"Have you ever done any print modeling before?" Kim Fairchild says, shutting the door of her office behind her.
Kim Fairchild doesn't look like an executive for an adult magazine, but then again Joel Wilcox doesn't know what an executive for an adult magazine should look like. Joel is twenty-three, with dark good looks and a polite, self-effacing manner that women read either as modest and quiet, or confident and mysterious. But it is not his personality that he is shopping today.
"No," Joel replies, in answer to her question.
The whole experience is a bit surreal. A week ago Joel appeared naked with three women and two men in a performance art piece staged in a Westside loft. Two days later, he got a call from the director of the gallery. Someone had seen him at the show and wanted to know if he was interested in being photographed for an adult magazine. He was given a name and phone number and told that the money was good.
Kim motions for Joel to sit as she walks toward her chair behind a huge glass topped desk. She is an attractive woman in her early thirties, with intelligent eyes, flawless skin, and a short cropped blonde haircut that is fashionable if unruly. She wears a dark red shade of lipstick that adds a touch of drama to her face without being showy. Her pant suit is pale green; the white blouse underneath is simple, with broad starched lapels that open at the neck. She wears no jewelry.
Joel settles into a soft leather chair across from her. The office is sleek and modern, a medley of black lacquer and brushed chrome. Through the window behind Kim's desk, Beverly Hills lies unobstructed.
Kim sits in a tall, black leather office chair and studies him with a painter's eye for detail. "Forty-five percent of our readership is female," she says with a hint of challenge in her voice. "Does that surprise you?"
Joel isn't sure. He likes the implication that today's women are comfortable with the magazine's stock in trade, glossy, full-color, in-your-face brand of sex. "No," he says, smiling agreeably.
"You were in a show at the Greenberg gallery," she says.
"My friend Collette hooked me up. She teaches a life drawing class," he says in his easy manner. "I do some modeling for her students."
"You like taking your clothes off in front of people?"
Joel smiles in spite of himself. "Sure," he says.
Kim fixes her eyes on him again for a second then looks away at some papers on her desk. "I take it that you're familiar with our magazine?" she says lifting the papers and tapping them on end with an officious air.
"Yes," he says, trying to recall the last issue he had seen.
"Then you understand what we're looking for." She waits just a second to emphasize the point. "If we hire you, you are agreeing to being photographed in a very explicit manner. I cannot emphasize that point enough. You must be absolutely sure you want to do this type of work. Once you sign the contract, you are bound by its terms and conditions. The bottom line is this is a business. We take what we do very seriously and expect the same from you." Kim pauses for a moment. "Occasionally we run into what we call performance issues, particularly with our male models. We don't really have time to deal with bullshit at the eleventh hour when we have a crew and deadlines waiting. So, if you're shy or anxious or think you might have second thoughts, now is the time to say it, and we won't waste each other's time any longer." She pauses again. "I assume we won't have a problem with that?"
"No," he says.
"So, let's go ahead and have you sign the preliminary release, and then we'll have Susan come in." Kim pushes a sheet of paper and pen across the desk towards him. "Basically, this says you are eighteen years of age, that you are choosing to proceed of your own free will, and that you will hold us harmless."
He scans the page, signs at the bottom and hands it back to her.
"Good," she says. "Hold on." She picks up the phone and punches the keypad. "Tell Susan we're ready." She replaces the phone and folds her hands in front of her. "Susan is one of our project coordinator. She'll want to see you naked."
"Here?" Joel says, with mild surprise.
"There's a chair and a screen over in the corner where you can undress. And, in case you're worried," she adds with a nod, "the windows are tinted. No one can see in."
Joel gets up and walks behind the screen. A moment later, the air is punctuated with a sharp tap on Kim's door, followed by the staccato tick-tocking of heels on the hardwood floor that is silenced once they hit Kim's Persian carpet. As Joel unbuttons his shirt, he hears a muted exchange of greeting between the women and the rustling of paper.
Joel hangs his shirt on a hook, then slides his pants off. On the wall behind the screen is a full length mirror. He turns and studies his reflection. A ninety minute workout that morning has blasted his upper body to massive proportions. His shoulders and chest are dense and hard; the corded muscles in his abdomen sharply defined. He breathes in, peering over his shoulder at the muscles in his back; then he slips off his underwear. His eyes trail down to his dick thickening with excitement. Experience has taught him how to arouse himself for extended periods of time without achieving full erection. He circles the index finger and thumb of his right hand around the base of this cock, then begins stroking himself lightly back and forth, up and down, awakening the powerful contracting muscles deep in his groin. He watches his penis expand in the mirror, smooth and veined, tapering to the long, beveled head. After a half minute, he extends the strokes down the entire length, finishing with the head. He releases his grip, allowing his dick to hang free. He checks himself in the mirror one more time, noting the symmetry of his shoulders and chest, narrowing at the waist, pulling the eye down inevitably to the dark root between his legs. Satisfied, he walks out from behind the screen into the open office.
The women look up as he approaches, suppressing any hint of desire behind a mask of professional objectivity. Susan Beckwith wears dark eye shadow that obscures her pale blue eyes. Her dark brown hair is piled on her head and pulled back with a clip. Single strands hang loose around the edges of her face. She wears clear lip polish, a black and white V-striped top that bares her collar bone, and a black denim skirt with zippers. Despite her and Kim's concealed reaction, Joel senses a crackling sexual current suffusing the room. The approval he wants is always silent and restrained - in the case of women it manifests itself in widened eyes, lingering looks, and nervous uncertainty. Sometimes he sees the chest rising, nipples hardening perceptibly beneath bra and blouse.
"Susan," Kim begins, "this is Joel Wilcox."
Joel reaches out and shakes Susan's hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," she says, releasing his hand. She steps back, eyeing him like a thoroughbred from head to toe. "That is one incredible body."
"Thank you," he says.
