Here's hoping you will enjoy this effort. The author has never worked in the porn industry so any errors or misjudgements are entirely because of his ignorance and he hopes you will forgive his trespasses. If you enjoy Nifty's magnificent literary library please give as generously as you can next time you come across a really good, sexy yarn which has you reaching for the box of tissues! Send your gift http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html On second thoughts, why not have a go yourself?
I HAD BEEN a photographer with one of the most important male modelling agencies for a number of years before I encountered my first truly charismatic model. I had often wondered what the word actually meant, so I made an effort and looked it up in my big dictionary. The definition it gave read: charisma (n): the quality or power of an individual to attract, influence, or inspire people.' I had heard of models considered to be genuinely charismatic when facing a battery of lights and cameras but I had never come across one – until now. I had always regarded such stories as apocryphal fables. However, I was aware that the arrogant behaviour of such models was usually tolerated and encouraged by certain celebrity photographers, largely because the results of their shoots invariably meant mega sales and commissions from prestigious publications such as Cosmopolitan, Elle and Vogue. These led, in turn, to profitable TV or film contracts, as well as centrefolds and, in the case of male models, major advertising features for the extremely lucrative glossy pink' magazine market (Gay Times, Attitude and the like.) Something to do, I was told, with raw sex appeal and the desire to lust after something one had no chance of obtaining. Crap, if you ask me, much more likely to do with an indefinable and probably deceptive quality of seductiveness generating quantities of dollars or euros or yen. Anyway, that is all beside the point.
Gino del Luongo's nineteen year old body was unblemished, a masterpiece of physical perfection. Nervously standing there in front of me, he was the epitome of youth on the verge of adulthood. On my instructions, he was wearing US Marine Corps lace up boots and stylishly cut Moroschina swim briefs which I had gone to much expense and trouble to import from Moscow just for this one shoot and which I intended to present to Gino after the successful conclusion of the shoot. The glacial whiteness of the rich satinised swim wear contrasted perfectly with his naturally golden brown skin, inherited from his Neapolitan ancestors, creating a vision that you only saw a few times in your lifetime. It could cause traffic to screech to an abrupt halt, trains to derail and planes to abort take-off. It had certainly stopped me in my tracks, causing a primeval swelling in my crotch and buzzing in my ears, dryness in my throat and blood to pulse in my veins. The sap was undoubtedly rising in this jaded, dried up old stick.
I had only glanced briefly through his portfolio that morning in the hotel, not having time to give it my usual detailed scrutiny as I was running fiendishly late with the current schedule. I had handed him over to Andy, my trusty `gopher', with instructions to get him into something suitable for a trial posing session later in the day. I was now making my first assessment of him as he materialised in my viewfinder.
Looking at another photographer's prints of standard studio poses in a portfolio hardly gives one an idea of what to hope for from a prospective model and I certainly had not expected to see anyone radiating so much virility and raw sex as was revealed here. I stared at the image for a few seconds attempting to take in the full impact of it. I am usually very quick to come to a decision but I found myself trying to find words to do justice to it. All I could come up with were feeble terms like attractive', seductive', `stunning', trite clichés of our trade that were applied too frequently to too many male and female models. I needed to find a word of unique power to convey the extraordinary impact made by the nearly naked male body I was contemplating. Eureka! The word came into my mind like a bombshell: EXPLOSIVE!
As far as I was aware, Gino del Luongo had been a rather unimportant member of the modelling team we had assembled for this major video shoot. Indeed, the most he could have hoped for as a first-timer was to role play a rather `chic shabby' wine waiter and be very fortunate if his brief appearance handing round trays of drinks in the background was not cut during the editing process back in London. Hitherto, he had been just another good looking if slightly anonymous young man from the wilds of south-east London, on his first professional photo shoot. No doubt he was feeling a bit out of his depth with little to do but cost the studio a lot of hard cash just to kick his heels and lounge around a seven-star hotel on the Cote d'Azur.
Gino had slipped off to the male changing room after breakfast where, without warning, he encountered one of our most internationally celebrated and hung male models in the all-together, sporting a rampant stiffie. One of the bellboys was bent over in front of him with his trousers round his ankles and arse in the air. Andy had seen Gino rush out of the changing room, his face as red as a boiled lobster, with the celebrity's ringing laughter in his ears. The newcomer was clearly a raw recruit to this business and was definitely shy about it all, trying to hide his body under layers of unbecoming bulky clothing in spite of the oppressive Mediterranean heat of mid-June on the Cote d'Azur.
He had managed to retain a gamin boyishness that was peculiarly unsettling. Yet the fusion of his languishing good looks, his air of naivete, his hint of youthful arrogance and his awareness of the effect he was having on the men and most of the women around him, all combined to make me excited – and a little scared. When you have worked through as many all-male shoots for raw-sex skin mags as I have you feel entitled to become blasé with the familiarity of it all: one darn prick is very much like another after a while. It takes a nervous, unsure of himself innocent like Gino del Luongo, facing his very first bare-all professional photo session, to bring everything into focus. Although the extent of his nervousness was becoming evident to all the pro's on the shoot, both behind and in front of the camera, and the undeniable fact that he was beginning to worry me, I really liked what I saw in that viewfinder. I was ready to believe that in Gino del Luongo we just might have stumbled upon a potential superstar male model to rival the legendary Johan Paulik of BelAmi fame. However, a hell of a lot of time, money and many reputations (including mine) were being staked on this shoot and no one, least of all me, could afford one single slip up. Nothing – absolutely nothing – must go wrong.
Tomorrow we were scheduled to do a series of preliminary takes to sort out potential blips like unwanted shadows cast by nearby buildings, glare bouncing off someone's carelessly parked limo, awkwardly placed palms and bushes which could interfere with positioning, that sort of thing. I was hoping that these trial runs would help Gino to overcome his shyness, get to know some of his fellow models, try not to trip over lighting rigs or expensive hi-tech cameras on tripods and to ignore all the noise and general mayhem of a video shoot.
The real photography would be done the following day, in three major sessions. Very early in the morning to catch the softer dawn light on the impressive white marble escalier at the rear of the hotel, with a majestic colonnade behind it, leading down to a vast expanse of velvety lawns overlooking the cerulean blue of the sea. Lunch would have to be taken on the hoof to allow for an early afternoon session when the full overhead glare of the midday sun had lessened. There would be a break to give the models some rest and preparation time for the early evening `cocktail hour' shoot, also to capture the subtle changes in the quality of the light from the setting sun.
This was to be followed by the most testing and important part of the day's work as far as our male models were concerned. Wearing extremely glamorous and expensive evening dress (on hire, of course), they would play at being some of the world's richest men (in their dreams!) Our sponsors had laid out enormous sums of money for the hotel to come up with a faux Oscars-style award ceremony at which our cast of world-weary models would appear as minor or up-and-coming celebrities'. I had made a decision that we would add an extra award', that of Best Male Newcomer and that Gino would play that role. It had not been a popular decision in certain quarters and had generated hours of overtime to change the shooting script to fit it in. Neverthless, I got my way.
All the wealthy bona fide guests who would be staying at the hotel had received discreet invitations several weeks previously to attend a lavish celebratory dinner and cabaret. They had been told this was to celebrate the completion of an important photographic event connected with publicity for a major espionage movie in the final stages of production back in the States. These guests had been informed that cameras would be filming the event all evening and alternative arrangements would be made by the resort management for those who had objections to being caught on camera to dine discreetly elsewhere. Male guests who accepted the invitation had been requested to wear full white tie while the ladies were asked to wear evening dress with jewellery such as tiaras and other gewgaws. For those who could not bring that kind of gear with them, they would be given unhindered free access to `borrow' whatever took their fancy from the huge emporium operating in the foyer. However, it was now time for me to get back to work and see just what this kid could deliver.
"OK, Gino, you're looking great. I would like to take you through a practice run now so you will get some idea of what will happen tomorrow. Go off with Andy and get kitted out. Ask Doris in Wardrobe if she has still got those skin-tight blue jeans we had in New York for Danny Everard. He's about your size and build. While you are there, find a tight fitting clean white T-shirt and, please, don't wear any socks or shoes, I think we'll go barefoot to emphasise that gamin look of yours. OK?"
"Yes, Mr Charles."
"Oh, there's no need to be so formal, boy. I'm not your headmaster you know. Call me Leland like everyone else does. Even I can't remember what my real name is!" He grinned, sheepishly. "Anything else you want to know before we start?"
"Er – what exactly does `gamin' mean?"
"It's kind of affectionate French slang for a street urchin." Seeing a suspicious look cross his face, I hastened to reassure him. "There's nothing bad about it, Gino."
He looked at me through half-closed eyes, as if he were trying to fathom me out. Was I trying to make a pass at him? I didn't know myself then what the truthful answer to that question would have been. He looked down and said nothing. Meanwhile, Andy and the lighting supremo Louis had been fiddling around and gave me the sign that all was ready.
I called out to Gino and told him to begin moving around slowly, just to get used to avoiding all the equipment and to forget about the camera and me. At first, he simply shambled around in front of the lighting rig in the threadbare, ingeniously ripped jeans and muscle-hugging white T-shirt that Doris had resurrected. He was obviously nervous and self-conscious but he still looked utterly drop-dead, gut-wrenchingly dazzling, the very apotheosis of SEX. He filled the jeans to perfection. They seemed to be a part of him, concealing his body yet revealing everything through cleverly placed small tears and holes. I dared not believe that this boy, when stripped, would fulfil the promise of the way he looked in those jeans. As he gained more assurance he began moving his hips and buttocks in time to the soft Latin beat of the music Andy had organised.
"Oh, that's good Gino, very good. Now just discard the T-shirt slowly, in time to the music, without missing the beat. Think you can do that?"
He threw me a look straight from the back streets of Naples that said more clearly than any words, "You fucking dirty minded wanker, I can do this sort of stuff in my sleep."
He discarded the T-shirt in one fluid motion, disclosing the utter flawlessness of his torso. A barely smothered gasp from Andy told me there could be no further doubt that young Gino del Luongo oozed sex as easily as most guys leaked perspiration in this humid heat. I glanced over to where Andy was standing out of shot, just in time to catch him pulling at his crotch, trying to ease the pressure his rapidly swelling cock was experiencing. The boy must really be something special if he could turn on a hoary, seen-it-all-before old timer like Andy.
I could not keep myself from staring at the image in the viewfinder. A part – a very small part – of my brain kept telling me I was rapidly turning into a dirty old man, but I was past caring. As I stood there something compelled me to stare lustfully at the perfection of the body hidden from me until now. In all the years I had been photographing young men for the `pink' glossies I had seen too many muscle-bound gym fairies. Gino's body was altogether special; he did not quite have a swimmer's V-shaped torso, but that basic form with proportionately balanced broad shoulders; his pecs were outlined rather than strongly defined. His stomach was subtly flat with just a hint of a six-pack, his biceps delightfully moulded. His bodily definition was excellent, the kind that could only come from good old-fashioned manual labour, and even more attractive for all that.
"Do you want me to do anything else, Leland?"
I pulled myself together, not having been aware I had almost been in a state of suspended animation, having fallen victim to the magic of charisma.
"Oh, sorry, folks. I was just thinking about giving young Gino here a more important job to do tomorrow. Yes, Gino, would you mind changing back into those Moroschina briefs so I can do just a teensy bit more. Then we'll call it a wrap for today."
"Sure thing, boss," he grinned cheekily and glided off behind the backcloth with Andy panting along behind him. What had I done?
I had made an instant, off the cuff commitment to the youngster which everyone present had heard. This was something I had never done before. I could not back out of it now; to do so could prove fatal to the whole shoot. That languid cockiness of his had effectively blown my so carefully crafted schedules sky high. OK, he still appeared to be very nervous, apprehensive and unsure of his position, but that blend of innocence and cynical mistrust was producing a dangerous, highly charged, sexually explosive mixture, which could act like dynamite in that viewfinder if I mishandled this tense situation. However, I was not the only one who would have to tread carefully through this minefield. A sudden disturbance behind the backcloth was followed by Gino's raised, angry voice.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Keep your filthy hands off me, pervert!"
To my horror, I heard Andy stutter and stammer. "I'm s-s-sorry, Gino, it was an accident. I didn't m-m-mean to t-t-touch you there."
"Like fuck you didn't, you dirty old sod."
Gino suddenly appeared in front of the backcloth, dressed in the swimwear as instructed. I pretended I had not heard the exchange between them.
"OK, Gino, let's get this over and we can all relax round the pool with a few drinks. Ready?"
There was a frigid silence as Andy and Louis stopped what they were doing to watch young Gino del Luongo filling a pair of swimming briefs as if we had never seen briefs filled before. I knew my tongue must have been hanging out, panting and drooling like a thirsty dog. I had to clear my throat twice before I could speak.
"Fine. Now turn around slowly – stretch and flex – (Please, boy, don't squeeze those arse cheeks together like that, you'll have me shooting a load in my pants if you do it again!) – move again in time to the beat – oh, that's brill!" (I just can't watch that bulging packet moving around inside that thin cotton pouch any longer, its like watching ferrets in a sack. As for the way the cloth stretches over those perfect, muscular globes of his arse ...) I knew I should have had the courage to end the session at that point but I told myself I had to check him one more time in the viewfinder.
"Gino, can you do those last couple of moves again, more slowly this time, for the benefit of the camera. Thanks."
He did something subtly different this time. I did not know what it was – and to this day I still don't – but I felt my groin stirring heavily, my cock pressing against my briefs, aching as it became trapped in the confines of the pouch.
The longer I gazed at that image in the viewfinder, the more I began to notice many small things about Gino del Luongo that were slowly driving me crazy. His smouldering brown eyes, that boyish, impish grin, the skin-tight Moroschina briefs tightly embracing the curvature of his seductively muscular arse. His slab of thick cock nestling against his left thigh. His broad shoulders and sculpted pecs seemed to be cunningly understated. His nipples crinkling into temptingly pink points and I observed the twin mounds of his bubble butt flexing every time he moved or bent over. He had me. Deep in my groin and deep in my stomach, I knew he had got me. I might be keeping control of myself and the session but he was so artlessly charismatic that I used two rolls of film in no time at all. Yet I still had not managed to get him to strip any further than to hook his thumb inside the elastic waistband of the briefs and drag them down just far enough to expose the base of his thick shaft crowned with a cushion of light brown pubic hair.
"Fuck, you're a real hot number," I said, unable to keep silent any longer. "You're going to need a minder to keep the hordes of females away once they see these photos!" He smiled and threw me a saucy wink.
"You gonna get them into the mags, then? Even though they're not official, like?"
I could not answer. I knew these pictures would never appear on the legitimate market. They had only been taken for test purposes with no intention of being published and nothing had been signed. As a professional model Gino had legal rights and I knew I would never be able to persuade him to sign the necessary releases to enable anyone to publish. There simply was no way I could override his right of veto. I knew he would never be this innocent again and that these pictures would show a less assured Gino del Luongo than I would get tomorrow, or the day after, or even the day after that. I took a few more quick shots as he pulled on the threadbare jeans and clinging T-shirt again. As I watched him, I knew there was a porn superstar in the making. More implortantly, I could see that Gino had sensed it too. He could see dollar signs everywhere. He knew he'd probably have to take cock up his arse to make the mega bucks, but that prospect did not seem to faze him. I also knew that over the next three or four days, this neophyte would flourish in front of my lens and all that youthful innocence would disappear forever. So would any trace of camera shyness. Andy handed me an ice-cold pure orange drink as I continued to watch Gino.
"That boy is one fucking horny bastard," Andy growled in my ear. "Don't you wish you could slip that hunk of teenage meat in your mouth and suck forever?"
Andy's crude words rattled around my head as Gino stopped to chat to a couple of the make-up girls. "The other guys tell me he's as straight as a ramrod, with loads of teenage self-importance," Andy continued. "Fuck! These boys get hotter every year!"
"No, Andy, it's just that you're getting older every year," I murmured.
"Why the fuck do all these porn models who want to appear in the gay mags have to be so fucking straight?"
Andy strove off like a peevish little boy who had lost his favourite toy. I sipped slowly on the orange. Yes, I reflected, Andy had a point. Perhaps youthful bravado, egotism and the lure of money had brought Gino to this point in his young life in the first place. Besides, the effect Gino was having on the two girls he was chatting to told me he just had to be straight.
To be continued...