Copyright 2013 Theo Fenraven
This story contains material suitable only for adults.
The contract must have been to his liking, because he messengered it over the next morning with his signature. The post-it note attached said, “Terms agreeable. Let’s move forward.” And he’d added a phone number.
I checked my schedule, talked to my dad, and then called and left him a message. “I have two times available in the next couple of weeks. This Saturday, 1 pm, or next Wednesday at four. Weather report says both days should be nice and warm.”
He returned my call before noon. “Let’s shoot for Saturday.”
I marked it in my calendar. “Okay, you’re booked.”
“Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nope. Just show up.” I gave him the address, and then added, “Maybe your dog. I might work him into some shots.” He’d acquired him recently, and pics of them together had started showing up online.
“Will do. See you then.”
∞ ∞ ∞
I showed up at the farm early on Saturday, so I could chat with my dad before work began—and this was work, however excited I was about it. If I didn’t concentrate and pay attention, I wouldn’t produce quality material, and that would hurt future business. So I checked my digital cameras at least three times, made sure the lights worked, and went over in my head some of the things I wanted to try, if he was amenable. I had a feeling he’d go along with anything I suggested, because he was a nice guy.
He was on time, driving up in a Honda CRV, his dog, Kaz, in the passenger seat, tongue hanging out. Kaz was a German Shepherd/Lab mix, as any fan of Will’s would know, just as they knew he was a rescue. I saw Will arrive from the kitchen window and went out to meet him. He stepped out of the vehicle wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved blue denim shirt, sneakers on his feet. I’m a photographer; I always notice the clothes, even when they’re going to come off. Kaz jumped out behind him and immediately started running around. My dad’s farm is populated with an assortment of animals, so Kaz had a lot of interesting scents to chase.
He grinned at me. “Nice day.”
There was that knee-weakening smile again. “Perfect.” It was, the temp around eighty, blue skies, almost no wind. “I’ll just grab my cameras, some lights, the music, and we’ll go.” I also had a backpack with me, full of bottled water and snacks in case of sudden hunger.
Inside, Dad said, “Good-looking guy,” peeking around the kitchen curtains.
“It’s just another job,” I said, nervously, running a hand through my spiky light brown hair, but I was lying. Will was special.
Will immediately offered to help me carry stuff, and I let him. That shit was heavy. I led the way across the yard to the barn. This was a working farm, and the loft was full of hay. There was also a lot of interesting machinery around, against which he could lounge or even sit on if he had a mind to.
I directed him to set things down by the back door, through which early afternoon sun was pouring. “Here’s the speech,” I said, sitting down on a bale of hay, next to which a pitchfork rested. “We’ll start out doing a regular shoot. You know, you pose and I take pictures.” He listened to me intently. “Ever hear the story about Julia Roberts on the set of Sleeping with the Enemy?” When he shook his head, I said, “There was a scene early in the movie where she was required to run around in her underwear. She was young, and it made her uncomfortable. To put her at ease, the crew stripped down to their underwear when she did.” He laughed. “Hey, true story. As we go along, I’ll ask you to remove your clothing, a little at a time. I’ve found that works best. If you want, I’ll remove the same article of clothing you do. If your shirt comes off, so does mine. And so on.”
He nodded. “Sounds fair.”
“That also has the advantage of keeping us on the same level, and that way I get better photos,” I explained. “One more thing. Erections.”
He stared, and then laughed out loud, a really big laugh. “What about them?”
I laughed, too. “If you get one, don’t worry about it. Happens a lot in this situation.”
“What if you get one?”
I flushed, feeling the heat in my cheeks. “Occupational hazard when working with bodies as pretty as yours. Ignore or appreciate, the choice is yours.”
He was still laughing. “Okay, anything else?”
“You like music?”
“I’ve got my iPod on shuffle, so who knows what’ll come up, but music often helps everyone relax, and to do my best work, I have to be relaxed, too.”
“I’m ready. Where do you want me?”
I looked around. “That stall door; lean up against it, looking out into the sun. And don’t pose. Just be yourself.” I’d decided to go easy on the extra lighting. I wanted to get fill light when necessary, and maybe bounce some light off his face.
He moved to where I’d directed him and leaned against the aged wood, elbows on the top plank. I turned on the music and Loreena McKennitt started to sing. It was a good first choice, as the music was soothing and quiet.
I looked at him through the camera and sighed. Totally gorgeous, no doubt about it. “I see a GQMF,” I said, and he emitted another one of those big laughs, the kind that comes all the way up from the diaphragm. It was interesting he knew this meant “GQ motherfucker” and confirmed my suspicion that at least this celebrity visited his fan sites. I started shooting, moving around a little and making adjustments as I went. “Better. Tell me a story.”
That took him by surprise. “A story?”
“Sure. Like, how did you celebrate your twenty-first birthday?”
He smiled. “Got drunk, threw up in my brother’s car. He yelled at me for a while, and I passed out after that.”
“So stereotypical. I would have expected something different from you. Like hearing you went to a poetry meeting, picked someone up, and had wild passionate sex with them in the back of your car.”
“I like your version better,” he said, and I continued to take pictures. In just those few minutes, he’d relaxed about 100 percent. I was getting some great stuff. Time to move things along.
“Take off your shoes and socks,” I directed, and he immediately complied, tossing them aside.
He pointed to my feet, and I laughed and removed my footwear. “Let’s switch places. You take the hay bale.”
He straddled it, bare feet hanging off either end. Without thinking, he picked up a stray piece and stuck it in his mouth. Yes. I snapped away.
“Pull your shirt out and unbutton it.”
He did, and I finally got a glimpse of that famous chest and the flat stomach below. I positioned him this way and that to catch the light and then requested he remove the shirt. It joined the shoes and socks, and I pulled off my T-shirt and threw it in the same direction. I have almost no hair on my chest, and I felt more naked than he probably did, with that lovely pelt of fur across his pecs.
Smiling, he turned so he was facing the open door and lay back on the hay bale. Oh, gawd. My mouth went dry as he stretched out. Every muscle in his torso was visible, and lower, his thigh muscles tightened against the black jeans, stretching the denim so it accentuated the bulge.
I swallowed. “That’s really good. Terrific light, good position. Can you undo the button of your jeans and open them just a little?”
He undid the top button, unzipped, and parted the material. The happy trail was very much in evidence, and for a couple of seconds, I was dizzy.