Heavy Healing

12 - Peter

Wade never did tell him where he was going to take him, just that he needed to be ready by seven the night of their next donation. It put Peter in a great mood, great enough that he confidently went home and set up his camera so it was aimed down towards the ground with some soft lighting angled just right to give off some dramatic shadows before he changed and plopped his half-dressed ass down on the ground.

He felt good about himself. Confident you might say . . .

He was arching his back and had splayed his tripod to its limits to get a slightly odd but pretty cool angle that showcased both his abdomen and pose when his laptop chimed loudly behind him. He didn't rush, taking his time finishing up his tame spicy content before he tried diving into something a little more... rewarding. He had a feeling it would be far more financially stabilizing. If it worked. If he was lucky. A more R-rated approach that is.

When he got up to undress further he took a small break to glance at his laptop, eyeing his email nervously as he toed off his webbed boots.

It was from Jameson, the bold title line glared at him in a way that made him both excited and sick. He didn't want to open it. But he needed to.

He sat down and reached for his mouse, the slide of the device atrocious as it glided over the desk.

Parker,

5,000 for a 2-year License. No negotiations.

His heart leaped. And then it fell. But then he was excited because that was a great paycheck. But then he was angry because it was half what he'd asked for. But maybe he'd been overshooting his worth. Could the paper make 10k off one picture? Probably not. He was taking advantage of Jameson's obsession . . . And he didn't feel bad.

Jameson,

Because you have been a loyal client over the years I am willing to offer a substantial discount, but you are not my only contact. This will be my last offer. If I do not receive an answer before Tuesday 12:00p.m. I will move on in my client list. $9,000 18 month license.

Thank you,
Peter Parker
Photographer

He pressed send before he could redact anything or even edit and make sure he spelled everything correctly. He was a photographer, not an editor after all. Not his problem, Right? He was an art student . . .

He was going to scream.

He glanced around frantically for a pillow before shoving his face into it and yelling. Not at the top of his lungs, but close enough. Enough to release some tension.

He pulled away and took a deep breath with closed eyes. All would be well. May always said to put your trust in God and things would eventually fall into place. It wouldn't be when you wanted it to happen but it would.... Only He was ashamed of the idea of being forward with what he was doing. The closest he could get to admitting he was making soft-core porn was to glance towards his camera blamefully.

He sighed and set the pillow down. What a pain... being alive.

Peter glanced at the clock, taking the time into account as he considered his next shot. He had about ten minutes for creativity left at this point. He laid down and grabbed a pillow, edging the rest of his costume off before slipping the cushion under his hips and turning on his side to get a nice non non-revealing shot that was nearly the whole length of his side. He knew the angle of his position should have deepened the shadows of his hip bones, and the white light he was using would apply a nearly delicate appearance, a sharp contrast to the brute strength of the hero people were after.

Yeah, that was good. He wanted to get up and look right away but knew he needed to stop wasting time, taking a few shots would be better, he could busy himself with nitpicking and changing angles later... mostly he was worried about his dick being visible but the reality of the situation is, he could always just edit it out.