FotoFun: Angle of View Ch. 01

It did. Last a while, I mean. But eventually...

Mule stiffened and shot more than one long load into Lavinia's mouth. Her pussy muscles clenched my stick. She came, groaning past a mouthful of Mule meat, her pussy spasming on my cock, triggering my own last long, tight eruption, almost painful, but worth every ounce of anguish as I filled the condom inside her.

I managed to pick up the camera again. I shot Mule's used cock flop from Lavinia's mouth, which she lowered again to Thalia's pussy. I shot my own wrapped dick emerge from its orgasmic trap and bounce on Thalia's forehead. I shot Thalia's face, fallen away from Lavinia's pussy; Thalia's face in the throes of ecstasy of her final orgasm; Thalia's enraptured face with my covered cock resting on her cheek. SNAP!-wind-SNAP!-wind-SNAP!

We were played out and the film was gone. Time to clean up and go. Well, I rewound and reloaded one Nikon F and got another three dozen shots of the showering process's stroking and slurping moments. I tried to miss nothing.

We cleaned and dressed ourselves, and drank more of MY beer, and chatted briefly. Mule glanced at my wall clock and crushed his tall Colt 45 can.

"Time to go, babes. I've got a date. You girls want a ride? I'm heading back to Greek Row."

Lavinia nodded. "Yeah, I've got a date too. I just have time to get ready."

"Nope, don't think so; I'll talk with Ronny awhile, okay?" Thalia looked at me. I shrugged. Maybe she would help me straighten up. Maybe she would stay the night. Not that I needed a regular girlfriend, but I sure welcomed no-strings-attached casual overnighters.

.

--- Thalia's night

Thalia helped change the bedding and furniture covers, re-arrange items knocked askew, generally put things in order; and she broiled a nice Greek-style chicken with pilaf in between inconclusive but pleasant blowjobs.

My bathroom doubled as a mini-darkroom as well as boudoir-shoot studio. Thalia scrunched her hip against mine and watched me develop film from the session while we sipped cheap white wine. My various mixtures of chemicals piqued her curiosity.

"I'm only a business major and I don't know jack shit about chemistry but it looks like you process the same kind of film different depending on what camera it was in. What's up with that?"

I blended my custom Dektol-plus-Acufine-plus-Kodalith brew, poured it into a film tank loaded with Plus-X from an Olympus, sloshed it around for thorough coating, set the timer, and gave her a basic briefing.

"The Nikons are full-frame 35mm cameras. The Olympus Pen-FT's are half-frame so I get twice as many shots per roll but a half-frame only sees half the detail of a full-frame. To handle that, I use a plain developer for full-frame film, and my own special soup, that's my developer mix, for half-frame stuff or any special effects I want. My soups let me control sensitivity, what we call film speed, and graininess and contrast and tonal range, that's the spread from lightest to darkest."

I gave the film tank another shake. Regular agitation is best.

"Half-frame detail is still really, really good when done right. The frame size is one inch by three-quarter inch. It's what movie makers mostly use. That teeny-tiny frame gets blown up to maybe thirty by forty feet or larger on a cinema screen. View that from the right distance and you don't notice grain, do you? And movie makers usually don't use the best film or lenses, only what works on their budget. Commercial cinema is all about budget. And marketing."

Another shake of the tank and a squeeze of Thalia's sweet ass.

"Now, if I wanted or needed TONS of detail, I'd use a larger-format camera, like for some landscape or studio portrait work. Everything has its place. I shoot everything from tiny 110-Instamatic-size all the way up to 8x10 inch view cameras, those big guys with bellows. I don't own any; got to borrow or rent those."

I shook and sloshed the tank again. Thalia squeezed my cock through my light shorts. I grinned. She smelled good, like rosemary. The chemicals stank.

"Do you develop and print all your own stuff?" She squeezed my cock harder.

I reached over her shoulder to knead an unleashed breast through her thin tee. MY tee, actually; she wore only a well-worn pale extra while her own dried overnight, wrung-out and hanging in my shower next to her panties and socks.

"All the black-and-white stuff, yes I do. I can process some color films but they're mostly a pain, and quality color printing takes gear and time I don't have. I send most of my color work to a lab. Lab techs see everything that passes through there and I sure don't need to entertain them with sex shots. So, all these 'intimate' pics are strictly my own product."

I continued developing film. We continued stroking each other, with random deep kisses and gropes. I finished the last roll and shoved all my darkroom gear into the cabinets. Always keep it fresh and tidy, yes.

Photographic chemicals stink. We drank more wine and headed back into the shower to remove the stench, and for Thalia to douche, and for mutual taste-tests. We both passed.

We passed out on my bed after a final intoxicated 69 extravaganza. I woke in the morning with my head beside Thalia's crotch. Well, it was her mouth on my cock that woke me. I pulled her back atop me to tongue her sweet puffy labia and nip her distended clit.

"Hey, stop that now! I've gotta pee!" Her pussy was a mite tangy.

"Yeah, me too. Let go of my morning wood and let's drain."

Thalia headed for the toilet. I intercepted and dragged her into the shower.

"We need to wash off anyway and it's nothing we haven't seen." I shot a spray of steaming piss across her flat belly and into her dark muff.

"Sure, why not?" She hugged me, my leg caught between hers, and cut loose.

Warm golden streams flowed down our thighs and across our feet. We sudsed-off thoroughly, taste-tested carefully, rolled a condom on me, and fucked a final standup fuck, her legs wrapped around my waist, pounding against the wall, yelling happily.

We breakfasted naked on reheated day-old donuts, fresh scrambled eggs laced with bacon bits and cheddar shreds, and the strongest coffee I could brew. Thalia donned yesterday's clothes; I slid into my uniform. I drove her to the main post transit terminal to catch the shuttle bus to KSU and then sped on to DivArty on Custer Hill for morning formation and my groovy military job.

That session was fun.

The next time Mule arrived at my door, he brought THREE girls, none of whom I had seen before. I sure saw them a lot that evening. Fun fun fun, indeed. I'll have to tell that story sometime.

.

--- Ben's connection

The US Army is a vast institution but it is still a small world.

First Lieutenant Benjamin Beahr worked in S3 (Operations / Planning) in one of DivArty's gun battalions. I knew Ben from our pre-Army days when we hung with alternative musicians and artists in San Francisco. We were students then, he at SF State University and me at two-year City College. Now, when he was not plotting which guns should hit which targets and how, he was writing a biography of a mutual acquaintance, a notorious underground cartoonist who died playing sexual auto-asphyxiation games.

Ben was commissioned; I was enlisted. Any socialization technically violated the Army's non-fraternization policy. But he was not in my chain of command and we did not see how our friendship threatened the good order of the unit. So, after-hours and out of the public eye, we shared beers and stories.

"If you didn't get so much pussy, I'd call it sublimation," Ben announced after quaffing his dark brew. He insisted on having spicy Anchor Steam shipped cross-country. What a guy!

"Sublimation? Psychological repression? Huh?" I sipped from my own bottle. We sat on a picnic bench on the lawn behind my apartment unit, watching the setting sun singe the Flint Hills, the mighty mountain range of central Kansas. Hah.

"I've seen it in my squads. Guys devote themselves to something, get totally absorbed, pour every off-duty minute to it, like you do with photography. They do that 'cause they aren't getting laid, 'cause there's ten thousand extra guys here on base and not nearly enough willing women. So all their wasted sexual energy goes into weightlifting or martial arts or car-building or some other obsession. It's classic sublimation. And you - you spend all your extra hours in the darkroom. Except, not all your extra hours, not just processing and printing stuff, right? You get lots of 'studio' time. Your dick gets into a lot of unofficial shoots, right?"

I sipped again. "Only when I'm invited, and not that many. But enough, sure." I gestured at the hillscape. "Fucking Kansas. I never would have believed it. I got laid a lot in Hollywood and around the Bay Area but, shit, fucking Kansas! And I don't even have to go looking. It finds me."

Ben popped the cap off another Anchor Steam. "Comes in from out of state for you too, I hear. Wasn't there something about Keri...?"

I had lived with Keri off-and-on in Hollywood and San Francisco. Tall, very thin and tangy; a button nose and edgy features under her long black hair; very acerbic, independent, and Anglophile - and for some insane reason, she wanted me. We more-or-less broke up because she wanted a wedding but I had not bothered to divorce my absentee wife MariLyn. I did not know it then but Keri and I enlisted in the Army the same month and in similar electronics specialties. With her security clearance, she got better postings; her TDY (temporary duty) assignments took her to numerous bases, including this one.

I signed. "Yeah, Keri spent a week here a couple months ago. I don't think she ever touched her bunk in the TDY barracks. I know her naked butt touched about every surface in my apartment. But when we weren't fucking, we were fighting. Nothing violent, all verbal."

"Fighting? Not going well with you two?"

"Just the usual. Keri still wants marriage and I'm still not available. And I'm in no rush. MariLyn will file divorce papers on me eventually; I know that. Keri will be happier then. But go permanent with Keri? I don't know. I feel this desperation in her, and... I don't know what else."

Desperation, or a premonition? A heart attack two years later killed Keri at age twenty-eight. We could never have been. But that is another story.

"Anyway, if and when Keri rolls through, we'll be together again. Till then, and afterwards, I'll just keep on keepin' on." I drained my bottle and stared at the horizon. Ah, Keri. We were never soulmates.

"Think you can keep your dick in your pants if I bring a girl over for a shoot? Even a girl you know?"

"Like I said, I've got to be invited. By the client. That's you, right?"

"Yeah, I'm paying. I can afford color, too, and I know your lab limitations. You can shoot nice tame prints and more private slides, right?"

"That's my practice, yeah. So who is she, this girl I know?"

"That's a surprise."

"Cute. You were always cute, Ben."

"Yeah, fuck you too, Ron. And that's why we're both spending quality time here at Fort Bumfuck, Kansas." He pushed his bottle aside and stood. "Tomorrow after evening chow, then?"

"Yeah, bring her on."

.

--- Darcy's reunion

How small a world is the US Army? I was gobsmacked at Ben's companion.

"Darcy!"

"Ronny!"

A slender black juggernaut slammed into me. We bounced off the nearest wall; I managed to stay upright. I tried to disentangle us amid umpteen sloppy face-kisses.

Short, pale, round-faced, wheat-straw eyes, chestnut brush-cut Ben stood behind us smirking.

"Told ya it would be a surprise."

Sleek dark Darcy, her Afro quivering, finally slid off me but did not release her hold on my waist.

"You really are a turd, Ben. You could have said it was Ronny." She squeezed me and then spun away. "How the fuck did you end up here in the Big Red One? I thought you were a pacifist or something?"

"That's a long, weird story, and it would ruin the evening. But what about you? You shacking up with Ben-boy in his bachelor pad?"

A blush was evident on her ebony skin. "Well, just a little, ummm... I haven't seen my BOQ" (bachelor officer's quarters) "room in a few weeks."

"BOQ? You're Army too?" I was gobsmacked again. We had been to anti-war demos together.

"Yeah, well, after I got my RN, the recruiter made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Army's gonna put me through med school! Full ride! I just have to stick out the years, that's all."

Medical school! Doctor Darcy! The girl has really come up in the world, I thought. And nobody deserves it more.

Darcy T'oussaint's family left Haiti in time for her to be born in New Orleans. They were poor, hard-working, and relentless. Her folks worked shit jobs - garbage-man, house-cleaner, farm work - anywhere a green card was not demanded. They taught Darcy to work hard, too. She busted her ass for a scholarship and managed to survive hard years at San Francisco State. She also survived hanging with the same freaky crowd as me and Ben.

"And now I have a good gig at the base hospital. Surgical rotation, ER and trauma, nothing but blood'n'guts."

"Okay then, next time I break a leg, I'll ask for you."

Darcy slapped my shoulder. "I've got an enema bag with your name on it."

"Promises, promises. Getting kinky now, are we? Gone beyond golden showers?"

She blushed again. "Hey, it was only that one time..."

Ben feigned outrage. "What? You two did WHAT?!"

"Well, it was after that love-in, and we were nude and covered in mud, and we hit the communal shower at the same time, and we both really had to piss, and it just happened..." Darcy's voice trailed away. "Only that one time. I swear it."

Another famous Ben-smirk. We deserved it.

We shook off our reminiscences and talked about the shoot. Our goal was a 'glamour' session. We set to it.

Accent lights, vague backdrops. Languid poses, increasing skin. Off with the red sundress. Slip out of the lingerie. Darcy interacting with Ben, innocent at first, then progressively hot. Nothing hard-core. Not quite. Not tonight.

I shot Darcy with the Nikons and with my medium-format twin-lens Rolleicord 6x6 in both black-and-white and color. I shot monochrome in my Zeiss Ikonta 6x9 also; with a frame over five times larger than a 35mm Nikon, and shooting slow, grainless film, it grabbed detail like no other portable cam. The little folding Zeiss with bellows was like a back-pocket view camera.

The Zeiss offered another benefit. Its 6 x 9 cm (2-1/4 x 3-1/4 in) frame did well for contact prints: press a negative tight against photo print paper, no enlarger needed. Good thing, since I had no room for an enlarger setup in my tiny bathroom lab. I did have a stabilization processor smaller than a wide typewriter. It delivered finished prints in thirty seconds, almost as good as Polaroid, except that stabilization prints faded after six months. Still, it allowed for fast turnaround of gotta-see-it-now product.

I gave Ben and Darcy such 'instant' prints of the Zeiss shots.

"Hey, I look pretty good there," Darcy said, hugging my waist again. She and Ben were still naked; I was not. "Ben-boy doesn't look too bad, either." His cock remained thick with hope. "Nobody else sees these, right? Just us?"

"It's all under lock and key babe, er I mean Lieutenant, ma'am."

She punched my shoulder. "Cut the shit, boy. We don't use ranks after we've pissed on each other and, y'know, everything."

I palmed her dark breast softly. "Yes, ma'am. Nope, nobody but a client sees their shots. I only print to order. All negatives and slides go into a safe unless the client wants to buy them, which ain't cheap. Whatever I shoot is secret. I guarantee it." I kissed her jet forehead. "Just like our history."

Ben and Darcy dressed and left. I settled in for a night of film processing. Since I had not been laid, I guess this was sexual sublimation after all.

*****

Next: FOTOFUN: ANGLE OF VIEW 02 - Ben's Appointment. Outdoor sessions. Ron's ailment and recovery. Darcy disrupts. Stay tuned!

Author's note: This story by Hypoxia is copyright (c) 2015 and was expanded from Ron's Journal 06. Your constructive comments are welcome. If you like this, join the 1%ers and VOTE!