Laura could talk him into anything. She lived in a A-frame house with a large garage off to the side with the windows blacked out.
He was her paperboy for years, up to his senior year of high school. Several times when he delivered her paper she would wave through the big windows in front of the house. She was tall, thin, and wearing black every time he saw her. She was older.
One Saturday in the summer of his senior year she was in the front yard walking around with a camera, looking at her flower bed, when he came by to toss her paper. Because she was standing right there, he decided to hand it to her personally. She was not the prettiest woman he'd ever seen, but she seemed very confident.
"Hi," she said, almost smiling.
"Hi."
She stared at him, studied him, then said, "Have you ever modeled?"
He shook his head.
"You should," she said.
"You really think so?"
"I'm a photographer," she explained. She studied him some more, walking all the way around him, and stopped back in front of him. "You're skinny, but in good shape."
"Thanks."
"And you're cute."
"Thanks."
"Would you like to model?"
"I don't know. I've never really thought about it."
"Come back here in two hours, and he'll take some test pictures." She turned and walked back to the house, leaving him to watch her ass wiggle in black jeans.
"What should I wear," he asked as she walked away.
"Doesn't matter," she said, not looking back at him.
Two hours later he was at her front door, showered. She answered the door, smiling.
"Nice to see you," she said. "Come in."
He followed her inside to the kitchen and she opened the refrigerator and brought out two bottles of Heineken beer, opened them, and handed him one. "What's your name," she asked.
"Tim."
"I'm Laura," she said, then took a sip of her beer, licked her lips. "And I'm going to call you Timmy. If you don't mind."
"Okay," he said.
They talked about the neighborhood a little, and school, and photography. He learned that she did both art work and commercial work, and what they meant. After they finished two beers each, she said it was time to get started. She lead him into the garage, which was converted into a photography studio, lights, backdrops, camera equipment, racks of cloths and all. He was really impressed, and she could tell.
"Take off your shoes," she said, "and stand in front of that blue backdrop."
He did as asked, moving a little nervously.
"Hands on hips, smile."
Snap, snap.
"Turn and smile over your shoulder."
Snap, snap.
"Face me again, and run your hands through your hair."
He did, mussing his hair enthusiastically.
"Good boy," she said.
Snap, snap.
"Go ahead and take off the t-shirt," she said after a few more pics.
"The t-shirt?"
"That's right, Timmie."
He shrugged, and took it off.
"Good boy."
Snap, snap.
"Hands on hips again. And try pouting a little sweetie, stick out your lower lip."
He did, feeling a little silly.
"Good boy, I like that look cutie."
Snap, snap.
She moved the camera from her face for a moment, studied him. "You know," she said, "I think I could probably get you a gig modeling for this German clothes company."
"Seriously?"
"Absolutely. Let's take a quick break, then I'll get you some clothes."
He drank another beer, and started feeling a little tipsy. She could see he had drank enough. She went over to a cloths rack and started picking off items, then handed them to him and pointed him in the direction of the dressing room. He closed the door and looked over the clothes. A tight white mesh shirt, white boxers shorts, white briefs, and a jock strap.
"Put on all of them?" he asked through the closed door, slurring a little.
"That's right, Timmie."
He undressed, and put the jock strap on, then the briefs, then the boxers, not sure why he needed all three. He put on the mesh t shirt last and stepped out in front of the lights and cameras.
"The company mostly does underwear," Laura explained. "And athletic wear."
He nodded, "Right. Okay."
"Stand there, hands on hips."
Snap, snap.
"Hands over head now. Stretch. Let's see that flat tummy."
Snap, snap.
"Turn, hands still up."
Snap, snap.
"Move hands to knees, and bend over a little."
He moved his hands, then bent over after hesitating.
"Quicker sweetie. Act like a pro. Don't think."
He bent over more, hands on knees, and looked back over his shoulder at the camera and smiled a little awkwardly.
"Good boy. You're a natural."
Snap, snap.
"Widen your legs."
He widened his stance, bent over a little more, still looking over his shoulder.
Snap, snap.
"Turn and face me now, Timmie."
He turned, and as he did she dropped a canister of film on the floor.
"Pick that up for me," she said, eye still behind camera.
He stepped toward her and picked up the canister and handed it to her. He was so obedient it made her smile. She knew about boys like him.
"Good boy. Back in position now."
He returned to his place in front of the backdrop, facing the camera.
"You're doing wonderfully," she said. "I think you've got a future."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Now, hook your thumbs in the sides of the boxers."
He did as asked, stretching the elastic out a little.
"Good boy, now go ahead and take them down. Let's see those briefs."
He looked at the camera, slipped the boxers down to his knees, and then let them fall the rest of the way down to his ankles. His package was tightly held in the thin briefs.
Snap, snap.
"Good boy, looks good. Hands on hips again."
He looked back up at her. "You really think I can make it as a model?" he asked.
"Absolutely. Mess your hair up again."
