An Embarrassing Development

Yearbook was my favorite class in High School. I joined because I liked photography, and loved developing my own film and pictures in the darkroom. Also, in no small part, because John was the staff sponsor in charge of the yearbook, and I had a secret crush on him.

We students took pictures of school events, using black and white rolls of film, developing them, and making prints to include in the yearbook. This was my third year on yearbook, and as a senior I had the freedom to choose the events I wanted to cover, and generally to take pictures of whatever I thought would be interesting. Recently, I had developed a fetish for taking pictures of myself in various stages of undress. I would often take a few risqué shots of myself on a school roll, and cut the negatives out when I developed them to keep in my own private stash.

One day I saw John out with a field striper lining one of the soccer fields, and ran to get my camera. He was wearing a t-shirt with cut off sleeves and loose sweat shorts. His shirt was soaked in sweat, and the holes where the sleeves had been cut off were so big that you could almost see his nipples. One of the perks of working for the yearbook was that I could take pictures like this without looking like a pervert. John was one of several stocky, bearish men on campus that intrigued me, and I was starting to collect a small cache of pictures I had taken of them for my own pleasure.

I set myself up on a line he was working toward to take some dramatic shots upward as he passed. I spent a good fifteen minutes getting him from different angles as he pushed the field lining cart in front of him. After a few passes, he started hamming it up, giving me a muscle pose in front of the field striper, then squatting into a sumo pose, reaching his arms out wide like he was going to grapple with the camera.

"Those had better not make it into any of the layouts," he warned with a chuckle.

"Aww," I grinned, "you know the yearbook would sell like hotcakes if they did."

"Right..." he rolled his eyes and got back to marking his lines.

I only took a few more pictures after that, not wanting to look too obsessive. But his playfulness had emboldened me. For one low angle shot I tried to get a view right up his shorts. The last picture I got was at waist level, of his hands on the handle of the striper, but I was hoping to get a view of a bulge that might hint at what was underneath his shorts. When I finished I still had a few shots left on the roll, and I was horny thinking about developing the film and blowing up some prints of the parts of John that really turned me on. So I went back to my room and decided to get a few shots of myself naked to go along with them.

I set up a delay timer and got a couple full body shots of myself standing with my penis flaccid. As a gag I squatted into a sumo pose, trying to recreate the pose John had given me. Then I put on a zoom lens and took the last few shots focused in on just my groin. By this time I was breathing heavily just thinking about developing the pictures. I planned to go to the darkroom after supper.

But when I got there someone else had already signed up for developing film. I didn't want anyone accidentally getting a glimpse of my pictures, so I put it off until the weekend. Over the weekend I had too much homework and an away soccer game, and then there were some other projects for the yearbook that had to get done, and I forgot about that roll of film altogether. So a few weeks later when I got a note during home room to meet John in the auditorium after school, that film was the farthest thing from my mind.

It was a busy day, and I almost forgot about our meeting when the bell rang. I had already made it out the main entrance to the school when I remembered and jogged back, so I was a little out of breath when I got there. I opened one side of the double doors, and saw John sitting at the far end of the room near the stage. I walked over and he asked me to take a seat next to him. He paused, looking over at me.

"Do you know why I asked you here to see me?" he asked.

I looked at him quizzically, I had been wondering about that all day since I got his note. I shook my head, "No."

"Something about a roll of film?" he said.

A cold hand gripped my heart, and I may have stopped breathing for a moment. The roll of film with his pictures... and mine... flashed in my head. But that was impossible. How could he know? I hadn't even developed it yet.

I shook my head again, "What film?" I prayed it was something totally unrelated. He was on the yearbook staff; it could be anything, right?

He held up an empty film canister. "So you didn't put this in my mailbox last week?"

I shook my head and did a mental inventory of the film I had yet to develop. I had the incriminating roll in the small inner pocket of my camera bag, where I kept any film with secret pictures on it. Had it somehow gotten mixed up? Had I left it somewhere?

"No, someone else must have put it there." My heartbeat was rushing in my ears, and my face felt like it was burning. I glanced back at John; he looked relieved somehow.

"You didn't leave it on purpose for me to develop?" He was looking at me hard.

"No, I don't know anything about it." I paused, frightened to continue. "What was on it?" I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

Instead of answering, he reached down beside him and brought out a folder. He looked across the auditorium, checking the doors, and handed it to me. I licked my lips, took a deep breath...

... and opened it.

It was filled with a stack of black and white prints, probably 24 -- a regular roll's worth. In the back was a plastic sleeve with negatives lined up in it. The first three pictures were from the end of a softball game on the night before I had taken the pictures of John. I turned them each over slowly, knowing now what was in the rest of the folder. I looked up -- John was watching me -- my eyes darted back to the pictures.

I moved through them slowly, pictures of John walking towards me pushing the field striper. Pictures from dramatic angles, one of just the lines and John's feet and the wheels blurring slightly as they turned. I arrived at the sumo pose and gaped, seeing that his shorts had snugged up around the obvious outline of his balls, silhouetted against the lighter background behind him. I imagined John wearing only a sumo belt and his full beard -- I would let him pin me for sure. I didn't want to stare, but I didn't want to turn the picture over either, knowing I was getting ever closer to my own pictures. I felt like Grover trying to avoid getting to the monster at the end of the book.

Finally, I got to the picture shot from below and saw with a thrill of embarrassment that you could see well up inside his shorts. It was a real lucky shot: with his shorts flaring out, his thick legs rising up into the darkness of the shorts and a glimpse of light-colored boxer briefs hugging his hairy thighs before fading to black.

I saw all that in a flash and flipped the picture over immediately, only to find the next one was the shot of his hands on the bar of the striper. Here I had also gotten lucky, adding to my current discomfiture. The picture showed the under-curve of John's belly where it peaked out from under his shirt. Below the waist band of his shorts the fabric tented immediately outward at an angle, where it pulled over the head of his penis and draped back toward his legs, flowing with his movement. The fabric was clearly thin, as you could see the shadow of the ridge of his glans. He must have been at least partially erect for it to show up like that.

I looked up at John and saw that his face was slightly red, looking down at his own picture. I looked back down. This was the last picture of John, the last one I had taken before returning to my room and...

"Well, keep going." John said.

I turned to the next picture, my hand trembling slightly.

I was standing looking straight at the camera, completely naked, with my hands at my sides. My penis was just a nub nestled on top of my scrotum. The lighting was from above, so there was shadow below the gentle under-hang of my belly, and newly growing fur was highlighted over my chest, the top of my stomach, my thighs and forearms. I had some pubic hair, but not enough yet to hide anything.

My toes were pointed slightly outward, my feet shoulder width apart. It was an open stance, nothing hidden, and John was sitting there next to me, looking down at my fully naked body.

I was breathing heavily, my face hot. I wanted to turn the picture over, but equally didn't want to go to the next one, knowing they only got worse. John prodded me again.

"There's still more," he said quietly, glancing back up at the doors across the room. Reluctantly I flipped to the next picture.

I had stepped slightly forward with my left foot toward the camera, so I was facing it at an angle. I had taken my penis by the base between my thumb and fore finger, pushing back into the top of my scrotum, so the flaccid penis was sticking out slightly and you could now see the soft length of its shaft.

I stole a quick glance at John, who was fiddling with his fingers. His head was down like he was trying to hide his amused smile. I rushed to the next shot.

I had squatted into the sumo pose, hands stretched out as if to grapple the camera. Below my round belly everything was in dark shadow. The outline of my balls could be seen hanging there, silhouetted against the lighter background of the floor behind me. I cringed and moved to the next picture.

I had switched to the zoom lens, and I knew there were just three more shots, all framed with the same view. It was zoomed in on my groin, and I was facing the camera at a 45-degree angle. On the right to the front of the frame was my left hip and the top of my thigh. The middle of the frame was dominated by my privates, well-lit from the top dramatically, making my new, moderately curly pubic hair stand out in highlights and dark shadow. The broad curve of my stomach disappeared at the top of the frame. The left side showed my right leg fading behind and out of focus due to the narrow depth of field.

In the first picture my penis was completely soft, its head resting on top of the scrotum in the valley between the two testicles. My legs were closed so they were pushed out to make a little shelf for my shortened penis to rest on. The bunched-up skin of my shaft made a rolled ridge around the edge of my glans, pushing out just below the meatus. At the bottom of the meatus there was a glisten of wetness.

The next picture was exactly the same except the testicles had shifted downwards and the scrotum looked a little thinner. The head of my penis was pushed forward and out. It hovered in the air just over the scrotum. The ridge of soft skin was gone, and a length of the shaft was visible curving back into my pubic fur.

In the final picture my scrotum had lengthened and my balls were hanging just above the bottom of the frame. My penis had become fully erect, pointing straight out to the left side of the frame angled up toward the corner. It stood out in stark contrast against the almost white background of my leg, the outline clear and crisp, the underside of the shaft almost tangible, the delicate ridge running from the middle fold of my scrotum, up to the slightly loose fold of skin just behind the frenulum at the base of the glans. The head was fully engorged. Just before the shutter snapped I had flexed my pelvic muscles, trapping the blood there in the head and shaft and pointing the whole penis higher. A glistening drop of pre-cum had beaded up at the tip, sparkling in the light.

I stared at the last picture for a few long moments, entranced. I had never gotten such a great shot before. My actual penis had grown as thick as it could trapped as it was in my jeans as I leaned forward looking at the pictures in the folder. Then I remembered John was there and I flipped the folder shut again, my face burning, my heart racing. Was he going to tell my parents? The principal? Was I going to be kicked off Yearbook? Without looking up I handed the folder back to John.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean for anyone to see these."

He pushed the folder back at me.

"Those are yours to keep," he said. "I, uh, don't want them. Just, please make sure no one else sees them."

I took the folder back. My breathing was starting to settle down, now that the folder was closed and we were talking again. Talking was a huge relief.

"You're not mad?" I asked.

"I'm more relieved, really," he said.

I must have looked confused.

"I was worried..." he paused and took a deep breath, avoiding my eyes. "I was worried you had given these to me on purpose," he said in a rush.

Then I got it. If I had given them to him on purpose, it would have been a sexual advance. I was eighteen, nearly graduated, but still one of his students. He would have HAD to tell someone, either my parents or someone at the school. Instead, it was just an accident; he had stumbled on some horny teenager's stash of soft porn.

"I'm really sorry," I said. "This must have grossed you out." I flipped to the back, to where the negatives were laid out in their sleeves.

"Do you want the ones of you back?" I asked, offering him the sleeve, "Or I can get rid of them for you if you want."

He shook his head, put his hands up. "No, that's fine, keep them all, do what you want with them." He paused for a few moments. "And I'm not grossed out. At all. Its normal for a guy your age to experiment with stuff like this, and I don't want you to go searching for other ways to find this stuff, so keep what you've got. You're welcome to it."

He paused again.

"I'm married with kids, so I'm not really into that side of things..."

Another pause, even longer.

"...but I'm a little flattered, just the same."

He looked away, blushing, and I gaped. He wasn't grossed out! He was going to let me keep these pictures of him that I obviously was turned on by, had even told me to "do what you want with them." I blushed, thinking about what I wanted to do with them.

He looked back at me seriously, and placed his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Just be a little more careful with your film from now on, okay?"

I nodded. He got up and walked out of the auditorium, leaving me with the folder. I stuffed it quickly into my backpack and walked out a few minutes later.

John had never brought it up again, even after I graduated, or when I came back after college to teach there with him. Oddly enough, things didn't even get awkward after that. I spent many an evening with the folder of prints out. I liked setting our two sumo poses next to each other, and pretending they were both pictures of him, a before and after set. Then I would play with myself and imagine different outcomes involving him finding me developing other lewd prints, or me finding nudes of him that he "accidentally" left where I could find them. But they were only my own fantasies.

It struck me at one point, though, that John had spent a lot of time making those prints look great -- finding the right focus and light settings to develop them on. Studying the prints and comparing them to the film, I noticed he had even zoomed in and cropped the picture of his tented shorts to make it bigger. In reality, he hadn't needed to make the prints at all, he could have just handed the negatives to me unprinted after he saw what was on them. But he had chosen to have me look through the prints, one by one, with him there watching.

John may not have been "into that side of things" as he said, but there must have been some enjoyment there for him to go through the process of printing them out so assiduously. So, I added this to my fantasies -- the thought of John spending a few hours in the darkroom, looking at his own semi-erection tenting his shorts, looking up his own shorts from below at his thick legs fading into darkness, zooming in with the magnifying loop on the images of my own private parts to get the focus just right for printing. I pictured his erection growing in his pants as he looked at my genitals fading into view as the prints developed in their chemical baths.

Overall, it was an embarrassing situation, but one that has developed into a series of ever-growing fantasies in my head.