Modelling

Wanted: Open minded male life model, age 21-25. 3 weeks work minimum, well paid, flexible hours. Accommodation available. No experience necessary, apply to PO Box xxxxx to be considered for interview.

Ashley re-read the ad for the third time. He'd seen it before. It had appeared in The Gay Times, The Pink Express and Scene magazine. He reminded himself that the only reason he read those papers was there were the small part acting roles advertised in them. Ashley had a number of old editions on the coffee table. He'd been in London for months now without any real acting work, and not a sniff on the modelling front -- too short and skinny he'd been told, more than once. This ad looked more than suspect though. It was bound to be some old seedy bloke or worse, but he was getting desperate. The rent was due on the dingy flat and there was no way he could afford another month. With a little anxiety, he found a copy of his resume, a head shot pic, taken in a railway station passport machine, and wrote a brief cover note. Stuffing it all in an addressed envelope, he vowed to post it when he next ventured out.

The following morning Ashley forced himself to leave the flat. Having almost forgotten the application he picked it up on the way out the door and only paused for a tentative second at the end of the road before flicking it into the post box. He spent the day wandering London, drinking unnecessary coffees and lurking in various haunts where jobbing actors might get spotted, or overhear a lead that just might result in their big break.

There were two phone calls Ashley was hoping for as he subconsciously checked his phone every five minutes. He wasn't sure which one he anticipated most.

The first was Jessica, a raven headed girl he'd met waiting at an unsuccessful audition for a breakfast cereal ad (too young). They'd made the best of a potentially tedious couple of hours in the waiting room, gossiping, chatting and eventually exchanging numbers. He waited what he thought, a sufficiently nonchalant period of time before messaging her. She'd replied saying she was away working, but would call in a few days. Whatever a few days was, Ashley felt her call was about due.

The second awaited call was more confusing. They'd met in a bar through some mutual friends, got on well and after the bar closed, had been walking home in the same direction. At some point during a drunken hug goodbye, Ashley had found himself kissing a very tall and handsome man called Jake. This had resulted in some partially clothed fumbling back at Ashley's flat, but Jake had not stayed. He had however, promised to be in touch.

Sunday morning found Ashley lying on his bed, pondering impossible sexuality questions in his head, when his phone buzzed and fell off the bed side table. It continued to buzz on the floor and he realised this was a call, not a message, so he dived after it. The number was unfamiliar and thoughts turned to Jake, but the accent was plummy and upper class.

"Hello, is that Ashley? I'm calling with regards to the modelling job you applied for."

"Oh hello, yes this is Ashley, sorry I was expecting, sorry" he found himself saying.

The caller's name was Marcus and he explained that he arranged models and the like for the artist, who he was reluctant to name. A mutually acceptable time later that day was arranged, and an address provided on the south bank of the Thames. The meeting (Ashley noted, not interview) would last about an hour.

A haircut was considered but rejected on financial grounds. A shower and a number of wardrobe changes later Ashley stood outside the address, which turned out to be a converted warehouse, ten minutes early. It looked stylish, chic and very expensive, which did little to ease the mounting jumble of fear, panic and anticipation. Five minutes early, Ashley buzzed the top button and was told to take the lift to the top floor where he would be met.

He was still checking his appearance in the mirrored lift walls when the doors opened behind him to that distinctive upper class clip.

"You must be Ashley."

"Hi, I'm guessing you're Marcus." Ashley replied.

With a pleasant smile and a nod, he held out an arm directing Ashley to small reception room with a little desk.

"Since you are bang on time, can I get you to sign this small document first? It's not long and you are welcome to go through it, it's simply a non-disclosure agreement. Basically you mustn't discuss Sir Geoffrey's work outside this building" Marcus explained. Sure enough Ashley was able to scan-read it quickly and there didn't seem to be any small print.

Sir Geoffrey, Ashley thought, what had he got himself into, as he signed his name.

Marcus led him through an adjoining door to a short corridor with large double doors at the end.

"He's going to see you in his studio, he'll be at the far end by the fireplace. He's a lovely chap, you'll like him. Try to relax and just be yourself, I think he'll like you too." Marcus quietly opened one of the doors and stepped through holding it for Ashley to follow.

"Sir Geoffrey!" Marcus bellowed, "Ashley to see you, about the modelling job."

The studio was huge. Easels, blankets, half-finished paintings and clay models were strewn along the sides under floor to ceiling windows. Right at the far end, was a fairly simple open fireplace, and facing it were two high backed, winged armchairs. A shaky arm hesitantly appeared from behind one and indicated Ashley should join its owner.

"Come, come, dear boy, forgive me not standing to greet you. I only sat down ten minutes ago. It'll take another half hour, and at least two more whiskeys before I'm ready to rise again" Sir Geoffrey said in a clear voice with strains of irritation and amusement at his state of health.

Stepping in front of him, Ashley reached out a hand and introduced himself. "Pleasure to meet you Sir Geoffrey, I'm Ashley."

"Just 'Geoffrey' young man, only Marcus, the press, and my family use that ridiculous title. Not Geoff mind you, Geoffrey. Before you sit, can you fetch the whiskey from the side over there? Marcus puts it there to stop me drinking it all. A glass for yourself too if you like."

He looked to be in his seventies, thick white hair and a lined face that still held the vestiges of a handsome man. He must have been tall in his pomp too, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He seemed a little hunched in the large chair. He wore velvet slippers without socks, paint spattered grey trousers and white smock shirt which looked oddly clean. There was a sweater draped over his shoulders, the sweaters paint smears perhaps explained the clean shirt. As Ashley handed over a generous tumbler of whiskey, Sir Geoffrey smiled mischievously.

They chatted for an hour and a half. Sir Geoffrey was fascinated by news of London, the clubs, the bars and he wistfully reminisced of his time as a 'man about town'. Politics, music, art, even a little sport, he was happy to just talk and as Ashley relaxed into his drink he found he was enjoying himself and the company. When the conversation surprisingly turned to sexuality, Sir Geoffrey described himself as an old Queen from the sixties. Ashley remained non-committal but confessed, after his second whiskey, that he had hoped Jake would call. There was no talk of the work or modelling at all.

Marcus brought the meeting to a close when he returned and informed Sir Geoffrey that really he must let Ashley go. He also needed to sign some papers before the day was out, or he had too much to drink.

"Yes, yes you old bore Marcus, you're right as ever. Ashley my dear, you must go I'm afraid. Research my work, get an understanding of what I do. I'll let you decide if you want the job, I think you'd be perfect, but we'll discuss that next time. Give him my card Marcus." Sir Geoffrey instructed, and hauling himself unsteadily to his feet, kissed Ashley on each cheek.

Clasping his hands he smiled at Ashley, "til next time, dear boy, til next time".

Back in the flat, Ashley started to scour the internet for Sir Geoffrey Palmerstone's work. He was glad of the business card because he was embarrassed to say he didn't know his surname.

His work was difficult to find, but he managed to find a little more about the man. He'd been arrested several times in the sixties, for lewd acts with another man and spent a little time in prison. It seemed his art had always been controversial, being described alternately as homoerotic or blatant pornography. Whatever the label, Ashley loved the little of it he could find. Muscled bodies entwined, embracing or simply posed so that Ashley couldn't look away. He did however start to feel concerned. What on earth could Sir Geoffrey want with his skinny, and if he was honest, much less well-endowed form.

Ashley was surprised to get a fairly quick response to the text he sent to the number on the business card. He'd thought he'd gone a little over the top with his enthusing on what he'd seen, but it seemed Sir Geoffrey had his own phone and answered it personally.

When they next met, Sir Geoffrey was a little more active and keen to talk about the modelling job. Taking Ashley's arm for support, they walked around the studio. Ashley listened to a running commentary full of excitement and passion for his art. Sir Geoffrey passed a very fine piece of silk to Ashley absentmindedly, indicating he should bring it along, and the tour continued. Finally they sat back in the arm chairs by the fire.

"I don't seem to fit in with your work though Geoffrey. All those works I saw, were of big masculine types, and you know, huge." Ashley stated, nervously running the silk material over his hands, as he had been for the last hour or so.

"And that is the point my boy. I have never worked with anyone like you. If I may be blunt, you have such feminine features and an innocent look. The fact that you are still young and finding yourself, gives you a look of excitement for the unknown that I've not seen for years. That alone is enough but can you imagine the electricity of a piece with you and one of these guys." Sir Geoffrey indicated a photo of a ripped, naked, bald, black man, whose length seemed to go half way to his knees.

"I,.. don't even, I've never, I can't!" Ashely's shock and horror burst out.

"Calm down, don't worry darling, there's no rush. I'm not forcing you to do anything there is no pressure at all." Sir Geoffrey's smile was more motherly than fatherly, but Ashley's heart slowed and he exhaled audibly.

"There is something, I'd like you to try for a week," Sir Geoffrey began. "That piece of material you're holding, I can see you are taken by the feel of it. Take this package and try it, every day, for as long as you can over the week then we'll meet again and you can tell me all about it. Don't open it now, wait until you're home."

Back in his flat Ashley stared at the brown paper package. He opened it and found a short note on top.

"Under your regular clothes. Love G x"

Inside were seven pairs of silk, hold up stockings and seven pairs of tiny knickers.

Ashley stared at the selection lying on the bed. He was shocked, but knew he was going to do it. It did however seem like a kind of watershed moment. They were all slightly different, some with frilly tops, some fishnet, some black, others a tan skin tone. He selected a fairly plain pair of sheer black, silk stockings and a thong that seemed to be made of the same material. He stripped naked and stared at himself in the full length mirror in his room. He had to admit it excited him. He stepped into the thong and pulled it up, the soft material cupping his small penis then the strip of material slipped neatly up between his cheeks and the elastic snapped lightly on top of each buttock. He inexplicably jumped at the sound. Pubic hair protruded slightly at the top of the thong he noticed, as he examined himself. He considered running a bath and shaving it and his legs, but not yet. The stockings felt like liquid as he carefully rolled them up his legs. The band at the top gripped his thigh surprisingly securely. For an hour he just looked at himself, stroking the fabric, and posing from side to side, back to front by the mirror.

Eventually he realised he was hungry. Pulling on his jeans over the top of his new undergarments, he popped on a hoodie and went out. No one paid any attention to him as he made the small walk to the local shop, but every step he took he felt the silk on his legs, the bands around his thighs and the material between his cheeks. He did not understand why, but there was a little sway to his walk now. Returning home with a small pasta dish he dropped it on the side board. He rushed to the bathroom and masturbated hard into the bath.

Ashley went about his business that week revelling in the secret under his clothes. He looked forward to the moment each morning when he chose the days stockings, resisting trying more on than those for that day. He saved another sheer black silk pair for the Friday when he would be seeing Sir Geoffrey again.

"My little Angel!" Sir Geoffrey declared as he greeted him in the studio, with an embrace and kiss, that Ashely returned beaming. "Tell me about your week?"

Ashley talked for five minutes straight about stockings and knickers. The feel, the excitement and how his walk had changed a little. He told him about being undecided on shaving, eventually choosing to wait and seek Sir Geoffrey's advice. All the time, Sir Geoffrey smiled and listened.

"There is one other thing Geoffrey." Ashely started hesitantly. "In the ad it mentioned accommodation might be available. My rent is due now and I could do with either getting out of there or sorting it."

"Oh I see, I take it then you are interested in the job. Not scared off?" Geoffrey asked.

"Yes I'm interested, of course," Ashley smiled sheepishly.

"Excellent. Well accommodation is no problem at all, there is a small set of rooms at the far end of this studio, hidden away at the back there. There's a staircase behind that wall. Its not luxurious but it's comfortable. Considered it yours whenever you need it. On the body hair subject, most of my models shave themselves so when we get round to a piece with you and one of them you'll need to be smooth too. We don't need to do it now, but I did arrange for a beautician to come today if you want."

Two weeks later, Ashley was perched on a bookshelf in his little flat overlooking the Thames. The other side of the flat was also windowed but over looked the studio. Most of the windows on this side were covered with old newspaper but Ashley had peeled one square away that meant from this vantage point on the bookcase, he had a view of the entrance to the studio. Tonight was the first time in many years that Geoffrey was hosting one of his FCNK parties.

It had taken Ashley some time to get what this meant out of Marcus who seemed a little reticent about the whole thing.

"He hasn't had one of these since the mid-80s, I'm not at all sure he's well enough" Marcus said.

"Oh come on Marcus what does FCNK stand for? I've been asking for a week." Ashley whined, almost flirting with him.

"For god's sake Ashley, drop it."

"I will not. I'm going to pester you until you tell me" Ashley was perversely enjoying himself. He saw that Marcus' resistance was wavering. "Well?"

"Fur coat, no knickers," Marcus finally blurted out in a rush.

So Ashley had a week of preparation to go through. The Ashley perched on the bookcase was very different from the one that had moved his limited possessions into the studio flat nearly two weeks ago.

His legs had been waxed, along with his chest, arm pits, ass and balls. There was now hardly a hair on his body. The exception, an immaculate thin Brazilian line above his smooth and modest privates. He'd thought this might make him look bigger, but the effect now he considered it, was even more feminine. The beautician had returned that afternoon and applied some subtle makeup including eye-liner, lipstick and mascara. His slightly long male hair was now back combed, styled and waved, into short girly hair. Toenails and false fingernails matched and were a deep almost black, blue.

After some coaching, he now was not only confident in heels, but had mastered a passable feminine walk, ensuring feet were placed directly in front of each other, not over crossing to make it look forced.

He wanted to wait until there was a reasonable crowd down there before making a quiet entrance. He had taken "FCNK" very literally. Skin tone stockings, with a black seam up the back. Tan high heels, and a fur coat that covered the tops of the stockings when he stood. He wore a delicate golden chain with a tiny gold symbol. A circle with a cross and an arrow, a combination of gender signs, it had been a present from Geoffrey.

The guests began arriving in a variety of outrageous outfits. A lesbian couple in dungarees, with neither shirts nor bras, their breasts on show every time they turned or moved. A naked skinny guy in a black leather gimp mask being led around on a dog leash by a drag queen in latex. A muscled black guy in a chain harness and leather shorts. It seemed everyone and anyone from London's fetish scene had descended on Sir Geoffrey's residence.

Ashley had negotiated the steep stairs down to the party, avoiding stumbling in the heels or exposing himself to any of the guests. He'd been a little startled, turning a corner to the main party area, by a transvestite maid kneeling before a middle aged man, enthusiastically and seemingly proficiently blowing him off. He needed a drink.

Ashley picked his way through the crowd to a temporary bar stocked with beers and wines. Without thinking he chose a slender prosecco glass and found a place to stand just to the side of a group chatting animatedly. The studio was huge so every now and then a gentle draft or breeze reminded him that his privates were exposed and only a couple of inches of fur away from being revealed. His hairless buttocks now felt the soft lining of the coat. These sensory experiences excited him.

A gentle cough to his left made him jump a little.

"Hello, I'm guessing you are Ashley." The voice had a soft Scottish accent and Ashley turned towards it, smiling, sipping his drink, and nodding nervously.

The speaker was bare chested, wore a kilt, sporran, and traditional socks with ghillie brogues. The laces wound up the calf tied at the top.

"Hi, how did you know name?" Ashley eventually responded.

"Oh I worked with Sir Geoffrey a few years ago and he was very excited earlier telling me about his new 'muse' when we were catching up. He's quite smitten I think." The r's rolled melodically as he spoke. "My names James by the way, Jim to my friends." He offered a large hand that Ashley moved to take. Somehow James managed to take his hand, turn it, raise it and brush the knuckles of Ashley's manicured hand with his lips. Ashley giggled and was instantly irritated by himself.

He took in James's appearance. He guessed he was in his mid to late 30s. There were hints of grey in his largely dark hair, more in the stubble on his chin. His arms and chest were muscled, but not chiselled. There was chest hair that appeared to have been trimmed becoming sparser as Ashley's eyes moved down, ending in a small line which disappeared into the top of the kilt. This stomach was flat and toned.

They made small talk for a few minutes then Jim (he insisted) suggested they take a seat on an unoccupied two seater sofa by the now dark window. Ashley had been dreading this. He knew there was no way to sit himself down or for that matter get up again without displaying his nakedness under the fur. Jim second guessed him.

"I know what you're thinking." Said Jim with a smile. "You are wondering how to sit down elegantly. You know, wearing a kilt poses similar challenges, though not as extreme as that outfit you're wearing. Though you do wear it so very well. Tell you what. I'll discreetly look out this window while you get comfortable."