Kassandra, Woman of Mystery Ch. 03

I told the professor that he could keep six images as long as he didn't share the name of the model with anyone. I told him I had the negatives and would keep the copyright on all of my images. He chose six of the less explicit images, chuckled and said, "You've got a good head on your shoulders. I like that in you." We said our goodbyes and I left his office with the photos.

As I was walking down the hallway after leaving Dr Kelso's office, I heard a voice that sounded somewhat familiar calling my name. When I turned around, I saw someone from my past, Eldon Howard, my best friend from MacArthur High School, in Decatur, Illinois.

Eldon was the youngest son of what could best be described as a Hippie family who lived in a motorhome that was parked in a lot down the street from our house in Decatur. They rented the property whose only structure was an old garage they had painted psychedelic colors, that the parents used as an art studio. The whole family were free spirits, and seldom wore clothes when they weren't in public. They slept, cooked and ate in the Winnebago parked in the driveway, tethered to the garage with a power cord, water lines and sewer connection.

Most of the time the family was in the house painting canvases and each other's nude bodies, and the place was often filled with the aromas of cannabis and other substances. I did sample their weed, (that would have made Willie Nelson proud) but never imbibed of any other substances that were there.

As I mentioned before, it was Eldon's older sister Sherry, who took my virginity. At the time I thought she was the sexiest woman I had ever met. She looked like a cross between Janis Joplin and Gracie Slick, with her long auburn hair, ice blue eyes, fair skin, big boobs that were covered with freckles, and a long red bush that she had braided in cornrows down either side.

What clothes she wore, when she did get dressed, were a leather vest that barely contained massive mammaries, a short skirt that just covered her round ass, and combat boots. Her dark red hair was also usually braided in cornrows, which looked out of place on her Caucasian body, but the look somehow worked for her.

At this time in my life I was so shy that I was afraid to even ask a girl on a date, so when Sherry showed up on campus at Carbondale one Friday during the fall of my freshman year, I thought I was the luckiest guy on earth. When we got back to the coed dorm, I bribed Kenji with $20 to let us have the room that night. By the time I shut the door and locked it, she had undressed and stood in front of me completely nude. She motioned for me to come closer, and when I did she took her time undressing me. She kissed me and fed me her boobs, one at a time, then took my cock completely into her mouth and part way down her throat.

I came almost immediately, and when I got my bearings, she was laying on my bed with her legs spread and taught me how to eat her pussy. She was very patient, and even though I didn't get her off with my cock that night, over that weekend, I finally did several times. She taught me many of the skills that would serve me well for the rest of my life that weekend, and during the time I spent in my dorm room with her, I learned how to use what Kassandra now called 'Toddy' to finally give her multiple orgasms before cumming myself.

The last night we spent together, I told her I was falling in love with her after a lovemaking session that lasted four hours. She answered me by saying, "Oh Todd, you are such a 'cute little boy'. Right now, you are full of lust, not love, but someday you will understand the difference."

I thought she broke my heart that night, but I never forgot her, or the lessons I learned from her. I have continued to use what I learned from her ever since, and every woman I have been with, has complimented me on my prowess in bed.

My old best friend was still dressed like he was lost in the 1960s. His auburn hair hung in an unkept mop past his shoulders, he had long sideburns, a handlebar mustache, and a goatee, was wearing a coonskin cap ala Davy Crocket, Granny sunglasses like John Lennon, a furry vest over a white peasant shirt like Sonny Bono, a big peace sign on a chain around his neck, buckskin pants with fringes on the sides, moccasins with multicolored beads on the tops, and he had a large suede fringed bag that matched his pants slung over his shoulder.

When he saw me turn around, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "DUDE, IT IS YOU!" and ran at me full speed. We met in a hug that caused everyone to stare and asked, "How long have you been here Todd?"

As we walked out of the building, I told him I had been here since the previous fall, shared my success during the contest in November, and that my works were hanging on the wall at the Art Institute. His eyes got really big and he said, "Dude, that was you? I saw those prints and they look amazing. I had no Idea that you were famous!"

About this time, we were in front of my favorite haunt on Halstead and asked him if he wanted to have coffee. He agreed and joined me in my favorite booth. For the next two hours we talked about where our lives had gone since high school.

He told me that his paintings had gotten him a scholarship in Fine Art at Urbana, and while there, he had connected with an old classmate, Connie Batterson. They had been dating for a year when she got pregnant, so they got married, and had a little girl named Tracy. I knew he always had a thing for my sister, but I also knew she thought Eldon was creepy. He told me that he had just started working on his Masters, and they were subletting a place over on Freemont Street, but it was a dump and the neighbors were noisy.

I told him I was living across the street and pointed to the windows of my top floor apartment. Eldon seemed impressed and promised to invite me for dinner at their place. It was then that I remembered something my old friend help might be able to help me with. I told him about taking Samantha's virginity, and how I was inspired by the stains on the towel from our coupling made me think of an abstract painting. I said, "Eldon, I would like to stretch the towel on a frame and seal it with something. Then I'd like to cover it with glass, and perhaps hang it in a gallery. What do you think?"

I could almost see the wheels turning in his head, and finally, he said, "I think that would be possible. In fact, I'm sure of it. If the colors are vivid enough, that would be the ultimate scam on the bourgeois art buying public. I love it! Could you show me the towel?"

I agreed, and we went across the street when we finished our coffee. Eldon didn't say a word as we climbed the five flights of stairs, but when I opened the door to my apartment, he said, "Holly shit Todd, this place is twice the size of ours. How did you find a place like this?"

I told him I just answered an ad that was on the bulletin board at the college. I did, however, neglect to tell him that I got to fuck my beautiful landlady as a fringe benefit. I went into the bedroom and retrieved the towel that was stained by Samantha's and my fluids.

When I showed it to him, Eldon said, "I'm guessing that this had a lot more color to it when it first happened, because this looks pretty bland."

I agreed with what he said, "Can I take a photo of this, and paint something that might look more like what I think it may have looked like when it was fresh, OK?"

I agreed with him and agreed to cover the cost of his time and materials. When he asked me if I had a title in mind for the finished work, I told him "Samantha." We both grinned because he knew that was the name of the woman whose essence had leaked onto the towel. We spread the towel on the snack bar, Eldon pulled a Polaroid Captiva camera from his bag, and my friend took a photo of the stained towel. The camera spit out the small color print, and as we looked at it, I told Eldon that I would like to preserve the towel somehow and asked him the best way to do that. He told me to keep it sealed in a large plastic bag for now and he would get back to me later after he talked to some of his professors.

We left my apartment, and said our goodbyes outside the building on Hallstead. I decided to visit the Grocery/Deli on Webster, because my refrigerator and cabinets were empty. When I returned, I decided to spend the rest of the day and evening preparing meals that I could freeze for later. When I was finished, I ate a meal from the left-overs, and climbed into bed alone.

Then next month and a half turned out to be uneventful. Kassandra had not returned, and I hadn't heard from Stephanie, Samantha, Evelynn, or any of the ladies I had met since I arrived at DePaul. I concentrated on my studies and was enjoying experimenting with different color films.

I had worked with color print negative emulsions like Kodacolor, Agfacolor, and Fujicolor as an undergraduate, but was only able to develop the film and make prints using the automated processor in the lab at Carbondale that was much like the one-hour labs most people used. I was never happy with the results I got because they looked too much like other people's vacation photos.

Since coming back to school in January, I had started to work with Ektachrome color transparency film. I was learning the finer points of exposing and developing this film that most people referred to as 'color slide film' and was discovering that the limits of its exposure latitude were much more flexible than it older sibling Kodachrome.

While most people who shot 'color slide film' displayed their results in a darkened room with a projector on a screen, I was learning how to make prints from transparency films. I first tried to use Kodak's process but had only achieved results that were mediocre at best. Eventually I got an opportunity to experiment with Illford's Chibachrome process to make prints from transparencies.

I was beginning to wish that Kassandra would have been there to guide me, but found a mentor in George Kelso, who shared my dislike of Kodak's stranglehold on the University's photo lab. Dr. Kelso guided me through the finer points of working with this new emulsion, which was a bit finicky, but produced some amazing results when handled properly.

I had a lot to learn, and kept meticulous notes recording both my successes and failures. The most important thing I noticed was that controlling the temperature of the developing solutions was much more critical when working with color emulsions.

Dr. Kelso allowed me to use the faculty lab for my work. This allowed me to control the temperature to within much closer tolerances than the student lab I normally used. By the time Spring break rolled around, I had a dozen beautiful Chibachrome 8X10 prints of the concept vehicles I had taken at the auto show at McCormick Place in February.

I was so busy with my work that Spring break arrived before I realized it. I packed everything I would need in my backpack and locked up my apartment, placing a small piece of Scotch Invisible Tape across the top of my doorway. I walked to the EL station and wondered if I was being a bit paranoid. Eventually I dismissed the thought and started thinking how I much I was looking forward to seeing my beautiful, sexy sister Traci.

Later, as I rode the 'City of New Orleans' Amtrak train to Champaign, I remembered the last time we were together, and placed my backpack on my lap to cover the bulge in my pants. It was then that I realized that I had been so busy that I hadn't thought about sex in more than two months, and my erection was quite painful.

I stood and walked to the restroom at the end of the car and locked myself inside. I dropped my pants and relieved myself into the toilet. As soon as the swelling went down, I urinated and pulled my pants back up. I returned to my seat as the train slowed at Kankakee, and I spent the rest of the trip looking out the window, with Arlo Guthrie's lyrics playing in my head:

"Riding on the city of New Orleans

Illinois Central, Monday morning rail.

Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders

Three conductors, twenty-five sacks of mail.

All along the southbound odyssey

The train pulled out at Kankakee

And rolled along past houses farm and fields.

Passin' trains that have no names

And the freight yards full of old black men

And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

God morning America, how are you?

Say don't you know me? I'm your native son.

I'm the train they call the city of New Orleans

And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done."

The song in my head eventually relaxed me, and before I realized it we were pulling into the station in Champaign.

When I stepped off the train, my sister and father were waiting for me. I embraced Traci and shook my father's hand, and we walked to the parking lot. When we got there, I didn't see his black 2008 Crown Victoria (my father preferred classic Detroit iron), but I did see a familiar dull brown monster.

My father said, "I decided to drive the old tank over here today to make sure it was road worthy." He handed me the keys and said, "Here son, why don't you drive us home."

I unlocked the driver's door, and reached over to unlock the passenger side doors, and we all climbed into the hulking vehicle that was International Harvester's version of what became known as Sport Utility Vehicles. When I turned the key, the GM V8 roared to life, and when I let out the clutch, we eased back out of the parking space effortlessly. I depressed the clutch, shifted into first, and we rumbled out of the lot while everyone stared at us as we passed.

At slower speeds with the windows down, the roar of the engine was noticeable, but once we were on the highway with the windows rolled up and the air conditioning operating, it was no louder than most other vehicles. As large and heavy as it was the old tank was quite responsive had good road manners on the highway. When a smartass in a jacked-up Camaro with loud pipes pulled out to pass us on a straight stretch of I-72 just past Illiopolis, I stepped down on the gas and when we were doing 95, he chickened out and pulled in back behind us.

I slowed down to 80 about two miles before the Buffalo exit, because I knew that the State Police liked to run speed traps there. When the Camaro flew by us, I looked at my dad and saw he was grinning from ear to ear. A mile later we saw the Camaro on the side of the road, connected to a tow truck, and as we drove by at 70, the driver was waving his arms and pointing to us as the State Trooper was attempting to handcuff him.

Traci asked, "Why is that officer handcuffing that man, Daddy?"

My dad said, "Driving more than twenty-five miles per hour over the speed limit is considered reckless driving in Illinois. It looks like he will be spending the night in jail." Then he looked at me and said, "Good driving son," and patted me on the back. The rest of the trip went quietly, and soon we pulled into our driveway.

As we were eating dinner as a family later, I told my father that I needed to have a copy of the registration because I had been able to arrange a spot in a secured parking garage in the city at no cost to me. When he asked me how I was able to arrange that, I told him that Evelynn Byrne, the woman who arranged for my photos to hang in the gallery at the Art Institute had offered me her spare spot for the Travelall.

My father blushed as my mother looked up from her dinner and asked, "You are friends with Evelynn Byrne?"

I told her, "Mrs. Byrne was one of the judges at the contest last fall, and she really liked my work."

My mother frowned and said, "Well I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, does it dear," and stared daggers at my father.

After dinner, my father asked me to help him clean up after dinner as my mother left the table with out saying a word. When we had put the leftovers away, my father washed as I dried and put away the dishes. The he told me to follow him to his home office.

Once there, he opened the safe and gave me the license registration papers that he had already transferred into my name. I made a copy of the registration on his office copier. Then he sat down on the leather couch across from his desk and asked, "Todd, just how well do you know Evelynn?"

I answered, "We are good friends, Dad, why do you ask?"

He looked at me more seriously than I had ever seen, and said, "Son, twenty years ago I made a serious blunder. I was in Chicago for a convention, and I had a few drinks with a woman in the hotel bar. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew I woke up in bed with her. We were both embarrassed by what happened and agreed we had both made a mistake, and never saw or spoke to each other again. Evelynn was that woman, and this was shortly after her husband had died. When I got home, I felt so guilty that I confessed to your mother, and she eventually forgave me. When you brought up her name, it triggered an old wound that will take a long time to heal. I'm sorry but I had to tell you this, but you need to know that your father is not perfect."

I hugged my dad, and said, "I'm sorry for bringing this up Dad, I didn't know."

He patted me on the back and said, "That's alright son. By the way, is she still a great fuck?" When I looked at him shocked, he said, "Come on Todd, she was a wild ride twenty years ago. How has she aged?"

I blushed and said, "To tell you the truth, for an old gal, she was pretty good. My landlady is a friend of hers, and I got to do a three-way with the two of them."

My dad patted me on the back and said, "That's my boy! By the way, we won't ever talk about this again. I'll tell your mother that nothing happened between you two."

We shook hands and I went to my room. A short time later, there was a knock at my door. When I answered it, Traci was standing there looking very sad.

I invited her in and closed the door, locking it behind me. She was sitting on my bed looking upset, and when I sat down next to her, she said, "What just happened Todd? Daddy is sitting in his office in the dark, and Mommy is up in her bedroom crying."

I put my hands on her shoulders and said, "Traci, twenty years ago Dad made a terrible mistake and slept with another woman when he was drunk. He was so ashamed of himself he confessed to mom when he got home. Eventually she forgave him, but when I mentioned the woman's name at dinner, it was like a dagger in her heart."

Traci looked at me with those sad eyes of hers and said, "Please tell me you didn't fuck her too Todd." When I didn't answer her immediately, she slugged me really hard in my arm. Then she said, "That was for Mommy, now tell me all about it. How was she?"

When I told my sister about the weekend I spent with Kassandra and Evelynn in the Suite at the Palmer house, I thought she was going to lose it. I assured her that they were two of the several ladies that were looking forward to meeting and eating her this summer. Then I mentioned the beach house where we would all be running around naked while we were there.

She got very excited and said, "I'm really horny Todd, can we sixty-nine again." Not being a brother to deprive his sister of what she needed, I relented. An hour later, I convinced her to return to her bedroom to sleep just in case our parents checked on us.

For the next few days, things were tense between my parents. Five days after I came home, my mother and I were alone in the house when she asked me, "Todd, I'm so sorry I caused a scene at dinner the other night. Something just set me off."