Page 10 of Dirty Shots

Students began to file in. Engrossed in getting the laptop set up, he barely glanced up.

When the students finished entering, he straightened. He clapped his hands together and a hush fell over the small crowd.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Eric Rutherford and I’m a multi-published photographer and fine art artist. I’m here today to discuss the usage of hard and soft light in portrait photography. I’m happy to answer any burning questions as we go along, but, if you can wait, I will be taking questions at the end.”

He began to run through his slides depicting some of his own work and explained the techniques he’d used to achieve them. The audience listened, seemingly rapt, even emitting a laugh when the things he said required such a response.

“I have a question,” a voice shouted from the crowd.

All heads turned. Eric’s eyes raked the students’ faces, trying to see who had spoken. But lights were on him on the stage, making them hard to distinguish. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes, squinting.

“Yes?”

The voice ... so familiar. Then his eyes locked on her clear, blue gaze and his breath caught. What was she doing here?

Anya leaned forward, her elbows rested on her knees. “If I wanted to create more, say, intimate, photographs, what sort of lighting would you recommend?”

He fixed his eyes on her. “When you say intimate, are you talking about nudity?”

“I mean like, erotic photo shoots.”

A nervous, embarrassed titter rippled through the audience.

He wouldn’t let her fluster him. “Well, that would completely depend on your surroundings. If you’re in a room where there is plenty of sunlight, for example, your need for other lighting might be limited. Perhaps you could see me afterward to discuss this further.”

She sat back, a smile on her face.

Trying to force her presence from his mind, he continued with the lecture. What was she doing here? Was she studying here? He wished he could ask someone, another student ... the dean, perhaps. But he didn’t want to appear as though he was showing too much interest in a student. Not that she was underage of course, or even that he was a full time lecturer here and it would be inappropriate, but he didn’t think it would look very professional.

Eric remembered that morning in the shower and heat burned in his cheeks. That was hardly the most professional thing he’d ever done either, masturbating over one of his models. Would she see his guilt in his eyes?

Finally, he finished up his lecture. “That’s it for today, folks. Thanks, everyone, for coming.”

People began to stand and pour out through the double doors. His eyes darted over them, trying to spot Anya, but she was gone.

She called me, he remembered. He’d still have that number on his phone.

He scrolled through, locating the call and the number it had come from, and pressed ‘dial.’ But the phone went straight through to a standard voice mail, not even personalized with her own recording.

“It’s me. What was that today?” He hesitated, not wanting to drill her with questions, terrified he might scare her off. “I hope I’m still seeing you later.”

Then he hung up.

Damn it. He wanted her to be submissive to him, yet she seemed to be the one playing him. She was the one in control.

***

Back in his apartment, Eric waited for Anya with his nerves on edge. Not only did he have a hundred things he wanted to ask her, he also had something prepared which he hoped she’d want to do.

She walked into his apartment and headed straight to his studio area, not mentioning what had happened earlier. He couldn’t let it go so easily.

“What were you doing at the university today, Anya?”

She turned to him with her innocent smile. “Perhaps I was following you.”

“Really? How did you know where I’d be?”

She shrugged. “I saw a poster in the hall. I’m a student at the college.”

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