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By *rumCouple OP Couple
over a year ago
birmingham |
It was November 1985, and I had just started my second year at Thames Poly, in Woolwich. Although I was supposed to receive a full grant, my local council had managed once again to mess up, and I was living on a student overdraft that was dangerously close to the final limit.
It was because of this I had to stop going to the pub, after the Fantasy (Dungeons and Dragons) society meeting, Wednesday evenings. However, it was after one session, that Emma approached me and asked if I was coming to the pub. I declined with my circumstances. I should have twigged something was up then, really, as Emma never came to the pub with us. Still hindsight is a wonderful thing.
"Things still that bad?" she asked, genuinely concerned. When I detailed things, she just said "I know someone who might help ... if you're interested, I can stand a round.". Intrigued, I found myself nodding, and being told we'd go to the Director General - the rest of the club used to go to the Vic.
Emma was in my year. I was doing Computer Science. She was doing Business Studies. We both knew each other through the Fantasy Soc, although having different tastes in games didn't really socialise, so only knew each other by sight for the first year. However, a few weeks ago she had been a little stuck with a module on her course which needed access to the computer labs. I had been in when she found the room, and she asked me for advice. We spent a few minutes chatting, but there was no real attraction. She was pretty enough. Shoulder length blond hair, in a frizzed perm that was the fashion. Oval face, with brown eyes. A little shorter than myself maybe 5" 5'. Not skinny, but slim. She tended to wear jeans and sweaters. As I said, it was the 80s.
Looking back, the DG was the ideal pub - close to the Halls of Residence, it was always noisy, so no one could overhear anything. I felt slightly uncomfortable sitting at a table while Emma insisted on hitting the bar. Finally, pints in front of us, cigarettes rolled, I asked what the deal was. To be honest, after helping her with the computer, I expected it to be something to do with that. Laughable really!
"Do you think you could do some modelling?" she asked, wasting no time. Her face was slightly flushed. Although I was 19, I was also naive in some ways, and didn't pick up on the question properly.
"Me? No ... I'm not the right shape for clothes" I joked. She didn't smile.
"I wasn't talking about having clothes on." she said, looking slightly embarrassed and flushing properly. For once, speechless is exactly the word for my reaction. After taking a puff, and a sip, I felt my voice wouldn't let me down, and replied:
"Well, I can't say it's anything I've ever thought about" (which was a slight lie, but it was a fantasy I had never dared consider pursuing) "... not really sure ..." I tailed off, but my mind had started whirring. "Why do you ask?" I said, slightly sharply. She took a puff, sip, and breath, and hesitated.
"There's a photographer I know, who is looking for guys ... I just thought you needed the money ..." she tailed off.
"To do what?" I asked. I had settled down now, and the conversation, whilst slightly surreal was starting to excite and intrigue me in equal measure.
"Have you ever seen any gay porn ?" she asked bluntly.
"Err can't say I have ..." I said. Emma had relaxed visibly now. Clearly she felt she had cleared the biggest hurdle, and was starting to become more assertive.
"You undress, get a stiffy, have a wank, and collect £15" she said. Although, as I said I wasn't attracted to her, a pleasing smile played on her face, briefly. As I tried to think of a reply, it grew slightly. Weirdly so did my cock. Taking my silence as unspoken interest, she continued.
"This guy's a photographer, and he and his wife - they run a mail order business. They shoot and supply photosets, and need guys who aren't shy."
"What makes you think I'm not shy?" I asked, without thinking.
"I don't know if you are or not" came the tart reply, "but I know you need money. And I'd get £15 for introducing you." Given my weekly rent was £25, £15 was a considerable amount. Looking back, I really can't understand why I didn't ask the questions I would have now. But I was young. And horny.
"But I'm not gay." I said, although something told me this wasn't an issue.
"You don't have to be ... it's just you."
"and the photographer"
"He's not gay ... just happy to sell to gays."
Finally, I asked the question that really should have been asked five minutes before.
"How do you know this guy?". My tone was genuinely curious, and had no edge of suspicion, or judging. Emma's poise wilted slightly, and it was clear she was having an internal debate. The pause grew, before she admitted;
"He snaps girls too."
By now, my mind had grasped the situation fully, although accepting it was still a way off. I looked carefully at Emma. Strangely the thought that she stripped off did nothing to make her more attractive. I still didn't fancy her.
"Oh." I said. We both gulped some drink, and finished our hand rolled cigarettes. The noise in the pub seemed to swell, as if to fill the slightly uneasy quiet that had developed between us. Feeling flustered myself now, the conversation seemed to put me on the back foot, although I couldn't tell why. Instead of asking the most direct question - have you posed - I wanted to divert my thoughts from the elephant in the room.
"Where's he based ?" I said, not thinking that my attempt to divert the conversation from my thoughts of Emma stripping and wanking would be interpreted as an interest.
"If you go past the Tramshed, there's a parade of shops on the right. His shop and studio are on the corner."
I knew the place. Depending how I walked into town from digs, I went past it. I had a big spread of family portraits and cute babies. I found this sudden revealation strangely exciting. By now my cock was soaking with precum, and I was sure I could smell it.
"I don't know" I said. It was the truth. I didn't know. "Suppose anyone found out ..." it wasn't quite a question.
"It's a mail order business ... not magazines, not sold to the public. I've seen the ads ... he sells sets of 20 pictures, for £50, mainly to the same people."
Finally, I couldn't put it off. I had to ask.
"And you've done this ?" I said. Again, curiousity, not judgement. She had started to tense as I spoke, but relaxed at the tone.
"You think you're poor ?" she said. "I only get a minimum grant, and my Dad can't afford the full whack ... I needed the money."
"How did you ... I mean ... what ... who. ?"
"There was an ad in the corner shop ... I rang up, and that was that ..."
"How did ... I mean ... have, no had you ever ... what ..." I was struggling to ask, even though in my mind the question was crystal clear.
"I was scared shitless" she said blulntly. "But it wasn't anywhere near as bad as I had worried about. He's a friendly guy, and having his wife there made it really cool ... she used to model, and makes you feel natural.". I went to speak, but Emma anticipated my question.
"Last shoot, he mentioned that if I knew any guys, he was looking ... just regular guys ... I would have just posted you a note with his number on it, but then he wouldn't know it was me, and I wouldn't get paid ..."
It seemed the conversation had come to a natural break. Although I was nursing the hard-on from hell, and could feel the semen oozing into my underwear, Emma's demeanour had reverted to a slight coolness. She had made the suggestion, answered the fewest questions she could get away with, and now the ball was very firmly in my court. It was also apparent - although I can't say how - that this was a one-time, one-off, never-to-be-repeated offer. If I was interested I had to say now. Emma sat and rolled another cigarette. She had no more to say. Just to listen.
Figuring that I could always back out later, I finally made up my mind.
"Yes." I said, slightly breathless, and painfully aware that my orgasm must have seemed obvious. "I'm interested."
With a speed that took me aback, Emma opened her bag, and fished out a business card. It had a familiar logo on it. She took a pen out, and wrote on the back and passed me the card. "Tony and Jane" she'd written; "ask about PAP Ltd"
"PAP ?" I said.
"It's the company he sells the photos through. If you don't ask for that, he'll just ignore you ... he has to be careful.
"Why ?" I said, naively
"Because he's breaking the law sending it through the post ... don't worry" - again she had anticipated my question - "you're not doing anything wrong. It's cool."
I quickly tucked the card into my back pocket, and lit my cigarette. Emma stood to go, clearly her job was done. There was awkwardness in the air now. She tried to look me in the eye, but couldn't quite do it.
"Well, see you round ... hope you sort something out."
"Thanks for the drink..." I said. And then I had a "don't know what came over me" moment.
"I'll buy you one when I've ..." I couldn't finish my sentence ... embarrassment engulfed me.
"OK" was the reply. And she was gone.
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