Friday, February 10, 2012

The Shoot

I've had this scene in my head almost from the beginning.  I just had to get to it.  It actually turned out slightly longer than I anticipated (not that that is a bad thing), but I think we're really getting into the head of this character, finding out what makes him tick.

The Shoot

The nature of being a server is that people like to flirt with you.  Maybe it's a part of human nature that, when someone's nice to you, you develop some sort of attraction to them.  I don't know.  I'm not an expert on it.  It's flattering at first, really.  We all like attention, right?  And I definitely got my share. 

Most of the time, it was men.  Were they gay?  Or did they simply thing I was a girl?  Did they even care one way or the other?  Again, I don't know.  I never let it get too far.  And the women who flirted with me weren't what I'd call...attractive.  It's weird, you know.  The same qualities one might find attractive in a man, when a woman displays them, it's a turn off.  It doesn't make sense.  Good-looking is good-looking, right?  You'd think so, but it just isn't the case.  I just don't like effeminate men or masculine women.  It's just how I'm built, I guess.

I know what you're thinking.  I've made no secret of the fact that I'm no pinnacle of masculinity.  I'm small.  I'm weak.  I'm pretty.  I like pretty things.  So how do I reconcile my own femininity with my preferences?  Quite simply, I don't.  Yeah, I'm a hypocrite.  I'm well aware of that fact.  I'd change if I could.  But I can't.

That does bring up another thought, though.  Have I ever really considered myself a man?  I want to say yes.  I really do.  But I'm compelled to say no.  How could I?  Sure, I had a pseud-puberty back in high school, but I never really developed.  I just got a little taller.  That's it.  So I guess I never really passed from boy to man. 

Was I still a boy, then?  I was twenty-two, so I guess the answer is no.  If I wasn't a man, and I wasn't a boy, what was I?

I couldn't admit it to myself back then, but I was far closer to being a woman than a man, despite what dangled between my legs.  Even so, I was somewhere in between, lost in some gray area.

That brings me to the point of this entry.  Like I said, as a waiter, flirting was a daily part of my life.  So when a customer asked me, "Have you ever thought about modeling?"  I thought it was just him flirting with me.

His name was Greg, and he wasn't just flirting.  "You have the look, you know," he said.  I said something noncomittal, and he replied, "If you want to talk about it, give me a call," he handed me a card.  "You should think about it."

It was a strange feeling.  All of a sudden, it was real.  Did he really think I could be a model?  I'm not sure how I could through the rest of the day.  I felt like bursting. 

To my credit, I waited a whole day before calling him.  We talked for a few minutes, and he offered to put me on his roster of clients.  Oh, he was an agent representing models.  I guess I should have said that. 

I took it, of course.  How could I refuse?  He seemed excited about it all, and set up a small photoshoot for the next day.  Apparently, that was the next step:  getting a portfolio together for potential clients. 

When I arrived at the studio, they sat me down, and started putting makeup on my face.  I didn't know what to do.  Didn't they know I was a boy?  Or did all male models wear makeup? 

And then came the wardrobe.  It was...strange.  I knew the clothes were female, but they knew I was male.  What sort of modeling did they want me to do? 

I actually almost walked out.  What did they think I was?  I held up a pair of lacy panties.  How could I wear them?  More importantly, how could I be photographed in them?

Again, I know what you're thinking.  I wear girl's clothes all the time.  What difference did it make?  Well, it's a big difference between wearing a pair of cotton women's briefs and wearing a lacy thong.  One, I wear because it just happens to be more comfortable for me than men's underwear.  The other is a blatant display of femininity.  It shouts to the world:  I want to feel feminine.  I want to feel sexy. 

So there I was, thinking of leaving when I had a bit of a realization.  Who cares?  I mean, really.  Who in my life would care what I wore at a modeling shoot?  My mother?  Unlikely.  She had long since abandoned the notion of having a masculine son.  I think she thought I was gay anyway.  I had few friends, and none of them close.  No one would care.  I knew it. 

But did I want to do it?  I thought about how it had made me feel, being singled out by Greg, being noticed by men...Yes.  I wanted it.

I slipped the panties up my smooth legs.  I looked in the mirror; my tiny package barely made a bulge.  The makeup on my face wasn't heavy, but you could tell it was there.  It accentuated my eyes, and brought out the shape of my lips.  Before, I was beautiful.  With the makeup, I felt...whatever comes after beautiful. 

After putting on the panties, it was easy.  I just went with it.  I don't know what it was; maybe some sort of wall in my mind had been destroyed.  Or maybe I just got caught up in the excitement.  Who knows?

But the photo shoot went very, very well.  I posed in all sorts of positions, in all sorts of clothes.  It was clear in all of them that I was a boy; we didn't try to pretend I had breasts or anything.  There were even a few of me just in my panties. 

It was such a rush, knowing that I was the center of attention, that every eye -- from the photographer to the makeup girl to the lighting guy -- was on me.  I didn't come down until late that night, hours after the photo shoot was finished.

But even then, when the excitement had faded slightly, I knew that I wanted more.

1 comment:

  1. Really enjoying this story, the character seems to
    be growing toward some major understandings of who
    he is or wants to be.