"...and this is the darkroom where we still do some old-school pictures now and then." Allison said as we toured the Journalism department.
She was pointing at what looked like a regular classroom door, but it had a red light mounted above it and a big warning sign on it telling all not to enter when the light is on.
Allison is the journalism teacher at the junior college where I work. I had seen her at several of our football games, but she was always half-hidden behind a huge telephoto lens.
She was a petite woman with long dark brown hair. She was your typical girl next door cute, which of course made her very sexy. Today she was wearing jeans and a university sweater. The sweater fit her well, showing off her nice curves very nicely.
At the last game, we struck up a conversation during half-time. One thing led to another and so when I had a chance I stopped by to see where she worked. That's why I found myself on a tour of her department.
I was pretty impressed. They were very up on the latest technology. They not only published the yearbook, but also a print newspaper and an online magazine. We ended up sitting at a table just chatting, occasionally interrupted by some of her students as they sought her approval for a project.
At one point, she motioned me closer and said, "You will understand this, I bet."
She angled her laptop so I could see the screen as she talked to the student. "Sami, I told you we can't use cheerleader crotch shots. You've got to find another view."
I didn't have to see the screen to know exactly what she was talking about. Some of the best pictures taken of cheerleaders are almost always of them in some type of stunt. Usually every stunt requires them to throw a leg up into the air which almost always exposed their "spanky" covered crotch. It's a view I've never grown used to.
"Spankies" or "spanks" are the undergarment that cheerleaders wear underneath their skirts. They could actually wear panties under them, but I don't think many of them do.
I make no apologies. I'm a man. They could do the same stunt in long pants and I'll never glance in their direction. However, put them in a short skirt and do the same stunt and my eyes will always glance upward. They've busted me so many times that now they just laugh at me. Of course, it doesn't help me any that I've seen what's under the spankies of a few of them.
"Yeah," I laughed in reply to Allison's comment, "That's a common problem when taking cheer pictures. But if you aren't careful, they'll end up on some website somewhere."
"Yes," she replied. "We always have to be extra careful with cheerleaders, gymnasts and swimmers."
"I hadn't even thought about those girls," I replied. "But then again, I don't work with any of them."
A few minutes later, the student had replaced the photo with one meeting her standards. I commented to her how technological advanced her department was. A lot of junior colleges have funding issues and her department is usually one of the first that gets cut when money is running short.
"Well, we have a few alums that have treated us very well," she explained. "Of course, we always manage to be available for their parties, reunions, and Christmas cards each year." She laughed at that.
We do what we have to do to fund our universities, I guess. Junior colleges have always been the step-child of higher education so we don't always get the best for our schools.
"Would you like to see what I've been working on for Mrs. Wilkinson?" She asked. Mrs. Wilkinson was the favorite school supporter. Her husband was the mayor and president of the town's largest employer, an oil and natural gas company.
"Sure," I said and scooted closer to her laptop to see the project.
"Nope, it's in the darkroom." She laughed. "Mrs. Wilkinson wanted it done just right. To her, that means using film and developing it the old-fashioned way."
She turned to the three girls at the computers and said, "I'm going to show Professor Davis the Wilkinson project, in case anyone is looking for me."
The students all acknowledged her and she got up and headed toward the darkroom door.
"Okay," she began, "the first thing you need to know is that it's dark inside." I laughed the required laugh and she continued, "We're going to go in this door into a little room. We'll close the door, and I'll turn off that light and then we can open the real door into the darkroom and go inside."
She opened the door and we stepped into a room about the size of a small closet. I dutifully closed the door behind us. We were very close in the tiny room. She put both hands up against my chest and pushed me backward against the wall.
"Sorry, "she said with a smirk, "I've got to do this first."
She reached around and twisted the deadbolt to the lock position and then flipped a light switch that had a red cover on it.
She glanced up at me and said, "There, now no one can come in and ruin the photos. That light switch turned on the red light outside."
"Got it." I replied. "Your own little red light district right here in your classroom."
"Very original, "she laughed sarcastically. "You've no doubt heard the stories about what used to happen in darkrooms? "
"I have...I have..." I laughed. "So, is there any truth to those stories?"
"I guess you'll find out in a minute," she laughed. "Don't get all excited now, but I'm about to turn out the light."
She flipped a switch and we went into total darkness. I could hear her breathing quickening.
She took a deep breath, paused, and then said, "I'm going to open the door and bring you inside. Once we're inside, I want you to close the door. We will still be in total darkness but I will then go across the room to turn on the red light."
"Like in a submarine in the old war movies?" I asked.
She giggled, but it sounded kind of forced, and nervous. "I guess so," she said. "You can't see much, because it has to be dim or it will ruin the photos. Now once you close the door, just stay there. The idiot that build this room put the red light across the room. It's about ten feet away but after a few years, I can find it in the dark, so just wait there for me."
I heard her take another deep breath and then she opened the door. I was immediately hit with a blast of musty air mingled with the smell of the photography chemicals. Allison took my hand and pulled me forward into the darkness.
"Close the door," she whispered. "I'll be right back."
