Escaping his own trap -- Quickie Rnd 386

Darren gets a surprise -- and realizes he's limiting himself

“What the… who’s visiting me at this time of day?” Responding to the doorbell, Darren Barnwell limp-walked to the front door of his townhouse. There he found a large manila envelope, the words “PICTURES – DO NOT BEND” written below his address. In the distance, his mail lady climbed into her truck.

Making his way to his home office, Darren wondered who would be sending him 8”x10” pictures. The return information had only an address, no name. Sitting at the desk, he propped what remained of his left leg on a stool and leaned back to rest.

He’d lost the leg below the knee nearly eight months before, while on duty as a paramedic. A car had driven through a police barricade into his accident scene, striking two officers before pinning Darren against the ambulance. Darren considered himself lucky, as one of the officers had died from his injuries.

Darren’s recovery, meanwhile, hadn’t been easy. Two weeks of hospital stay had been followed by three months of inpatient rehab. That got him to where he was now, walking slowly with a prosthetic leg (and sometimes a cane) while still doing outpatient therapy.

During his rehab stay, Darren had received numerous visitors. One was Cassie, the young owner of a local pub. Darren was a semi-regular customer, especially on weekend days off for sports. Having seen news of his accident, Cassie visited Darren several times. Darren found himself welcoming her visits. He also decided there couldn’t be anything beyond that. A pretty lady like her, he was sure, already had someone – and despite her current attentions wouldn’t want a “defective” man in her life.

That “defect” also meant he might never work on an ambulance again. While in rehab, management had let him know they doubted he could pass the physical fitness test. They also stressed that he was more than welcome to move over to dispatch (an area he had already trained in). Because of this, he’d exercised another option, one from an old hobby.

An avid photographer, Darren had turned to an old friend. Terry Gordon owned Boutique and Boudoir, a portrait studio. When Darren said he might need a new career, Terry hadn’t batted an eye – but he did wink when he said Darren might be surprised by one of the studios.

“No, Darren, I’m not into bondage,” he said when they walked into a BDSM-themed room. “But a lot of people are. And you’d be surprised how many customers want shall we say… more ‘private’ pictures.” Feeling like he needed the possible job (dispatch wasn’t guaranteed), Darren swallowed his concerns and learned the business of portrait photography.

Over time, Darren had grown to like the work. Yet he was only doing it part-time, despite Terry’s repeated offers of full-time employment. Though they had very few repeat customers, Darren’s talents had created a lot of referral business. Terry didn’t want to lose that talent (and business) to a dispatch office if he didn’t have to.

One day Darren was given a “double client” – one wanting pictures taken in two different studios. Looking over the info form for “C. Hynes”, Darren decided it could be an interesting afternoon, as the lady wanted “saucy but not raunchy” photos for someone special. That might be a challenge, he thought, as part of the shoot would be in the BDSM dungeon.

“Good afternoon, Miss Hynes,” he said when walking into the boudoir studio. “I’m – Cassie?” The pub owner was the last person he expected to see.

“Hello, Darren,” she said with a smile. “Yes, it’s me. This is something I’ve wanted to do for a while. And I’m glad it’s you photographing me.”

“Oh? Why?” Darren prayed his professionalism was winning out.

“I trust you to treat me right. You always have.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Now, what will we be doing today?” With that, Darren started asking a series of questions. He actually asked them twice, since they were doing two different studio themes.

A few minutes later, Cassie’s robe was on a clothes tree and she was atop the bedcovers. Lying with her head and left shoulder just off the edge, Darren was momentarily afraid her breast might fall out of her demi-cup bra. Several times he followed her suggestions for poses, and rejected two of them as possibly too revealing (which made Cassie smile). They spent almost two hours just in that studio, as Cassie wanted pictures taken in several different sets of lingerie.

Walking into the BDSM room, Darren again found it hard to be professional. Cassie had changed into what was best described as a black leather bikini, with wide matching leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles. Quickly recovering, he spent another 90 minutes shooting Cassie in various poses on several different pieces of equipment, again going through several outfits. When she left, Darren hoped her “someone special” appreciated her.

Pulling the pictures out, he saw Cassie smiling at him from the boudoir bed. The next photo was her in the leather bikini and cuffs, bound to a St. Andrew’s Cross. Then came a note:

That’s right, you goof – YOU are the special someone, and have been for a while! I just wasn’t sure how to say it. If you feel the same – and you’re not “tied up” – call me!

Darren began to weep. He hadn’t thought it possible, especially from someone like Cassie (who he had long found attractive).

Then the words don’t trap yourself rang in his head. Words that Cassie had said on several different visits. Words Darren knew were right.

Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed the number written on the note. “Hello, Cassie? It’s Darren. Would you... would you like to meet somewhere for coffee?”


Word Count: 958