A/N: This is a continuation of a long-dormant series. I've generally moved on from celebrity stuff, but one guy keeps messaging me on here asking if I'd write a Marissa Miller story. I won't. He did also mention Izabel Goulart, who does interest me somewhat. I think I'm a much better writer than I was when I wrote the earlier entries, but I am just going to write this in a single sitting as a festive present for my fan. Whoever you are, if you read this, please let me know if you enjoyed it.
It was a cold, dark January. I wished that my freelance photography had sent me to Barbados or the Seychelles or Palau, the sorts of places where I usually did lots of photoshoots for Victoria's Secret and Sports Illustrated. I was slightly miffed to be in Finland, where it was cold and dark. The shoot was taking place in a well-insulated house on the edge of Tampere, in the lakeland region of Finland. It was -6 outside, gloomy, with slushy snow covering a layer of slippery ice that made the ground treacherous.
There were a few silver linings. Firstly, I didn't have to go outside very much. And secondly, I was cooped up with Izabel Goulart. We were shooting a Christmas advert for VS. Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, but those adverts that come out every September featuring models in snow? Those weren't shot at the Christmas they're advertised for - or even the previous Christmas. Much cheaper to make them in January or February.
VS' people had dressed the set with Christmas decorations, set up the lighting to my specifications, and got Izabel made-up. Now it was just me and her. Izabel was modelling a sparkling red bra and panties set with a white trim, which was very festive.
"Looking good, Izabel," I said encouragingly as I snapped a few photos of her looking over her shoulder at me, being sure to capture her perfect backside. That was always a big part of the brief when photographing Izabel - she'd spent years toning that butt with squats and lunges, so it made total sense that VS wanted to use it to help sell lingerie.
I must admit that I was feeling slightly nervous. Look, I don't want to brag, but photographing beautiful women wearing very few clothes was my job, so I wasn't feeling embarrassed. But Izabel knew full well that I'd hooked up with a few of her friends after shoots. She'd even watched me fuck Alessandra Ambrosio.
OK, maybe I do want to brag, just a bit. Or a lot.
I knew Izabel was married. Most of the models I'd fucked were. But their husbands were mostly abstract ideas to me, not people I knew anything about. Lily Aldridge had been the exception - and of all my illicit trysts, she was the only one I had any regrets about.
I knew Izabel's husband, if only really by reputation: Kevin Trapp. On one hand, he was a professional soccer player. On the other, he was a goalkeeper, which doesn't count. On another hand, he played for the Germany men's national team, which was impressive, given their soccer culture. On an improbable fourth hand, he was the third choice goalkeeper, benched behind the legendary Manuel Neuer of Bavaria Munich and Marc-André ter Stegen of CF Barcelona.
You can say a lot of things about me, but one thing you can't say is that I'm anyone's third choice.
"Alright, I think we've pretty much got everything we need," I said. "Thanks, Iza. Good shoot."
"Oh, I think we need a little bit more," Izabel said. She dropped to her knees. "Come closer and get one of me like this. It'll be really sexy."
It wasn't a shot that VS had requested. They preferred stuff that was only mildly suggestive, not as provocative as that. A high-angled shot of Izabel kneeling would put the viewer in a position of power, suggesting submission on Izabel's part as well as the prospect of oral sex. Still, maybe they would like that. I stood right in front of Izabel and began to raise my camera.
