Paint It, Black Read online

  Paint It, Black

  By J.D. Walker

  Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2016 J.D. Walker

  ISBN 9781634861151

  * * * *

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Life is what you make it.

  * * * *

  Paint It, Black

  By J.D. Walker

  “Trent, I need you to cover for Nigel tomorrow morning.”

  I sighed internally, seeing my day off disappear in the wind. I glanced at Tammy, my boss. “Sick again, is he?” I asked while restocking the blank money orders next to the printer.

  She rolled her eyes. “You called it. I don’t know what’s up, but he and I are gonna have a talk when he gets back.” Poor Nigel. Tammy’s “talks” tended to be brutal.

  “I’ll be here, like always.”

  Tammy patted my cheek. “I knew I could count on you, no matter what the grapevine says.” I scowled at her as she blew me a kiss and wandered off in search of others to torture.

  I was aware of what everyone said about me. Trent the slut; sleeps with any man who’s breathing; likes a good time. As if that was what defined me. They had no idea who I really was. Then again, did I really know anymore?

  I did my job well, and management had no complaints, for which I was thankful. It shouldn’t matter what I did on my own time, though perhaps sleeping with co-workers wasn’t the wisest thing I’d ever done.

  Still, there’d been Ry Archibald, hot and currently unavailable Ry Archibald in the produce department who’d been the first guy since my late teens to make me think beyond the next fuck. He’d awoken feelings and emotions that I’d all but forgotten. And then I realized he wasn’t interested in more than a tryst, and didn’t that hurt, getting a taste of my own medicine? It was a year ago, and still, it stung.

  He was with Georgie Baldt now, who had quit the grocery store to pursue a Master’s degree in…whatever. Yeah, if that’s what Ry was looking for, there was no way I could compete. And I hadn’t realized until then how much I really wanted to be with someone. It almost reminded me of the time years ago when…

  I tossed aside my long brown bangs—and thoughts—and went to help a customer. By lunch time, I was starving. Lately, I’d been eating outside the store because I didn’t want to talk to anyone unless I had to. I’d felt off-kilter since my encounters with Ry had ended. I thought I’d long buried the wish to be loved and cherished by someone, but there it was, front and center.

  I mean, I’d deliberately set up my life to be frivolous and day-to-day, because it was better this way, as I’d learned from hard experience. I didn’t have to feel any pain or heartache. No one would betray me, and I didn’t have to feel ashamed of myself for any reason. Or end up in the hospital. I’d worked hard to get where I was today.

  All I’d wanted people to see was the slender, brown-haired, blue-eyed angel whose only claim to fame was a hot body and a tight ass. And hadn’t I succeeded? But I used to want more—be more. When had that changed? Oh yeah, when I was betrayed by my best friend—the secret crush I’d had on him completely wiped out, by the way—and been sodomized for laughs in the high school locker room more times than I care to remember, and left in one of the showers, bleeding.

  That had been a very black time. While recovering in the hospital, I’d mourned the loss of something that should have been a beautiful act between consenting partners. Instead, it had been made a mockery, tarnished, and the only way I could tolerate intimacy anymore was by making it into a frivolous game. I hadn’t thought much about it until Ry came along; and now he was with someone else. I couldn’t face nameless hookups anymore. I just couldn’t.

  I was alone in a mess of my own making. And I deserved it.

  * * * *

  That afternoon, Florina—born Floyd—worked with me to serve customers since the line was long. She was the assistant manager of my department and a total hard ass. I loved that about her, because she took shit from no one and spoke up on my behalf more often than not, though I didn’t need her to. I had a snappy comeback for everything.

  “What are you doing tonight, hon?” she asked while efficiently handling a Western Union request.

  “Not much,” I replied as I checked the lottery tickets for a customer. The man won five bucks and I handed over his winnings. “I have to be here early tomorrow since Nigel’s sick.”

  “Again? Either he’s slumming or he really needs to see a doctor,” Florina replied as she handed the money and receipt to the impatient-looking older gentleman at the counter. “Thank you, sir. Have a nice day.”

  The man didn’t say anything in response. He simply zeroed in on Florina’s Adam’s apple, then took in her mascara and perfect lipstick and scowled before walking away. I held in a retort while she helped the next customer.

  People were so judgmental about things they didn’t understand. It was another reason why I’d never shared anything about my past. The next customer tried to return a half-used tube of Jason’s toothpaste—without a receipt—and with tons of attitude. I recited store policy and got a middle finger for my efforts before she, with her faux Louis Vuitton bag and red hair dye that mimicked Ronald McDonald, flounced out of the store on a pair of mass-produced, slightly crooked four-inch fake leather heels.

  “Wow, what a piece of work,” said the next man in line, and I looked up to see plain, friendly features in a narrow face. He had intelligent gray eyes and shoulder-length blond hair with silver streaks.

  I smiled and winked at him. “Every day brings an opportunity to build character, don’t you know.”

  His laughter was light and fluid, and I felt it wash over me, drawing me in. What the fuck? I ignored it. Once calm, he asked, “Do you practice that line in front of a mirror?”

  I giggled. “Every morning, right after I brush my teeth. How may I help you, sir?”

  “I need a money order for a thousand dollars, please.” Huh. Didn’t get that high a number very often.

  “Sure.” I rang it up, took his stack of hundred dollar bills, then printed the money order. After handing it over along with the receipt, I said, “Thank you for your business.”

  He grinned at me, and I decided I liked the chipped tooth I could see in the top row of his pearly white chompers. “You’re welcome.” He looked around, taking note that no one else was behind him in line before continuing, “I have a photography studio across the street. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to be part of a photo shoot I’m doing on Sunday?”

  Taken aback, I glanced at Florina, who winked at
me before focusing on her own customer. “Me? You want me? I’m…am I not a little old and too skinny and short to be a male model?”

  “Oh no, you’re perfect. I often ask people I pass on the street or wherever to be part of my projects. I tend to think outside the box when I work. You’re exactly what I’m looking for. And—” he smiled—“you’ll get paid, too.”

  So out of the blue! Eh, what the hell. I could always use the extra money. “Um, okay. I don’t get off until two in the afternoon that day. Would any time afterward be amenable to you?”

  “Sure. And don’t worry about what to wear. I’ve got it covered.”

  “I see, I think.” I exchanged glances with Florina again. What was I getting into? “Hey, what’s your name anyway?”

  “Oh, sorry.” He handed me a business card. “Elias Lane. Yours?”

  I blushed before replying, “Engelbert Trentworthy, and for obvious reasons, please call me Trent.”

  Elias manfully held back a snicker—his lips were pressed together tightly, though his eyes twinkled. “Uh, yeah, I’ll do that. You poor thing.”

  I mock-sighed. “I know.” A line had begun to form behind him, so I had to get back to work. “Thanks for the offer and I’ll see you Sunday, okay?”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  He left quickly, but I didn’t have time to contemplate what had just happened, much less deal with Florina’s bony elbows when they kept nudging me while she sent me significant looks. Sunday might end up being quite an adventure.

  * * * *

  I was annoyed, sweaty, and pissed-off by the time I got off work Sunday. The majority of the customers had been assholes—especially the ones who’d just gotten out of church—and it had taken all my energy not to tell each and every one of them where in hell to stick their self-righteous and oh-so-fake piety.

  And then, there was Leroy in the meat department, who kept cornering me outside the men’s restroom every chance he got, begging for a quickie. Okay, yeah, we’d done that before in the janitorial closet, but I was so not interested right now. What part of “no” was he missing? And dear God, what was up with his breath? Did he cut up raw meat and eat it, too?

  The leer on his face made me want to throw up. That would teach me to be choosier about my hookups, if I ever decided to go back into the cess…uh, sex pool. When I stepped out into the late spring sunshine, all thoughts of kicking Leroy in his hairless, likely sweaty nuts flew as I took a deep breath. I needed to focus on my afternoon with Elias Lane, intrepid photographer.

  I made my way to the traffic light, then crossed to the plaza where his studio was located. It was on the second floor at the back of a building shaped like an “L.”

  There was a sign on the door that said, “Photo shoot in progress.” I rang the doorbell, hoping it was still okay for me to be here, when a few seconds later the door opened. Elias stood on the threshold, smiling.

  “You made it,” he said.

  “I did.” I looked him over from head to toe. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, it was true, but there was something about a man who was comfortable enough in his skin to wear tight pink skinny jeans and a Power Puff Girls T-shirt where everyone could see him.

  Elias stepped aside so I could enter. It was slightly cool in the reception area and smelled of…oranges, for some reason. Air-freshener, maybe? “I hoped you’d come, but half the people I invite over either think I’m crazy or a pervert, so they don’t show.”

  “I’m made of sterner stuff than that,” I replied as I followed him down a narrow hallway after he shut the front door.

  “You looked me up on Google, didn’t you?”

  I chuckled. “Naturally.”

  Elias laughed. “Good.”

  Free-spirited as I was, I’d been in bad places before and knew to never take chances. I’d found out in my search that Elias had a large clientele, including big corporations and celebrities. He definitely thought outside the box, with a lot of gender-bending themes for which he was famous, apparently. He’d been in the business for long enough to be known for quality photos, a stellar work ethic, and one hundred percent professionalism.

  He led me to a small desk from which he picked up a sheet of paper and a pen. “It’s an agreement to let me use your image for commercial purposes—nothing nefarious, I promise. Please read it over and let me know if you have any questions.”

  I took it from him and read the one-page document. It was pretty straightforward. I put the paper back on the desk and signed it.

  Clapping his hands, Elias said, “Great! Now we can get started.”

  He led me into a room that had been decorated in a very gothic theme. There were a few people setting up equipment and lights. A wardrobe and makeup station was off to the left, with two people already being prepared for the shoot.

  “Here’s the deal, Trent. I have some outfits that I’d like you to wear in various scenarios. Since you’ve looked me up, you probably know where this is heading. You’ll have corsets, skirts, boots, and so forth. When I saw you at customer service, I knew you could easily blur the gender lines, and that’s what I want from you for this shoot. Are you game?”

  Why not? I’d been mistaken for a woman before when my hair was longer. I still got second or third looks now, especially when I deliberately dressed to straddle both genders. It felt sexy to me.

  “Sure. Tell me what to do.”

  * * * *

  My first outfit was tactical pants with black four-inch stilettos and a matching leather corset that stopped just above my navel. My shoulders were bare. The makeup was heavy on darker colors, and I hardly recognized myself in the mirror. It was way cool, though, especially since black was my favorite color.

  Elias paired me with a woman who was the same size as me and wore a similar outfit to mine, but in a different color scheme. We changed positions and backdrops frequently, and it took an hour before that part was done.

  Calling a break, Elias gave us thirty minutes to rest and change into our next ensemble. I was able to remove the torture devices called women’s shoes, then guzzled down two bottles of water. It had always seemed so easy and glamorous to be a model, at least on TV. Dress in fabulous clothes. Check. Walk across the stage. Check. Not so. It was standing in a difficult position without moving for minutes on end. It was not being able to scratch an itch or wince at the way your toes were being pinched to death. I decided right then and there that I preferred customer service.

  Next, I wore a black, frilly dovetail dress, the front high enough you would have seen my dangly bits had I not been wearing leggings with carefully placed holes all over them. The black motorcycle ankle boots with straps were much more comfortable, thank God. I wore silver elbow-length gloves and a skull-and-crossbones necklace as accessories.

  I was alone in this series of pictures, and Elias ran me through a variety of poses and used numerous props until he was happy with the finished product. I loved listening to his voice as he gave directions, or told me to hold a position. It was confident and soothing at the same time. It made me want to trust him, and it surprised me because I didn’t do trust. Hadn’t in years.

  I had a longer break afterward as he worked with the other two models. I got dressed in my final getup, had my makeup retouched before I carefully sat to watch Elias in action. I was dressed in a black fetish bra harness with my nipples tipped in silver, a red skull-and-bones tie on a silver background, red skater skirt, and converse sneakers.

  Elias was very focused, and I could see why he got so many accolades. Older men were always hot to me, and his confidence was sexy. The final images would be amazing. I was sure of it. When it was my turn, I could feel myself flagging a bit, but I gave it my best shot, and Elias’s encouragement and humor helped me through it all.

  At seven o’clock, he called it quits and I was able to change back into my store uniform and start thinking about heading home. Elias jogged over to where I was sitting, tying my shoelaces.

  “You did
a great job, Trent. Thank you.” He handed me an envelope.

  “What’s this?” I asked as I opened it. Then I gasped. “A hundred dollars?” I’d forgotten I was getting paid, and definitely hadn’t expected that much.

  “It’s the least I could do for all your hard work.”

  “Uh, thanks.” I stashed it in my messenger bag and hung the strap across my chest as I stood. “This was fun, if exhausting. I’m happy I was able to help.”

  “You’re a natural. They would eat you up in a heartbeat if you were ever interested in doing this full time.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t have that kind of stamina. Well, I do, but…I’ll get yelled at by customers all day over doing this.”

  Elias laughed. “Really? Most people would think the opposite.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not most people.”

  He studied me for a few seconds. What did he see? “Yeah, I get that.”

  “All the best with your studio. I guess I’ll see you at the store every once in a while.”

  “Oh yeah, you will.” And the look he gave me almost made me shiver. Did I want to encourage him? Elias was a nice guy, but…I wasn’t sure of much at the moment.

  “Take care.” And I was out the door.

  * * * *

  I didn’t see Elias again for over two weeks. In fact, I’d kept all thoughts of the man at bay while dealing with work and the sudden interest I was getting from my fellow co-workers. Or at least, it was more than usual. Finally, on a Monday afternoon, after one stare too many, I snapped.

  “What is your problem, people?” I yelled at the three produce department workers who were staring at me with wide eyes.

  “Oh, he doesn’t know,” one of them—Charlie, I think his name was—said.

  I tapped my foot. “Know what, exactly?”

  “Um, you should go check out the new Goth clothing store that opened next to the hair salon.”

  “Huh?” I was confused now, but they had already scampered off and I needed to get back to work.

  I was impatient for my lunch break to come around, and when it did, I practically sprinted out the door to find the shop. And stumbled to a halt. And gaped as I viewed myself on a larger-than-life poster on display in the window. I practically had a “fuck me now” look on my face and that make-up and outfit made me look like an androgynous sex kitten.