The Making Of A Gigolo 14 Erica BradfordChapter 24
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The Making Of A Gigolo (14) - Erica BradfordChapter 18 free porn video
Transferring the exposed film to a stainless steel canister had to be done in complete darkness, but she showed him what she’d be doing with a strip of film that had already been processed. She fed it into a reel that got progressively smaller until the whole strip was curled up in a circle that didn’t allow any part of the film to touch any other part.
Then she turned the light off and told him what she was doing in the dark. The room was cramped, with his wheelchair in it, and he could sense her standing close to him. He could smell her perfume, or at least something that smelled sweet.
“You smell good,” he said, without thinking.
“Thank you,” she said.
He could hear the rustle of the film sliding onto the metal reel, and he heard her drop it into the canister and put the lid on. A red light came on suddenly and, though he knew it was dim, it looked bright, somehow, after the total darkness. He was reminded of the red filters they used on flashlights at night in Vietnam.
“I could do this with white light,” she said, “but I do everything with the safe light on. It’s just a habit.”
He was amazed that she sounded so comfortable. He watched as she poured chemicals into the canister and agitated it gently with her hand while she set a timer. She described what she’d be doing after that. At one point she said “You could do all of this yourself, except for loading the film initially.”
“You’re kidding,” he said.
“Nope. You could do everything I’m going to do from here on out with one hand.”
She found out she was wrong when she hung the film up to dry, and had to use one hand to hold the film and the other to open the spring clip it would hang from. Over the next hour, though, he saw she was right. She had him do it himself. She stood next to him as he stood on one leg, working at the light table. He focused the enlarger and learned how to crop. She had used color film, but limited their processing to black and white prints, with one exception. The exception was one of him draped in the flag. She pulled the strip of film through the enlarger slowly, looking at the projected image of each frame. He couldn’t tell what she was looking for, because he hadn’t yet figured out how to reverse the negative image on the film in his mind. But she must have found whatever she was looking for, because she exposed one frame.
The developing of the color print was more complicated, because it had to go in a tube, like the film had, and more chemicals were required. He couldn’t watch the image magically appear on the paper as he had with the black and white prints, which just lay in a tray while the chemicals worked.
Then, with the white light on, he got to see what they had created.
He was both shocked and deeply moved by the results. The picture of him in profile, of just his right side, didn’t show any scarring at all. It made his stomach hurt, to look at himself appearing normal. Others showed his scars, but it just looked as if he were looking in a mirror. She had captured expression on the right side of his face, in some of them, and even he could tell that the viewer’s eye would be drawn to that part of the shot, rather than the ugly skin elsewhere.
He’d scoffed at her flag shot, but when he saw it he almost cried. The look on his face was without any emotion at all. His left arm looked like he was trying to put the stump over his heart and hug the flag. He felt tears in his eyes as emotion welled up and he felt the catch in his lungs as he tried to stop himself from sobbing. It didn’t work and he felt shame as he started to cry. To keep from sobbing like a little girl, he made a high pitched keening noise, because that was all he could do to control his lungs, pushing out each breath as long as he could, before snatching another one.
He was still standing and he felt her turn him. Suddenly her hair was in his face as she hugged him. Her face had gone to his left side, by happenstance, and it was his left cheek that she kissed, her lips pressing against the angry scars there.
“It’s all right,” she whispered into his ruined, but still functional ear. She kissed his ravaged skin again, making it plain that she didn’t care about that skin ... that it didn’t repel her. His right arm went around her, partly to stabilize him, and partly because he needed the contact emotionally.
“It’s all right,” she said again, as her hands slid to his back and she pulled him against her.
Something important had happened in the darkroom. Both of them could feel it, somehow, even though neither of them said anything about it. When he stopped crying, she held him a few moments longer and then turned him on his leg so he could sit down in his chair. She gathered up the prints and put them on his lap, and then wheeled him out.
He pointed out that it was late and she agreed. She helped him put his coat back on, and bumped him over the threshold again. It was dark at his house and Erica’s car wasn’t there. The front door was open, though, and she pushed him in.
“Thank you,” he said. His hand lifted the prints he had made, and that she had given him.
“You did really well for a first-timer,” she said.
Neither said anything about his outburst or her reaction to it.
“I should go,” she said, needlessly.
“Okay,” he said.
She started to walk away, and then turned. She came back to lean down, putting her hands on the armrests of his chair as he automatically looked up at her. Her eyes were hazel, he noticed. He smelled her perfume again. He knew she was going to kiss him, but he couldn’t believe that until her lips pressed softly against his slack ones. She held her lips there, just touching his, and then pulled back.
“See you later?” she asked.
“Um ... okay,” he said, suddenly feeling weak.
Then she was gone and he was left alone. He sat there for ten minutes, just thinking. When he moved to roll his chair to the bedroom, he saw the photographs still lying on his lap. He looked through them again until he got to the color print. His chest felt tight, but it didn’t make him break down again. He put it on the bottom again, before it got to him. He shoved with his foot, until an end table was within reach, and put the sheaf of prints there.
He was astonished to sense Erica’s presence almost immediately as he got into the bedroom. He could hear her breathing. He wondered where her car was. He wanted to wake her, to share what had happened, but decided that could wait. He wasn’t done thinking about that yet. He tried to be quiet, but lost his balance and had to sit hard on the edge of the bed to keep from falling. He heard her move.
“Will?” Her voice sounded wrong, somehow.
“Yes,” he said, to reassure her.
“Oh Will,” she sobbed. “I did something stupid tonight.”
The next morning Erica lay in bed after she woke up, instead of getting up. Some of that was because Will was still asleep, next to her, and his warmth felt good. Some was because she wasn’t as convinced as Will was that Bobby wouldn’t say anything.
She had poured out her heart to her brother, in the dark, while he held her, as well as he could. She had surfaced from her self-flagellation long enough to realize that his left arm was under her as she huddled against him, but he didn’t complain. He’d stroked her hair with his right hand until she finally wound down and then cried softly.
“I don’t think Bobby’s the kind of guy who would ruin our lives,” he had said to her. “I mean who are we hurting? Nobody. He can figure that out.”
“But he has sisters,” Erica had moaned. “He must be disgusted.”
“Are you disgusted?” His tone of voice cut through her self-pity.
“No. You know that. I love you.”
“Then I don’t care what happens,” he had said. “If push comes to shove we’ll move somewhere else.”
“We can’t just pick up and move,” she cried. “I signed a contract. I have to stay here at least until May.”
“I don’t think we should worry about it until something happens,” he’d said. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Nooooo,” she whined. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he won’t say anything.”
She’d said that just to keep Will from facing Bobby. Will had just begun to come out of his shell. The musical had made a world of difference to him. He’d cried when the kids dedicated it to Jake and him, and had said he was happier than at any time he could remember.
Now, as she lay next to him, she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t know what to do. If Bobby did spread it around, even a little bit, in a town like this it would spread like wildfire. She remembered hearing tales, as a child, of people being tarred and feathered and run out of town. She wasn’t even sure she should go to the school tonight for the last performance. If she stayed away, at least the kids could have their success, without it being overshadowed by scandal.
They hadn’t made love last night. Feeling his skin next to hers caused unwelcome feelings and, in despair, she got out of bed, trying not to wake him up. He’d come in very late, and needed his sleep. As she put on the robe that was still lying on the floor, where she’d dropped it, she wondered where he’d been and what he’d done. He hadn’t said anything. Of course he hadn’t really had a chance.
She went to the kitchen, but didn’t feel like cooking, so just had a bowl of cereal. When that was done she tried to think of something to do. She didn’t want to watch cartoons on TV. She was afraid to go out, where someone might point at her and sneer. Finally she decided to work on the puzzle Will was currently involved with.
She was on her way to the table the puzzle was on when saw the photographs. The one on top was of his profile. She gasped, because he looked normal again. Her eyes tricked her, just as Christy had known they would. She picked it up and stared at it, wondering where it had come from. It was obviously recent, because of the haircut and the clothes. Those were the clothes she’d seen lying on the floor when she got up.
It didn’t take her long to realize that it must have been Christy Brown who took these photographs. She leafed through them slowly. Some did nothing for her, but there were two that she looked at longer. She couldn’t have said why, except that he was looking at the camera in both of them. His left eye ... the eyeball itself ... looked just like the other one, and the gaze was clear, almost confident. The juxtaposition of the ruined flesh around one, and the complete normalcy of the other, mixed with the way both eyeballs were the same, made it seem as though the picture was the original Will, uninjured, saying, “I’m still in here!”
Then she got to the color print. She had to sit down, because her knees were turning to water. She stumbled to the nearest chair and sank into it, staring at the image on the paper. How had Christy gotten him to do this? It was incredibly powerful, but it was also obvious that he had exposed his chest ... his arm ... to the photographer. Even more, his stump was fully exposed, holding the flag to his heart. It was as if he were saying he loved his country, despite what it had done to him.
She stared at it for so long that her eyes felt dry, and she had to blink them rapidly. She leafed through them again, and realized this was what he had been doing last night. While she had been running away from Bobby, almost getting frostbite and acting generally like a foolish little girl, Will had been performing an act of courage that she could hardly imagine.
She felt overwhelming love for her little brother. It didn’t matter if Bobby splattered their secret all over town. They would move away, if they had to. As she stared again at the color photo, she felt determined that she would never let anything tear her brother down again. She had a sudden thought. It was Bobby’s word against hers! There was no proof ... no real evidence. She wondered suddenly how he had known. He must have seen something. She’d have to figure out what that was and correct it. Will would have to sleep in his own room for a while. She couldn’t imagine who might come to investigate, but if they did, there would be no evidence to find. She’d make sure of that!
Feeling much better, she got up. Hope had returned to her. She had a mission, a mission to make this all go away. If Bobby Dalton wanted to try to make trouble she’d fight. She’d call him a liar. She felt sudden guilt, at that thought, but pushed that away. She would protect her brother, the only man she loved.
At that thought, the urge she’d felt when she woke up next to him returned. The subtle difference between feeling that while in despair, and feeling that while filled with hope, undid her resolve to avoid doing anything about it. Tonight, they would sleep in separate beds.
But for now, she would join him in hers.
Erica tried hard to feel ... and look confident as she approached the school. Her car was still in the school parking lot, and she had bundled up, making sure she wouldn’t get cold again as she walked the twelve blocks to the building.
There were two hours ‘til show time. There might not even be anyone there yet. But, if her secret was out, there would be people here to make sure she didn’t enter the school. If that was the case, she wanted to get that over with. She’d told Will that she’d come back for him later. If there was going to be uproar, she didn’t want him caught in it.
She walked in to be astonished to find that most of the cast was there, some of them already in costume. People were singing bits of this or that number, and little groups of students were everywhere, talking excitedly.
“Hey, Ms. B,” said Felicia Walters as she skipped by. Erica had noticed when some of the kids started calling her by that more familiar form of address, but she hadn’t done anything about it. Secretly it made her feel good.
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