student and look at this for aesthetic value. It’s very lovely.”
“Good,” I say. I move quickly and grab his forearm before I have time to think about it. It’s defined and warm and feels so good under my hand that I feel like it’s buzzing with life.
“Carrie,” he begins, taking in a sharp breath.
And before I can stop myself, my lips are pressed against his. The moment it happens, I’m in disbelief. I feel almost like I’ve flown up and outside my body. I’ve imagined his lips on mine since I saw his photograph in the semester catalog. And then he does something unexpected. Adam surprises me with his tongue. He’s not resisting me in the slightest. His mouth is open, his tongue is inside my mouth, moving with the kiss as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I kiss him hard, furiously, like this is the one and only chance in my entire life I’ll ever get to kiss him like this. I try to slow it down then speed it up, anything to keep it going. There are no thoughts, just actions. His hands find my waist and I hold them fast there, kissing him even more deeply. I pull the back of his head into me with one hand, running my fingers through his thick cropped hair. His teeth graze my lip and I smile, biting him back before we’re back in a deep lip lock again. I never want this to end.
Chapter 6: Adam
I have to be on campus in a little over an hour. I quickly suds up my hair and let the water carry the soap down my naked body. I have this sickening excited feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s not all fear, although I know it should be. I should be scared shitless of losing my job. The first time in my adult life that I’m not a freelancer, that I have a steady income stream coming in, doing something I actually enjoy. That line never should have been crossed. Never in a million years.
The infatuation I had for her should have stayed completely and professionally locked in my mind. Now that is has been crossed, even a little, I should be planning out exactly ho
w I am going to make it clear to Carrie that that is never going to happen again. Ever. I have to sit her down in my office and explain very calmly that we each gave in to desires that never should have been acknowledged, let alone explored. No. It can never, ever happen again. I close my eyes tightly and start to imagine how that conversation might go, how I might be able to get some dignity and control back in this situation. I’ll have to acknowledge my part in it, too, obviously, but still make it perfectly clear that…
My breath is catching in my throat. All I can think about in this moment are those pink, puffy lips, her hot, delectable mouth. I imagine the things I wanted to do to her, how base my desire for her was and how effortlessly we fit together.
I’m slick and stiff in my hand as I think about the two of us alone in that dark room. I see flashes of her soft face, I can feel those billowy lips on mine once more. More flashes of her, on stage as Maggie the Cat in that satin slip, moments when she bent over and I could see the slightest hint of a creamy upper thigh, a stockinged leg leading to a high heeled shoe. Then there were moments in class when she smirked at me, pointedly answering my questions, practically winking at me. I thought back to how her bosom lifted and dropped with breath, how she teased me with her little red cardigan sweaters and push up bras.
I think about what I would have done with my hands. I ached to slide them up her delicate little black dress that was way too thin a material for the cool weather, tuck a finger into her tights, and feel that she was wearing some flimsy little lace pair of panties that would be soaked under the pads of my fingers. I think about slipping my finger inside them to find her sopping wet pussy.
I’m pumping myself hard now, thinking about stuffing her panties in her mouth to keep her quiet while I fucked her on the steel table in the dark room. I’m imagining all the filthy things she’d say in my ear as she got tighter and wetter for me, wrapping her toned legs around my waist. I come just thinking about her mouth on me while I pinch her nipples and bite her neck.