A Common Pornography_ A Memoir - Kevin Sampsell [34]
“That’s awesome,” said David.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t thrilled by the idea of posing nude for photos but I liked taking my clothes off in front of Daphne.
The following Friday, we met at Marco’s before the dance. I’d been to his place only once before. It was a small one-bedroom apartment with big posters of the Cure and Bauhaus looming over the front room. There were black curtains and black candles and a black fake leather couch. David sat in a director’s chair, writing band name ideas in a notebook. He told me Daphne was on her way and that her uncle was coming over to help her set up the camera. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Her uncle is cool. I met him once. I think he used to be a model.”
There was a little kitchen in the apartment and I went in there to say hi to Marco. I was hoping nobody else would be there to watch this. Marco was wearing a satin bathrobe and I asked him if he was going out later. He shrugged and took a pizza out of the oven. “I guess we’ll see what everyone feels like doing,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“We’re all going to do it,” he said. “It’s going to be cool.”
One of Marco’s Goth friends came out of the bathroom, a girl named Alexis. I didn’t know her very well. She was sort of new in town and over twenty-one. She bought all the alcohol. She was tall and skinny and wore clothes that barely stayed on. She made up her face to look like a china doll. In fact, her whole body looked like it was powdered white. She could glow in the dark. She was probably the first person I knew who wore such sexy clothes. Garter belts. Lace. She probably had to go to Seattle to buy such things. I said hi to her and wondered if she was going to get naked.
Daphne came in with her uncle then, carrying a tripod and an awkward camera. Her uncle was a chubby forty-year-old with a fringed jacket and feathered hair. “Hi everyone,” he said, a little too jovially. “This is going to be fun.” He helped Daphne set up the tripod in front of the couch. “So, should we do the band photos first or just start with everyone?” asked the uncle. No one said anything.
Daphne turned and snapped a photo of my blank expression. “We have lots of film,” she said. “Let’s just do some candid shots first. See what develops. Get it? See what develops?” She turned and took a photo of her uncle.
“Oh, God,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t let your dad see me in these photos. He’d damn me to hell—again!” Everyone laughed a little about that. We all started drinking then. I put more vodka in my Big Gulp cup, mixing it with the last of my Coke. I liked the burn in my throat. The sensation of almost throwing up with each swallow. Five or six swallows later, I was over that hump. I became loose and daring.
“Shirts off,” yelled Marco. He had Depeche Mode on and I was watching Alexis dancing out of the corner of my eye. Five shirts were thrown into the corner.
We looked at the uncle with his striped polo shirt still on. “I’m only here to document,” he said. Then he asked Daphne if there was supposed to be someone else there. “I thought you knew an Asian boy,” he said. He seemed a little disappointed when Daphne told him that her Asian friend wasn’t coming.
Alexis grabbed my arm and led me to the couch. She had on a black see-through bra and I saw her small nipples sticking out a little. “Let’s see how tough you are,” she said. She had me lie down with my shoulders on the armrest of the couch. She grabbed a burning candle and dripped wax on my chest. It stung just lightly before drying in clumps. I peeled the pieces off my smooth chest and looked at them closely. She tried to make designs on me. A question mark. The anarchy A. There wasn’t quite enough wax melted to do them in one try. She straddled me and leaned over with the candle. One of her bra straps was down and I was hoping that she’d move close enough for me to brush my mouth against her breasts but the candle went out and she leaned back, laughing. I remember some things vividly: her bra