<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a5/Emmaq8.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>Emma Q<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Kim<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Classroom 2-A → Darkroom<br/><br/><hr/><br/>A Mary Jane swiveled on the waxed tiles before Mrs. Manson's desk as Emma took her lecture. "Yes'm." Eyes down, she watched the dull reflection for the swish of skirts behind her. "Okay, I understand. I'll put it away." There was a blur of motion as someone ran by and billowed out Emma's platinum curls. Had that been Kimberly? "We're working on a photolog of the other projects. For science." Her thumb ran underneath the camera strap hugged to her hips, and circled one side. The pressure mounting behind the strap nibbled at her brain. "I'll put it in my locker."<br/><br/>Her fingers caught the door just before it completed its return bounce, and she stepped out into the hall. The scent of floor polish and cleaning agent was a welcome relief from all the pretty perfumes competing for her attention. These girls were enough to drive her crazy on an ordinary day, each with a fragrance purporting to switch on that primal desire in a person's mind. She brought up the picture's she'd taken in the camera's viewfinder to see Alexandria again, and flip-flip-flipped through them like delicious candy, never enough. Again she was on the cummy pictures of herself, taken late at night, a blur of limbs. Where had those come from? Her curiosity got the better of her, and she detoured into the darkroom.<br/><br/>It was a home away from homeroom for Emma. The windowless door sealed flush behind her like a locked vault, with not even a seam of light to define where the door had gone. In complete darkness she could feel the thigh-high tables along the edges, the clearly organized shelves where she kept her supplies. But there was someone else in here, too. Somebody breathing.<br/><br/>The scent was an unfamiliar one among the chemical baths of the darkroom, sweat and desperation and sexual excitement. Emma followed the panting for breath, and perceived an intake when she set aside her heavy camera on the darkroom counter. Her fingers went out to confirm what her other senses were telling her with a touch, and found a taut, firm flank beneath vest and shirt. A small squeeze, to wordlessly communicate that she wanted to be a party to this kinky game. Who was it? A student, the skirt told. Her mind ran away with the possibilities, but she couldn't ruin the illusion by opening her fool mouth to ask. In complete anonymity, she could be anybody.<br/><br/>The camera strap jingled free from her hips, and hit the floor.