tagSci-Fi & FantasyPicture Me ... Again

Picture Me ... Again

byM. Millswan©

It was now after 4:00 AM, and I had a must--do photo shoot scheduled for 9:00 AM. Staring bleary--eyed at my antique stereo camera, as I ran through all the steps once again in my mind, it dawned on me the only setting wheel I hadn't adjusted was that strange brass disk inset into the side of the camera body. Getting down on my knees to be at eye level with the tiny adjustment wheel and have a closer look at the characters inscribed into the metal, I noticed it was set to aus. Falling back on my high school German, I dimly recalled aus might mean off. Vowing to give the camera only one more try, I clicked the numeral 1 around to where the red arrow was.

Just before I clicked the shutter's cable release, I let out with a huge yawn, and then another came over me once I was standing back in position in front of the lens. This time as the seconds ticked down, the timer's buzz sounded different, louder, more insistent than during my previous attempts to take a composite picture including me in the shot. Convinced it still wasn't going to work, I glared at the green fuzzy stuff in the flash bulb, almost daring it not to flash. There came a loud pop, and a blinding flash. Staggering dizzily, all I could see was white.

"Hey, Bub!" I felt myself bump into someone. "Watch yerself! Are you blind drunk or what?"

I could hear laughter all around and there was the tinkle of a piano playing ragtime and a chorus of drunken voices singing. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and someone wearing a dose of sweet French perfume suddenly seized me by the arm.

"What's a' matter, Tom?" It was a woman's voice. "You must be pickled pink."

The piano and the singing ceased and amid a rise of raucous laughter, I distinctly heard somebody somewhere call out, "Eubie, that new tune of yours is the cat's meow!" Another voice chimed in with, "I'm tellin' ya, Eubie, he's right, Shuffle Along is the bee's knees!"

Blinking rapidly and still seeing nothing but white, I grabbed the hand of the woman who had spoken to me. "I can't see!"

"I told you not to look directly into the camera's flash." I felt a hand atop mine. "Hang onto my arm and come with me. Let me get you out of this crowd."

Confused more than frightened, I was being jostled, and sounds and smells, were all around. In passing, I heard a man's voice say something about the Yankees beating the Red Sox yesterday and the Bambino blasting two more home runs out of the park. Off to my left, a woman's voice added, "Ain't he the cat's meow?" Then she hiccupped and giggled. There was so much smoke; the air reeked of tobacco, not just cigarettes, but heavy smoke from pipes and cigars. The hand holding my arm tugged me along, and I know we went through a door because I heard it close, and the noise of the party dropped away.

"Tom?" The guiding hand slipped off my arm. "Are you okay?"

Still blinking rapidly, some gray shapes were beginning to form. "I'm sorry, but I still can't see." My confusion was morphing into panic. "Where the hell am I?"

"I ducked us into Millicent's bedroom." The voice now sounded worried, and the accent was definitely New York, but oddly different. She spoke fast and sharp, bringing to mind the way people spoke in old movies. "Now you just calm yourself and let me sit you down on the bed."

I allowed her to lead me, stopping when I felt my leg bump into something soft.

"Sit!" She pushed down on my arm, and I turned and sat. "Now let me take a gander at those peepers of yours."

I heard the bed creak and felt the mattress compress when another body sat down beside me. Then I felt a woman's body press up against mine, and fingers touching below my eyes pulling down on my cheeks. "Are you sure you can't see a thing? Can you see my hand?"

Dimly aware of a gray shape moving back and forth, I reached up and held her fingers. "I think my vision is coming back." I was so confused and rattled, if it hadn't been for the calm and soothing sound of her voice, I surely would have panicked. The only explanation I could think of was when the flash went off and blinded me, I must have tripped and fallen and knocked myself unconscious. Perhaps it was because I was swimming in a sea of white, but there was an echo--like quality to every sound, and even the air about me felt more like a dream than reality. Having experienced dreams in which everything around me was blurry and out of focus, I assumed I must still be unconscious.

"You know, Tom, you not being able to see might have something to do with a bad batch of bathtub gin. I've heard about some of the rotgut the bootleggers foist off on people making some folks go blind. I've warned Millicent not to buy hooch from just any old bootlegger who comes 'round selling off the back of a truck."

Though the closed door had muted the sound, there was no question but that a wild party was raging just outside. A few voices were extra loud, and there was lots of laughter. Amid the revelry and the clink of glasses, the piano had started back up. Though I couldn't see, I could hear just fine, and whomever was sitting at the keyboard had a wicked left hand, because the boogie--woogie backbeat was contagious. I felt the woman's hand drop to my thigh and her breast press against my arm. "You sure you can't see anything at all, Tom?" Now her tone grew suspicious, but with a coy and subtle slant. The hand scooted a bit higher up my thigh. "Or is this just some kind of ploy to get me alone in the bedroom?"

Shutting my eyes and squeezing until the white became red; I pinched my fingers on the bridge of my nose, then rubbed both eyelids vigorously with my knuckles.

She pulled my hands down. "Don't rub! That'll only make it worse. Listen to me, I know what we need to do. First, I need to get you settled down. How about if I kiss it and make it all better? Now you be a good boy and sit still and keep your eyes shut. There, that's a good boy. Now stay just like that."

I felt the weight beside me rise up off the bed, then felt her put her arms around my neck and snuggle herself down upon my lap. A moment later, I felt a soft kiss upon my left eyelid, then another on my right. The scent of her perfume was as soft and sweet as her kisses, and when I happened to move my hand, I discovered the dress she was wearing was short because the beaded hem was more than half way up her thighs. In my blindness, every sound was so acute. Each time she moved, I heard a rattling, which sounded reminiscent of someone passing through one of those beaded curtains hippies used to hang between their rooms. My right hand still rested upon the bare skin of her thigh, but no slap or demand to remove it was forthcoming. As far as dreams go, this one was shaping up rather nicely.

I heard the doorknob rattle, then, "Hey, what gives?" It was a man's voice. "The door's locked!" He was so drunk he was slurring. "Come on, open up!" He pounded again on the door. "I gotta use the can!"

"This ain't the bathroom." The woman shifted on my lap. "It's two doors down, ya drunken sap!"

There came one last bang on the door, but it sounded more like a forehead hitting the wood in desperation than the belligerent bang of a fist.

"Now, where were we?" Though my eyes remained sealed by her kisses, with her voice so close I knew her focus had returned to me. "Let's find out if my kisses worked their magic. Be a good boy and open up and lemme me have a peek at those darling baby blues."

I blinked open my eyes, and was surprised to make out the features of beautiful young woman's face. Smiling brightly, she was clearly excited. "Can you see me now?"

I gaped in wonder. "Martha?"

Sitting back, she gave me a stern glare. "Who'd you think?"

It was though I was at the bottom of a pool and looking up at the world through the water. Everything appeared fuzzy, even a bit milky with a shimmering wavy quality. Everything except for the girl sitting on my lap who appeared to be a reincarnation of Martha Mansfield, she was as clear as the ring of a bell.

Too stunned to be afraid, I glanced around, taking in my surroundings. The bedroom in which I found myself was straight out of a silent movie, except my reality existed in living color instead of black, white and shades of gray. The wallpaper, the furniture, the lamp beside me, even the pitcher and glassware on the washbasin were all antiques, yet strangely new. The candlestick telephone atop the dresser was a museum piece. There wasn't any dial, and to make a call would require one hand to pick the earpiece up off the brass hook on the side, and the other to hold the speaking cone to your lips. Something else to catch my attention, on the wall near the phone was a perfect copy of the clock I'd seen in the antique store. It even had the word Perambulator running vertically down the glass window, and within, I could see the slow arcing swing of the brass pendulum. Her soft kisses must have worked their magic, because my vision was beginning to grow clearer, and from what I could now make out of the clock's hands, current time was just a few minutes after four.

Focusing back upon the girl on my lap, she was wearing a sparkling, sequined headband with the bright eye of an ostrich feather plume pinned to one side. Her dress was a fiery purple and layered with row over row of dangling beaded fringe. At any costume party I had ever gone to, this girl would have won first prize, not only for the most authentic nineteen twenties flapper costume, but also for the prettiest girl at the party. Her face only inches from my still smarting eyes, I watched in wonder as her look of concern melted into a bright and eager smile.

"See, my kisses did make it all better." There was no mistaking the intent behind the gleam in those dazzling, blue eyes of hers, because Esther would look at me in exactly the same way when she was really in the mood. "Now you just relax," she snuggled in a bit closer, "and let Martha make everything all better."

Perhaps it was the lingering white still clouding the fringes of my vision, but I felt as hazy as the air in the room. It was years ago when I went to college, but I remember exactly what it feels like to be stoned, and with the strange things I was seeing and the strange way I was feeling, it was as though I had a major buzz working. Just as I gathered my thoughts enough to think to ask, where am I and what's going on, she leaned in, closed her eyes and kissed me. Whether I was unconscious, dreaming, or stoned out of my mind, the heat with which she kissed me was as real and tangible as the taste of tobacco and gin upon her lips.

Pulling back and smiling at me more with her eyes than her lips, when she gave my chest a playful push with her palm, we both fell over backwards onto the bed. Before I could react, she rolled over on top of me, not ravishing me with wild abandon, but long, slow, deep and deliberate kisses simmering with heat and passion. Since none of this could possibly be real, and I had no reason not to go with the flow, it was easy to give myself over to where ever the dream wanted to take me. Kissing her back as passionately as she was kissing me, when I drew my hands down the back of her dress from her shoulders to her waist, I discovered her short skirt had ridden up above her hips. Not stopping, but running my hands even further down and onto her thighs, my fingers traced over an elaborate garter belt assembly, which was holding the lacy tops of her silk stockings in place. She wasn't lying flat atop me, but up on her elbows with her knees straddling my hips. The passion with which she was kissing me made it easy to lose myself in the moment, and bringing my right hand back up, I slipped it all the way up under the front of her dress and cupped her bare left breast. Emboldened by the sensation of how stiff the tip of her little, rosebud nipple felt pressing into my palm, when I slid the fingers of my left hand inside her silky panties, her response to the intimacy of my touch was to kiss me that much more deeply.

Because she was up on her forearms with her knees straddling my hips, all her feminine charms beneath her dress and within her panties were open and available for me to discover and enjoy. Eager to take full advantage of the delights she was offering, as I began to slip the tip of my finger within her, the more deeply I explored, the more impassioned she became. Inside she was so hot, wet and ready, and I was as hard as I had ever been in my life.

Because she was over me and there was space between our bodies, her small breasts hung away within her dress. Testing the stiffness of first one nipple and then the other between my thumb and forefinger, every detail was so real down to the smell of her fine French perfume and the taste of extra dry gin upon her lips. Yet even as impassioned as I'd become, somewhere in the back of addled mind I knew this all had to be a dream. After losing my wife in an automobile accident, a few months later I began to experience frequent erotic dreams, each as exciting and as realistic as any I experienced as a teenager. The most memorable of these endowed me the opportunity to change the events of an afternoon I'd spent with a girl I had a crush on in high school. In this nocturnal replay of my past, instead of being so naïve and inexperienced I was too frightened to take advantage of her not so subtle advances; this time, even if only in a dream, I seized the opportunity when it arose and erased one of the most long--lasting regrets of my life. Yet here, now, as I heard first one of her shoes and then the other thump on the floor, I knew this may not be reality, but this wasn't a dream either.

The dingy, yellow light in the bedroom came from a single lamp on the dresser. Outside our window, there must have been a neon sign, because as it lit and faded, it flooded the room with the slow pulse of a blood--red glow, rising and receding over us like the roll of waves far out at sea. Perhaps it was an effect caused by the ebb and flow of the red heat emanating from the unseen sign, but I suddenly wanted much more than kisses and caresses. Breaking off our kiss and withdrawing my hand from inside her panties, I urged her over and onto her back. With her peering up at me in eager anticipation, I rose up on my knees and took her in. Beneath her dress, her breasts were rising and falling with each deep draw of breath, her cheeks were as enflamed as her lips, and she was so beautiful, so eager, so young and full of life and passion. The hem of her dress had ridden even higher up over her waist, allowing me my first opportunity to see the blush pink color of her silk panties matched her lips. Never having experienced the opportunity to remove a garter belt before, I relished the anticipation as much as the thrill while releasing each stocking from its clip, then slowly sliding first one and then the other down her thighs, over her knees and off her toes. I don't recall my heart having ever beat as hard or fast as when I then reached up with both hands and she lifted her hips, allowing me to draw those silky panties all the way down her legs.

Naked from the waist down, Martha Mansfield lay before me atop the rumpled covers of the bed. If indeed this was a dream, it was a dream from which I never wished to awaken. Yet because no dream lasts forever, perhaps it was the insistent ticking of the clock upon the wall timed with the slow pulses of crimson flowing over us, but somehow I knew time was short. Getting to my feet, I pulled my shirt off over my head, then without even pausing to unbutton and unzip, I drew my pants down to my ankles. While I kicked off my shoes and my pants, Martha rose up on her knees, scissoring her arms as she pulled her dress up and over her head. Baring those luscious breasts as she playfully twirled it around twice in the air then tossed it aside, its rows of beads ceased to rattle when it lay in a heap upon the floor. Entirely naked and up on her knees before me was the girl from the photograph in the antique store, Martha Mansfield alive and in the flesh. Right there before my eyes were those unforgettable nipples; without hardly any visible areola at all, the way the tips, like tight, little nubbins, stood away from her breasts they lit a fire in, a craving, a burning desire to feel one between my lips.

Mesmerized, feverish, delirious; never could I remember being so hard.

"I want you to make love to me, Tom." Her eyes were so intense, but her voice came as a hush. "Softly. Tenderly. Kiss me, touch me, take me."

At that moment, I abandoned all claims upon reality and gave myself over completely to the dream. I came to her, took her in my arms and kissed her deeply, and as our lips met, the sudden bloom of the neon's red glow caught fire in the curtains and in the very air itself, bathing our bodies in a molten, ruby radiance. Still up on our knees upon the bed, the tips of her nipples were as stiff against my chest as my raging erection felt pressed up against her taunt, flat tummy. Kissing her deeply and holding her as closely to me as I possibly could, our hearts created a rhythm as we came together like primitive dancers under a fiery volcanic sky.

Perhaps it was the pervasive tick, then tock of the clock heard only in the back of mind, but somehow I became aware time was growing short. Breaking off our kiss, I needed no words to urge her to lie down on the bed. She lay down and opened her arms beckoning to me. Before I could move, she locked those wondrous eyes of hers upon me and as I watched her open her legs, the playful smile she showed me was not so much a hint, but a promise of what's to come. When I lay down atop her, she immediately wrapped her legs over my back and locked her ankle. At first, I was going to kiss her, but suddenly remembering my craving for those nipples; I leaned down and took the closest one into my lips, suckling upon it deeply. Close up like this, the aroma of her French perfume mixed with the heat of our sweat was maddening. The feel of her body beneath mine was so soft, so feminine; never had any fantasy, any dream seemed so vivid, so real. Somehow, despite my racing heart I found the strength of will to do as she asked and touch her tenderly, slowly, relishing each kiss and every caress. When finally I entered her, she was looking up into my eyes. Arching up her legs, and opening herself to me as I inched my way inside her deeper and deeper, by looking into her eyes I was able to share in her thrill, her inner pleasure. Then and there, I became lost within the ecstasy of it all, and we made love, we had sex, we kissed, we caressed, she enjoying me, and god only knows how much I enjoyed her. Knowing no bounds, none at all, coming to a climax together only meant another must soon follow.

After our third and most intoxicating orgasm, spent and drenched in sweat, we took a brief respite to catch our breath. While watching her sit up and then light a cigarette, I suddenly becoming aware of the muffled sound of the party still going on outside our door. Lying back with my head upon the pillow, I stared in rapt wonder at her naked silhouette up on the wall as the slow pulses of crimson light arose and receded around her dark shadow. Caught up in the magic of the moment and becoming aware of the ticking of the clock up on the wall, it came as a surprise to learn it had a chime. If it had chimed at the half hour, I was much too occupied to have noticed. Yet as it now marked the hour, I counted along with each hollow gong to five, then looking back to Martha; I watched the twines of gray smoke from her cigarette rise up into the air. Stubbing it out in an ashtray upon the nightstand, Martha lay down beside me, and snuggling herself into me, she rested her head upon my chest. Then nothing. Oblivion.

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byM. Millswan© 2 comments/ 3695 views/ 8 favorites

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by Anonymous

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by Hamster08/07/18

An interesting start.

Well set up but it left us as completely in the dark as the hero. No reflection about where he was or how he got there, only a hot fuck. With an abrupt end like that there had better be another installment,more...

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by maddict08/07/18

Brilliant, the flash bulb as well

I hope there's more film in that shutter box of yours. Any chance you might illustrate one of your stories with your photographs

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