Nude Male Modeling

It was 1992, and I was a nineteen year old Literature student struggling to make my way through college. I had already had several jobs that year, but none that were too my liking, and none that paid enough to help me cover my bills, not to mention the student loan payments.

I was in habit of looking through the classifieds on a daily basis, just incase there was something interesting there, and that was where I found it. It was a small ad tucked away in the corner between a picture of a used car and some other rubbish. It read: "Male model needed. Age 18-25. Must be willing to pose nude. 100$ payment for full photoshoot. Apply at 437 Clinewood Lane, J. Anderson." A hundred Dollars was more than what I made in an entire month at my regular job. I could pay all my sundry bills and still have a little left over for the load payments.

Now I had never considered myself attractive, much less a model, but I wasn't too bad. I was about six feet tall, with an average build and a mop of shaggy hair that most people seemed to like. The nude part bothered me, but it was hard to say no to a hundred dollars. So I convinced myself that it was art, like romantic paintings or Greek statues; I would be taking part in an artistic endeavor.

As for the actual photoshoot, I imagined that it would be me, Mr. J. Anderson and maybe a few other people. It would be like being nude in the boys locker-room, not one of my favorite memories, but still better than waiting tables at four in the morning. I decided not to waste time and went that very afternoon. I was afraid that if I waited any longer, some other desperate opportunist might make it there before me and snag the job.

Clinewood Lane wasn't very far from where I was, just about forty minutes by bus. It was a quiet suburban cul-de-sac, with small, quaint houses and a little park in the middle of everything. I liked it.

No. 437 was towards the end, a red and white cottage with primroses growing out front; it did not at all seem like the place where one would go for nude modeling. As I knocked on the door I remember having this horrible feeling that I had come to the wrong address, and that I was going to make a fool of myself.

A woman answered the door. She must have been in late forties, with long dark hair and a bird-like face, which looked somewhat stern.

"I'm looking for a Mr. J. Anderson," I asked, certain by now that I had come to the wrong address.

"Ah, you must be here for the modeling job," she said. She was tall, almost as tall as me, dressed in white pants, and this loose fitting blouse that had slipped off her left shoulder.

"Yes," I said rather nervously.

"I'm Miss Joan Anderson," she said offering me her hand as if she wanted me to kiss it. "Why don't you come in."

Rather confused, I let her lead me in to the living room. Looking back, I'm not sure why I did that; I could have just left right then and saved myself a whole lot of trouble and humiliation. But I was still asking myself if she was the J. Anderson? The J. Anderson who took pictures of nude males, how could that be?

The living room was fairly ordinary, with a flower print soft set, a coffee table, and a few potted plants. There was no television there, which I found was odd, and a strong scent of perfume hung over everything. I remember wondering if Miss Joan Anderson lived by herself, the house felt very feminine to me. (I later learned that she did live alone.)

"Would you like some coffee or lemonade?" she asked as we sat down.

"No thank you," I replied. I really wasn't interested in food or drinks right then.

"Let's get started then," she said, leaning back in her chair. I was sitting opposite her on the sofa. "How old are you?" was her first question.

"I'm nineteen."

"And have you ever done modeling before?" was her next question

"No," I said truthfully.

"So why do you want to start now?" she asked.

"I...I...need the money," I admitted rather shamefully.

She smiled, "I understand. Well usually this is the part of the interview where I'd want to look through your portfolio and discuss some of the things you have done in the past, but since we don't of any of that, how about we just get started."

"Okay..." I had said, not being sure what she meant.

"Why don't you stand up and get undressed for me" she said as if it was the most casual thing in the world. I guess my face must have revealed my surprise because she then said "Surely you do know that this will be a nude photoshoot?"

"I..do," I replied. Unable to say that what was really troubling me was not the nudity, but the fact that the photographer was a woman who was old enough to be my mother.

However, I had come too far then to back out. So I reminded myself of the hundred Dollars I would make if I got that job; I really did need it. I felt that was already at a disadvantage since I had no prior modeling experience, and so became determined to act as professionally as I could.

I started to undress, taking off my shirt and trousers, rather conscious of the fact that she was watching me. I wasn't sure if that was how it was usually done, or, if perhaps, it was one of he perks of her job. Her gaze didn't seem lustful, or sexual, but I was still very aware of the fact that she was watching me.

As I was about to take off my underpants I noticed that there was a woman in the next yard hanging up her washing. "There is somebody outside..." I said

"Oh that's just Mrs. Krimple," she replied "Don't worry about her, she's well used to my eccentricities."

That was all well and good, only I wasn't worried about Mrs. Krimple I was worried about my own privacy, something which Miss Anderson seemed to have no concern for at all. I suppose she was so used to having nude models around that she didn't really consider their modesty to be an issue. I wasn't in a position to complain at the time and so, despite my better judgment, I lowered my shorts and exposed myself to her. It was the first time, as an adult, that I had ever been naked in front of a woman. It was liberating, and awkward, and scary, I was just so conscious of the fact that my "bits" where hanging out for all to see.

At this point I must admit that I am not well endowed, something that I had sadly not realized back then. I had never compared myself to other men, even in the locker rooms I had never "looked", and since I was not sexually active at the time I really had no way of knowing that I was small.

So I stood there with my hands by my sides, resisting the desperate urge to cover myself, and let Miss. Anderson survey my naked body. Her gaze was surprisingly explicit, and she made no attempt to hide the fact that she was looking at my genitals. I have never known a woman to be so candid, especially a woman of her age. I my high school science teacher couldn't even sum up the courage to say the word "penis" during Biology class.

"Turn around," she told me after she had had a good look at my front. I turned, and unfortunately found myself in full view of the window. Outside, Mrs. Kimple had left, but there was now a young girl roaming about the yard. She looked to be about the same age as me, and she was searching through the grass for something. Mortified, I covered myself up with my hands, praying that she would not see me. Thankfully, she went away a few minutes later without having seen me.

"You can turn back now dear," said Miss. Anderson, and so I turned back feeling a bit like a puppet on display. "We're almost done. I just need to see you with an erection," she said, as if it were absolutely normal for a middle aged woman to ask to see a young man's erection.

"Is that necessary?" I asked.

"For this shoot it is," she replied "Do you think you can manage?"

"Yes," I nodded stupidly, even though I had not planned for this. My reasoning at the time was that I was already naked, so a hard on would just be a small step further. "How shall I do it?" I asked, wondering if she had a spare room or something where I could go and arouse myself.

"I would have imagined that you knew how to do it," she said rather dryly.

"No. Of course I do," I said feeling embarrassed "I just asking if I should do it here or..."

"By all means," she said waving her hand as if to say the floor was mine.

I took a deep breath, and started stroking myself. Minutes passed and nothing happened, absolutely nothing. I was as limp as a sock. That had never happened to be before. I had always been quick to get hard, as all young men are.

"Will you be much longer?" she asked me then. I could tell that she was growing impatient.

"Just a little bit," I lied, having absolutely no idea what I was going to do.

"Well let me know when you do," she said, and she picked up a magazine and started to skim through it.

I was both humiliated and relieved by that; humiliated because her disinterest in me made me feel literally and figuratively impotent, but I also felt relieved because she was now no longer looking at me. I quickly realized that my main problem was that I needed something physical to look at to arouse myself. Fantasies and the likes had never worked for me, I always needed some sort of visual stimulation. So, in a moment of utter desperation I turned my eyes towards her.

Despite her rather plain face, and commanding personality, she had an attractive body. Her long legs were outlined perfectly by the fabric of her pants and lead up to her slim waist. Her left shoulder was still exposed and I soon figured out that she wasn't wearing a bra. She had modest size breasts, which suited her form well. There was a noticeable sag to them, and I couldn't tell if it was from the course of time or if she was just one of those women who just never wore a bra, she certainly seemed the type.

As much as I regret what I did, it worked. I was hard.

"Ah good," she said looking up "That took quite a bit of effort now didn't it."

"Yes," I said. I'm still not sure whether she was mocking me or just making light conversation.

She looked me over once again, and I felt about hundred times more awkward than I had the last time. Now, not only were my genitals hanging out, but my penis was also pointing right at her.

"Turn to the right," she said, and I turned. The left me adjacent to the window, and from the corner of my eye, I saw that girl again. She was sitting on the fence to Miss Anderson's yard and watching me. She smiled when she noticed that I had caught her, but didn't go away. I was just about to say something about it when Miss Anderson spoke.

"I'm sorry dear," she said "but you're not right for this set."

I couldn't believe it. After everything I had gone through I wasn't even going to get the job. "Did I do something wrong? I can do better. This was just my first time, as you know," I said.

"No, it's nothing like that. You just aren't right for this, I'm sorry," she said standing up.

"I really need the job," I pleaded. Thinking back I can't imagine how pathetic I must have looked, standing there completely naked with an erection, begging for a job.

"If you like, I'll keep you in mind for future shoots."

"Yes, please," I blurted out, even though I had not given it any thought at the time.

There wasn't much to say after that, it was clear that she did not want me for this job. So I got dressed, with her still in the room, and left, leaving my details on her table. On the street outside, perhaps to add insult to injury, I saw the girl from next door again. She giggled as I walked by.

**********************

The months passed, and I put this incident behind me. Then one evening, as I was taking a long way home from class, I walked by this little paper stall and one of the magazines there caught my eye. It had "J. Anderson" written on the cover and I immediately wondered if it was the same J. Anderson whom I had visited. I bought the magazine, it was this quasi erotic journal filled with artistic nudes, of both men and women, and articles related to the liberal arts. I flipped through to the section by J. Anderson, and found that it was indeed her.

There were ten pictures there, featuring five different male models. They were about the same age as me and looked just like average college students, one of them was even rather chuddy, and I couldn't help but wonder why she had picked them over me. After studying the pictures for a while the difference, sadly, became obvious; they were all well hung. Their penises were twice, and in some instances thrice, the size of mine. That was when I first realized that I was small, it was a shocking revelation, and it shone a whole new perspective over my life. I suddenly started wondering if this was why I had never had sex; if this was why Miss. Anderson had not chosen me; if the girl who was laughing it me, was not laughing because I was posing naked, but because I had a small penis.

Out of the questions, the ones about Miss. Anderson lingered with me the longest. Surely she must have known the moment she saw me that I wasn't right for the part, then why had she made me pose and masturbate myself? Had she secretly been laughing at me the whole time? After all, if those were the kinds of penises she was used to seeing, then mine was pitiably small in comparison.

I thought about calling her and asking if that was why she had not hired me, but that would have seemed crazy. In the end I just tried to stop thinking about it and move on with my life as best as I could. Looking back though, I can say that that was one of the worst and most embarrassing experiences I've ever had. I'd like to be positive and say that some good came of it, but the only thing I really leaned was that I had a tiny penis.