Picture Perfect

A collective groan rose from the auditorium as Dr. Smith finished her lecture. Dana always enjoyed this class, well, watching the tall professor anyway. Helen Smith was the kind of woman everyone gave a second look too. Dana suspected many people took that second look and wondered why they did so, and then moved on without more than a brief curiosity. Most would probably content themselves with noting she was abnormally tall; that had been Dana's first impression.

In contrast to the tall professor, almost no one ever gave Dana a second glance. She was short, big-boned and compactly built, with hardly any bust and a rugged face. A tomboy all her life, she had only discovered her budding sexuality when she arrived at Mt. St. Clair College. She was a butch lesbian; at least, she wanted to be one, like her best friend Roz. Thus far her experience amounted to two one night stands, with girls her own age, neither of which had been very fulfilling. She was really attracted to more mature women and the stunning professor had become her secret obsession.

Over the last three semesters she had taken four classes with Dr. Smith. That hadn't been by any design at first, simply that she was majoring in Secondary Ed and the core called for twenty-four credit hours across the liberal arts curriculum. All of the advanced courses were filled with juniors and seniors well before she was allowed to register. Her faculty adviser had urged her to take her core courses while she was too junior to get into the ones she needed for her major.

Dr. Smith was an early riser, offering one of only a handful of sections that met at 7:00 in the morning. Since no one in their right mind wanted to be up that early, there were always openings in that section. The morning courses fit Dana's lifestyle, so she had seen quite a bit of the tall professor. Over time, she had noticed a lot about the woman that she suspected others rarely saw.

She was always demure, her clothing impeccably fitted, but highly conservative. Mostly business dress suits in dark colors or tweeds. She always wore black stockings; not pantyhose, but stockings. Dana was sure of this because she always sat in the front row and on rare, but much anticipated, occasions the Professor would stand on tip toe to write or correct something on the board. Dana had taken to slouching in her seat, because from the low point she could occasionally catch a flash of stocking tops and garter clips if the Prof had on a suitably short skirt. She often wore a slip which would frustrate the young woman, but even a glimpse of that was nice.

She also always wore heels, not the thick, clunky, ugly kind that were in vogue with the girls on campus, but very feminine, thin heeled pumps. In the time she had been paying attention, the professor had never worn open toed heels or flats. Dana had also noticed other things that she thought probably escaped the casual observer.

In the first place the Doctor was stacked. The conservative cuts of her clothing seemed calculated to conceal it. Dana hadn't really noticed until the day the AC was out and halfway through the lecture the Prof had been forced to remove her jacket. Dana felt sure her eyes had nearly popped out of her head. A quick look around the near empty classroom showed her that at least the guys agreed. Dana conservatively guessed the good doctor took at least a D cup, if not a DD. In just the starched white blouse and her skirt, it was also obvious she had what Roz called "birthing hips".

That had started it for her. Dana had studied her professor so carefully only a few questions remained, and those she was unlikely to ever discover the answer to, although she kept an open mind. The campus was extremely liberal and rumors abounded. Dana had noticed that she never saw the tall professor out with men unless it was in a group and that gave her some hope.

"I'm sorry. I know you all have other classes and your time is valuable, but this is a three thousand level course and there is simply no way I could, in good conscience, not require a research paper."

More gripes and groans followed. Dana noticed that Dr. Smith seemed genuinely concerned, which was rare for a professor. Most acted like their assignments were the only ones the students had.

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad. Most of you can knock out a thirty-page paper over a weekend. I'm only requiring nine sources and the subject is totally up to you, provided you can tie it to Tudor or Stewart England."

The bell rang and everyone stampeded towards the exit. Dana took her time, her next class wasn't until noon today, so she headed for the cafeteria to meet up with her friends.

"Got it made, got it made, got it made, I'm hot for teacher!" Roz sang.

"Fuck off," Dana responded good naturedly.

"When ya gonna quit staring at her with puppy dog eyes and try to tap that fine ass?" the heavyset black girl asked.

Roz was two years Dana's senior and more or less the leader of their small group of friends. She was butch, brazen and seemed to know no shame. Rumor had it Roz had been expelled from Franciscan after getting caught bedding the rector's wife. Dana knew for certain she was sleeping with at least three of her professors and at least two of her TAs. Not that the big girl needed to, she carried a four-oh with ease. She just lived for the danger and wickedness of it.

"I don't even know if her ass is fine, I've only seen her without a jacket once."

"It's fine. She's one of those top shelf bitches; class through and through. Matter of fact, I might take a class next semester if you don't get a move on."

Angela and Mona both laughed as a shadow crossed Dana's face.

"I'm just picking girl, you know I don't birddog."

"I know, it's just I wish I was more like you sometimes."

"Don't worry about it. It'll come."

Dana nodded and finished her cup of coffee. She stood up and swung her bag over her shoulder. 1. "Aww, don't go, I'm sorry," Roz said.

"I gotta hit the library."

"Everything cool?"

"It's cool. See y'all later."

Dana crossed the barren quad and entered the library, with its imposing neo-classical façade. Inside the illusion of grandeur quickly gave way to boring faux wood and linoleum floors. The building was pretty plain, scarred from years of use and indifference. Most of the staff were athletes on work study, finding one who was even semi-competent was usually more trouble than just digging in and finding something yourself. About once every three years they lost accreditation because the books were not returned properly and finding anything became impossible. That had happened just last semester, so the stacks were in pretty good order now.

Dana had been thinking about her paper. She knew Doctor Smith's specialty was the wives of Henry the eighth. Since she had no strong interest in the period herself, she decided to load up on books about Catherine of Aragon. Of all his wives, Catherine was the only one Dana ever felt any sympathy towards.

Two hours of searching produced a meager collection of books, and not a single biography. The library computer said they had one, but she was unable to locate it. She was about to decide to change her topic when a tall blonde with a name tag walked by. Probably a volleyball player, she thought.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes?"

"I can't seem to locate this book. Do you know if it's still here?"

The girl came around to her terminal and touched the screen, then entered her password.

"I don't know, it hasn't been checked out in almost twenty years. If it's here, it's probably back in the special collections by now."

"Why special collections?"

"That's where we stick the really old ones nobody looks at," she replied with a shrug.

After twenty minutes of digging though dusty books heaped on racks she found it. A thin, red volume without a dust cover. Dana grabbed her other selections and hurriedly checked them out. She jammed them in her bag and barely made it across campus to the Keating building and her noon trig class.

It was past midnight before Dana got home from work and got around to taking the library books out of her bag. She and Roz both worked security at Steel's, the hottest club in town. There were real brutes to handle the drunks and troublemakers, but the owner had been sued after a male bouncer had to enter the ladies room to break up a fight. So he had hired Roz to handle the cat fights and she had convinced him to give Dana a job too. They worked together on Friday and Saturday nights and split the rest of the week.

Tomorrow was Saturday, the busiest night at Steel's, and she wanted to get as much of the note card writing done as she could before she crashed. Armed with a huge mug of black coffee, a fresh packet of note cards and some cheap pens she settled in at her desk. From the non-biographies she culled information and did some creative paraphrasing. A quick trip online let her fill the three internet references Dr. Smith was allowing.

When she opened the small red book the binding crackled and something fell out onto the floor. Expecting to find some long forgotten note card she picked it up and examined it. To her surprise she found it was a picture.

It was a black and white photo and, while obviously very old, the book seemed to have protected it as it was hardly yellowed at all. The subject was a woman, seated in a wingback chair. She wore her hair up, the dark curls piled high on her head. Her chest was bare, her large breasts sagging under their own weight, with large aureoles and thick nipples. A black garterbelt was around her waist, but you could only see a hint of it, since her bloomers covered it almost completely. Her long legs were encased in black stockings and she wore black pumps of an antique mode. She looked to be in her twenties, but it was hard to tell.

Dana laughed out loud and tossed the picture on her desk. Just her luck, to find some guy's cheesecake jerk off material in her library book. She dug into the book, carefully jotting down notes as she went. It was nearing nine in the morning when she finally made her last note card and closed the old book. The sun was streaming in and she had that surreal feeling she always got when sleep deprived. Dana drank the dregs of her coffee and made a face. Cold coffee was bad, cold coffee with grounds was worse. She picked the mug up and started for the kitchen.

When she returned to her desk the picture caught her eye and she picked it up again. No longer preoccupied with getting her notes done, she examined it more carefully. The first thing that she noticed was the setting, there was a table behind the model and a china closet. Having some experience with old style porn she found that odd, most of the pics were obviously in studios or on sets, but this one had been taken in someone's home. If she hadn't noticed that, she would have probably stuck the picture in with her porn collection and forgotten about it, but that added an intriguing dimension and she decided to give it a closer inspection before she went to bed.

After going over her note cards, arranging them and reworking a few she put them in a small box and heaved a big sigh. Sleep. She needed sleep and her bed was calling, but she couldn't help but pick up the picture and examine it again.

The model was obviously a tall woman, with very long and gorgeous legs. Her face wasn't classically beautiful, but it was very alluring and the impish gleam in her eyes came through. Dana noticed her eyebrows, while thin, were a little too thick and her lipstick wasn't quite perfect. It struck her that this wasn't commercial, it was an amateur picture. How old was it? Who was she? What had inspired her to pose for it? The questions seemed to come of their own accord. Dana turned the picture over and saw a faded inscription on back.

To my darling Arthur, give Jerry hell and come back to me alive.

A very faded lip-print was also visible.

Stranger and stranger. Who was Jerry? Why would darling Arthur abandon this photo? Come back alive from what?

Dana flipped it over and examined the photo again. The lingerie was old fashioned, but exactly how old? Fifties? Forties? Earlier? No longer sleepy, Dana opened a search engine on her computer and gave Jerry a try. Ben & Jerry's, Seinfield, Jerry Springer. Not much help. She refined her search a bit. After several searches, she finally found something. Jerry was a common name for the Germans in World War II. That would make the picture nearly sixty-five years old.

Pressing on now, enthralled with the hunt, she searched for 40's style undergarments and soon found a nearly identical set to those the model wore. Pleased with herself for having identified the time period she returned to the picture. In the corner she noticed something and dug a magnifying glass out of her desk drawer. In tiny print the photo carried the maker, Kodak and a date Sept. 3, 1942.

"Well, missy, you had plenty to flaunt," she mused aloud.

1942, not exactly the renaissance for porn, she mused. From what she knew it would take some kinda balls to do a picture like this. Yet the woman looked more like your girl next door than some kind of siren. There was of course the possibility that it was part of a set and the sender had selected it to help Arthur through the lonely nights, but she didn't think so. Dana had it in her head that this woman had posed for a nudie shot and sent it to her beloved. She returned to her computer and began trying searches and reading.

"You look like shit."

"Thanks."

"Feeling all right? I can cover for ya if you need to go home."

"I'm fine, just didn't sleep," Dana said as she clocked in.

Roz looked at her critically, but shrugged and clocked in herself. Dana volunteered to take tickets up front, hoping the activity would keep her awake. It was a busy night and somewhere along the way she caught her second wind and the cobwebs cleared. During a lull, her mind went back to the picture. She had learned a lot more about World War Two than she would have ever expected. Her idea had been just to get an idea of where Arthur might have been: he was fighting the Germans in 1942, simple right?

Well, not so simple as she had imagined. He could have been a sailor on a merchant ship, braving the Atlantic route. An airman in the Eighth air force, bombing France and the low countries, or a soldier training for Operation Torch. That of course assumed darling Arthur was American. If he was British, then he could have been in any of a thousand places the war touched. It was strange that she had taken such an interest. History had never been more than dull facts to her until last night, but looking for the identity of the woman in the picture it had come alive like never before.

She was dead tired, but couldn't wait to get back to her room and dive in again. Why it was so important to her she didn't know, but the woman's face never was far from her thoughts. Who she was, what she was like, what gave her the confidence to take such a photo in that era, the questions buzzed around her head like angry bees.

"Daydreaming about the doc?" Roz said, handing her a hot coffee.

"What? No, haven't thought about her all day."

"What then?"

"I found this picture in a library book. I can't get the woman in it out of my mind."

"You're getting mighty hard up if you're obsessing over porn dollies," Roz laughed.

"It's not porn...well, not really."

"It is or it ain't darling," the black girl said as she took a ten from a guy and put an armband around his wrist.

"It is, I guess, but it's old. Black and white. I think it's from the forties."

"No use worrying about it then. She'd be in a nursing home by now, if she's still alive," Roz said.

"God, you never stop thinking about sex do you? I hadn't even considered her sex appeal. I'm just curious as to who she is, that's all."

"Well, it seems crack-brained to me, but hey, I never understand you anyway."

"Bitch."

"Not me, I'm all butch. Speaking of bitches, have you seen that little blonde dish playing pool?"

Dana shook her head. Her friend had a one-track mind. That didn't stop her from checking out the pool tables when she got the chance. One-track mind or no, Roz could sure pick 'em.

Dana tossed the sheet of paper into the trash can and cursed. Arthur was a dead end. After a lot of hard work, she had managed to get a list of locals who were veterans or who served. No one named Arthur was on her list. With that avenue thoroughly exhausted, she was back to the woman with the enigmatic smile and arresting eyes who had been haunting her dreams.

She glanced up from picture to the mirror over the mantle and sighed. She was a mess. For the last two weeks she had poured nearly every waking hour into the search. She spent almost as much time trying to figure out why it was so important to her as she did researching obscure things in an attempt to find out.

Her computer was now loaded with vintage porn, as she had downloaded file after file, hoping to find another picture of the woman. While there were still tons out there, she had become solidly rooted in the idea the woman was an amateur and much of her time downloading had become a kind of ritual while she thought. If nothing else, she had gained a keen appreciation of the underwear of the times, finding it utterly feminine and sensually sexy. Even her daydreams of bedding Dr. Smith now featured the tall teacher in old fashioned garments.

Her studies were suffering, as was her social life. She had been skipping classes, though she managed to make all of Dr. Smith's. She was too absorbed in her quest to waste time on other classes. What had started as curiosity had become obsession. She was aware of it, although she had been denying it. With a sigh she killed the computer, dumped all the papers she had printed off in the garbage and carried the picture to her bedroom. She placed it in her night stand, stripped and showered. The woman's face still danced in her memory, but she fought the impulse to dig back in and headed off to class. Outside the door she stopped, shook her head and hurried back to her room. She grabbed the photo and stuck it in a text book in her bag.

"Well, well, if it ain't the invisible woman," Roz drawled.

"Yeah, sorry, good to see you too," Dana said as she made a face.

"Still searching for granny porn?"

"Lay off," Dana snapped.

"Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Roz looked at her closely and then frowned.

"You're all fucked up. What's going on kid?"

"I can't get her out of my head!" Dana whined.

"What's so damned important?"

"I don't know Roz. I just don't know. I've tried and tried, but I can't get her out of my head. I dream about her. Nothing sexual, she just sits and talks to me, but I can't ever fucking remember what she's said. It's eerie, almost like she's trying to communicate with me."

"Come on, a ghost picture?"

"No, not like that. Fuck, I don't know. Maybe I am just losing my mind. Everyone probably thinks I'm crazy anyway."

"I've never seen you like this. I wouldn't say crazy, but you are obsessed. Have you had any luck?"

"No."

"Well, I guess the only thing to do is help you find her. Let me see this mysterious photo."

Dana was a little taken aback. Roz was always so practical and she could be such a hard ass. The concern in her face was a shock, but one that left Dana feeling good. She dug into her bag and found the photo, handing it to Roz.

The black girl examined it for a while and then a smile tugged at her lips.

"What?"

"I think I can tell you why you're obsessing over this," she said after a moment.