'Fucking loser.' The epithet echoed in his mind, as he angrily slammed the door and barreled down the front steps. Callum figured that if he'd had ten dollars for every time he heard those words from his father he'd never have to go to work. If only.
Callum realized he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed but he wasn't stupid either. He knew he needed an education or some type of formal training if he was going to avoid the dead-end type of job his old man was mired in. But, despite all the shit he took trying to get his old man to understand that, it was only because of his mother's dogged insistence that his father had finally agreed to let Callum attend community college. Of course, his father couldn't resist opining that it was just going to be a waste of time and money - the 'fucking loser's' time and his old man's money.
School came hard for Callum, though he did try - despite what his father might think. He made most of his classes at college, even if he did have trouble following some of the lectures. And he'd learned things, too. Particularly in the Fundamentals of Business Theory class he was taking in the Spring semester. Sure, a lot of the graphs and the most of the mathematical mumbo-jumbo had eluded him, but there was one principle he had managed to grasp - individuals, like businesses, needed to accurately assess their strengths and their weaknesses and pursue a strategy that exploited their strengths and minimized their weaknesses.
Thinking about this after the lecture was over, Callum decided to do just that. And later that night, when Callum sat down to do a personal assessment, it was pretty obvious where his strengths lay - while he might not be a heavyweight in the brains department, he was one hot-looking dude.
Just over six feet tall, with large hard pecs veeing down to a ripped six-pack, two big guns hanging down from his shoulders, muscle-packed thighs and calves, and two meaty buttocks, he knew he cut quite the figure as he walked down the street. Add to that a classically symmetrical face with sea-green eyes set off beneath a shock of dark brown hair and it wasn't surprising that he was used to having girls turn around to get a second look as he walked by. Taking a quick glance of himself in the mirror, Callum figured it was obvious that he should be aiming at a career that exploited his looks.
Ultimately, he thought he'd like to get into acting, but he figured he'd need some minimal training for that and he knew his old man would never sit still for Callum taking acting and drama classes. Besides, those classes were filled with fags and Callum sure as hell didn't want to be associated with those freaks.
No, Callum needed some other way to get in the public eye. He figured once that was accomplished he'd shoot up like a rocket. But how to do it? That was the question. And the more he thought about his present situation, the more he realized that, whatever path he chose, it had to be one in which he could make some money right away. He had already gotten his mid-terms back and it was unlikely he was going to pass the majority of his classes. If he flunked out - make that, when he flunked out - he knew his old man would insist he get a job. But Callum wanted to get a job that gave him a future - not flipping burgers in a fast-food joint which was the type of job his father thought matched his skill levels.
Callum was still uncertain as to what he should do when he happened to catch a trailer for a Mark Wahlberg film. It was like a light-bulb had gone off inside his head. Wahlberg was a fucking huge star now but, from what Callum had once read, early on in his career Wahlberg had done a stint of male-modeling. Sure, he had been in a boy-band as well, but Wahlberg definitely got himself major exposure as an underwear model for Calvin Klein. And that was just the type of exposure Callum was looking for.
Of course, Callum realized that he couldn't expect to start out modeling for Calvin Klein. He'd probably have to start someplace lower in the pecking order. But male modeling seemed to be the ultimate way to go. He had to exploit his strengths.
The only problem Callum could see was that there were probably as many fags in the modeling business as there were in acting. Everyone knew that. Hell, some of those creeps might think that Callum was a fruit just like them, even though he was nothing like those pansies; some might even come on to him. Well, if any fucking faggot made a pass at him, Callum would set him straight real fast - beat the crap out of the little fucker. Callum was pretty confident he could handle himself around faggots, but a lot of people who weren't in the modeling business might think he was a fag just because he was a model and Callum wasn't sure how he felt about that.
Callum worried about that for a while until it dawned on him that the exact same thing must have happened to Wahlberg. A lot of people probably thought that he was a queer too when his picture was plastered all over billboards, him wearing only skimpy tighty-whiteys, but it hadn't hurt his career. Fuck, man, nobody thought Mark Wahlberg was a queerboy now. He was a big, macho, alpha-star. And that's just what Callum wanted to be and male-modeling might just be his ticket.
Once Callum had made up his mind to give male-modeling a try, he realized that he didn't have the faintest idea how to go about getting started. One thing he did know, though, was that everyone in the modeling business seemed to either work for an agency or have a personal agent and he figured he needed to get himself one, too. So he decided to do just that. And, as things turned out, Callum thought that it was not only incredibly good luck but a sign of things to come that on his very first attempt helanded a great agent - Dean DeMarco.
Dean DeMarco was one of the premier agents for models and actors in town. At least, that's what the ad for AAA Modeling Agency said. Callum knew you couldn't trust everything you saw in print, but he figured that you couldn't put a claim like that in the on-line yellow pages if it wasn't true. He called Mr. DeMarco's office just a week after his Business Theory class and Mr. DeMarco was able to see him the next day. Callum should consider himself very fortunate, the officious secretary informed Callum over the phone, since if a previously scheduled client had not been out-of-town on a photo shoot, it would have been at least a month before Mr. DeMarco could have found time to meet with him.
The offices of the AAA Modeling Agency were unprepossessing and the male secretary in the front office, obviously the person he had talked to the day before, was a nelly queen named Troy - now there was a faggy name if there ever was one - who actually had the nerve to tell Callum to 'sit your pretty ass down' and Mr. DeMarco would be with him momentarily. Callum glared at the faggot, but he did sit down. For a moment, he had a twinge of doubt as to whether he had chosen the right agent. But then the door opened and out came Mr. DeMarco who immediately ushered him inside. It took only a few minutes for the man to put all of Callum's fears to rest.
Dean DeMarco was at least forty but he had kept himself in good shape for an older guy. He had a full head of dark brown hair, flecked with gray, and while he certainly wasn't in Callum's league, he was good-looking enough that Callum could imagine that he had modeled himself when he was younger. Mr. DeMarco also sported a wedding band on his ring finger which helped to alleviate one of Callum's fears.
Right off the bat, Mr. DeMarco put Callum at ease by telling him that, in all his years as an agent, he'd never seen any young man as good-looking as Callum come through his door. He expressed surprise that Callum wasn't already under a modeling contract. That gave Callum a good opening to express one of his major reservations.
"Well, Mr. DeMarco," he began, "To be honest with you, I always realized that I was really good-looking and I've certainly given some thought in the past to modeling. It's just that...well, it's just that it seemed to me to be a pretty faggy job."
There was a flicker of a smile on Mr. DeMarco's face. "I take it you're straight, Callum," he replied.
"One hundred percent, sir," Callum immediately affirmed, a little upset that Mr. DeMarco had even felt the need to ask the question. "I got nothing to do with perverts. I'm definitely one hundred percent male."
Mr. DeMarco was now grinning broadly. "I'll tell you the truth, Callum. I can't stand faggots either. But, of course, there are laws now that prohibit discrimination and I've got to be careful. And, I'll be honest with you. There are a lot of those kinds in modeling, not only as models but in a lot of other positions, too - photographers, set designers, to say nothing of make-up artists. Hell, almost all the make-up artists around here are dick-guzzlers. No, you're right. If you're going to work in modeling, you're bound to be in frequent contact with a lot of queers. But you have to be able to control yourself when you are. That's just the way it is. If you can't handle that, male modeling isn't for you."
At this point, Mr. DeMarco leaned forward and gave Callum a hard stare. "But I also want you to understand that there are a lot of guys in this business who are just as straight as you or me. Good-looking guys, like yourself, who are just trying to make a living with the God-given talents they are fortunate enough to be blessed with and who are as unhappy as you are that the public perception of male models has been so tarred by the antics and activities of a flamboyant few. Sure, some people will think you're gay just because you're a model, but those people are ignorant losers whose opinions are driven more by jealousy over your looks and your success than by any objective analysis of the real-world of modeling. The question you have to answer for yourself, Callum, is whether you're going to let the perceptions of those losers keep you from pursuing a career that you're obviously perfectly suited for."
Mr. DeMarco's little speech struck a real chord within Callum. It brought to mind all the times in the past that he'd been called a loser. Listening to Mr. DeMarco, Callum realized that if he pursued a modeling career, if he exploited his strengths, he wouldn't be the one who was the real loser. If he could make a success of modeling he'd be showing them all who the real loser was. And it wasn't him.
Callum looked Mr. DeMarco straight in the face and responded with force, "No, sir. I'm not going to let those losers keep me from making a success of myself. I want to pursue a career as a model. It's just..." he added in a more uncertain voice, "it's just I'm not sure how to go about doing it."
"But that's why you're here, Callum," Mr. DeMarco quickly responded. "I do know how to go about doing it. If you agree to have me represent you, I'll do everything in my power and use all of my contacts to see that you have a successful modeling career. The question now is whether you're willing to put yourself totally in my hands."
"Yes, Mr. DeMarco, I am," Callum immediately replied, thrilled that a man like Mr. DeMarco would be willing to take him on as a client. That was an incredible ego-boost. But Callum was also worried that he wouldn't be able to afford Mr. DeMarco's services. "The problem, Mr. DeMarco," he continued, "is that I don't have any money to pay you with right now. I'm a student at a local community college, living at home. I don't have any income and there's no way my parents would lend me any money. Certainly not to pursue a modeling career."
Mr. DeMarco immediately sought to assure Callum that his financial situation would not be a deal-breaker. "Callum," he said soothingly, "There's no need to worry about that. This agency works with a number of models, like yourself, who have limited financial means when they're starting out. That's why we've always made it a practice to cover all the out-of-pocket costs that a model might normally be expected to pay for at other agencies - like those involved in procuring a photo portfolio, for example.
"Other agencies are reluctant to do this because they're afraid that a number of their models will wash out before they make enough to even cover those costs. However, because we carefully screen our prospective models and because we maintain a very close working relationship with numerous hiring agents in town, we can make these up-front expenditures fully confident that they'll be recouped out of our model's future earnings. Naturally, we charge a premium for this service but that's all spelled out in our contract terms."
Mr. DeMarco sat back in his chair and eyed Callum closely. "I think I'm a good judge of prospective talent, Callum, and I'm prepared, right now, to sign an agreement to represent you. I think you have the potential to make it really big in this business and I'm prepared to act on that belief. The final question then, Callum, is do you want AAA Modeling Agency to represent you?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I do," Callum responded enthusiastically. "I definitely do, sir."
"Okay, then," Mr. DeMarco smiled, "what I'll do then is have Troy prepare a standard representation contract and then the two of us will go over the terms. If that's okay with you."
"Oh, yes, Mr. DeMarco," Callum hastened to agree. "That would be fine.
Mr. DeMarco flashed another smile at Callum and reached down and picked up the phone. He pressed the intercom button and a moment later was talking to his secretary. "Troy," he instructed, "would you prepare a standard contract for Mr..." and here he paused as he rummaged through some papers on his desk before finding the one he was looking for "..for Mr. Phillips? When it's ready, just bring it in."
He hung up the phone and looked back at Callum. "Troy's a real fairy but he's also a very competent secretary. Best one I've ever had. He's also useful in providing cover when I turn down prospective gay clients. If they try to bitch that I wouldn't take them on because they were gay, all I have to do is point to Troy."
Callum was pleasantly surprised how quickly Mr. DeMarco was bringing him into his confidences. "You don't represent fags?" he asked, conspiratorially.
"Not if I can help it," DeMarco replied easily. "I like to represent real men, like yourself, Callum." But then his face took on a more serious expression. "However, if you would take a bit of advice from me, Callum, I'd go easy on the 'fag' and 'fairy' references from now on. Like I said, there are a lot of those guys in the business and if you get a reputation of being a homophobe it could adversely affect your career. They could screw up your make-up or lighting - stuff like that. They could make your life a living hell."
"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. DeMarco," Callum immediately apologized. "It's just that's how I've always described those guys. I've always known they didn't like it, but I never really gave a shit before. It wasn't like I was hanging out with them. But, as you say, there's a lot of fags...I mean gays... in the business and I don't want them to screw up my career. I'll try to watch what I say, particularly around them."
"That'd be very wise, Callum," Mr. DeMarco agreed. There was a slight pause while Mr. DeMarco just sat there looking at Callum. And then, as if coming out of a trance, he shook his head. "Well, while we're waiting for Troy to get the contract prepared, I should see what we have to work with. Would you stand up, Callum?"
Callum immediately got to his feet. When Mr. DeMarco asked him to remove his shirt, Callum quickly complied, happy to be given the opportunity to show off his muscular physique.
Twenty minutes later, Callum was still standing in front of Mr. DeMarco though he felt considerably more uncomfortable than he had at first. After he had removed his shirt and Mr. DeMarco had complimented him on his pecs and abs, the man had asked Callum to remove his shoes and jeans. Callum quickly did as he was told and then spent a couple of minutes assuming various poses that highlighted different muscle groupings. Mr. DeMarco seemed generally pleased, though he did hint that he thought that Callum's calves and thighs could do with a little more work. It wasn't until Mr. DeMarco asked Callum to remove his socks that Callum had cause to be concerned. He couldn't understand why Mr. DeMarco would need to see his feet.
Mr. DeMarco must have sensed Callum's reaction because he immediately explained to Callum why it was necessary. "There's a lot of work available in swimwear modeling and most of those photo-shoots are going to be set up at a beach. The model would, of course, be barefoot and it's important for me to know if there's any small deformity that might make such a shoot inappropriate for you."
Callum felt a little foolish for not having thought of that himself, so he quickly removed his socks. Still, he had to admit that he felt a little uncomfortable when Mr. DeMarco dragged a chair up to where he was standing and had Callum raise each foot in succession while Mr. DeMarco closely examined it, even putting his fingers between each of Callum's toes and running his hands up and down each sole and heel. It felt weird to have another dude playing with his feet though Callum tried to hide his discomfort.
But when Mr. DeMarco finished his close examination of Callum's feet and returned the chair to its place along the wall and then told Callum to drop his boxers, the boy wasn't able to hide his reluctance. Mr. DeMarco picked up on this right away.
"Do we have a problem, Callum?" he asked, a note of disapproval creeping into his voice.
"Well," Callum stammered, "it's just...it's just I don't know why you have to see me naked. It's not like I'd be interested in working in porn."
"Oh, I understand," Mr. DeMarco replied, a grim look suddenly appearing on his face. He stared at Callum's crotch for a long moment - long enough for Callum to become self-conscious. Then he looked up at Callum's face, his own face now wearing a mask of sympathy. "You know, Callum," he began, speaking quietly now, "it can be embarrassing having a small dick. But it's not the end of the world. A lot of women swear that it isn't the size that matters; it's how you use it." He took a step back and his gaze returned to Callum's crotch. "Just how small is it, Callum? Two, three inches hard?"
"No. No," Callum objected, feeling his face getting red. "That's not it. I've got a big dick. At least nine inches," he added defensively. "It's just that I'd feel funny standing naked in a room with just another guy in it."
Hearing his response, Mr. DeMarco's face hardened perceptively. He looked at Callum and then returned to the other side of his desk and sat down. "I've obviously misjudged you, Callum," he began. "I thought you had what it takes to become a male model. But if you're too shy and self-conscious to even expose yourself to your own agent, there's no way you could hope to be a success in the modeling world. Most photographers would insist on seeing you naked before they would even consider hiring you. And during a fashion show, models have to change outfits in just seconds and frequently have to strip down in rooms with dozens of other people in them, many of them total strangers. If you're so insecure that you can't even strip in front of me, there's no way you could be a successful model."
The man gave Callum anothee long, appraising look. "Why don't you just put your clothes back on," he finally said. "I don't want to force you to do something you don't want to do. At least we found out early that you just weren't cut out to be a model."
"Please, Mr. DeMarco," Callum pleaded, suddenly afraid that he had just fucked up his first real opportunity to make something out of his life. "Please, Mr. DeMarco, give me a second chance." Callum reached down and yanked his boxers off his waist, letting them drop to his ankles. "I'll do whatever you tell me to do. Just give me a second chance."
Callum stood in front of Mr. DeMarco. He was completely naked now, his big dick hanging down between his legs - and it was a big dick, just like Callum had claimed - and Dean De Marco couldn't help but notice that, naked, the kid was even better looking than he had first judged. 'This kid is going to be a fucking gold-mine,' he thought. He allowed his face to soften.
"Turn around, Callum," he ordered. When the boy did so, obviously relieved that Mr. DeMarco was going to keep him as a client, it was all the man could do to keep from whistling out loud. The kid had a spectacular ass. A real bubble-butt. There wasn't a thing about this kid that wasn't marketable - not once he was properly trained and developed. And that was exactly what Dean DeMarco intended to do
"Fine, Callum," he said once the boy was facing him again. "While there are a few things we have to do a little work on, a little fine-tuning you might say, you obviously have what it takes physically to be a first-class male model. The question is whether we can provide you with the emotional and mental toughness required to be a real success in the modeling world."
Mr. DeMarco paused in thought for a brief moment. Then he looked at Callum again. "Why don't you step out of your boxers, fold up your clothes and place them on the little table in the corner?" he asked in a tone which conveyed that the statement was not so much a question as an order.
Callum gave the man a quizzical look but did as he'd been instructed. When he was finished, Callum saw that Mr. De Marco was waving him back towards the desk so Callum returned and stood in front of the man, trying to ignore the fact that he was now completely naked.
The man easily read Callum's unease. "I think, Callum," he began, "that one of the first things we have to work on is your shyness. You have an attractive body, a very attractive body, and you shouldn't be embarrassed about showing it off. Particularly not if you hope to be a successful model. So, for the rest of the time you're here, I want you to remain naked. Also, in the future when we're meeting here, I'd like you to strip down on entering the room. It's obvious that you'll be uncomfortable at first but I hope that eventually you'll be able to overcome your excessive modesty. If you can become used to being naked around me hopefully it will make you less inhibited with respect to other people. And that will certainly be a boost to your career."
While Callum wasn't particularly pleased with the prospect of spending the rest of his meeting with Mr. DeMarco in the nude, to say nothing of being naked in future sessions, he didn't want to upset the man by voicing any objections, especially in view of how close he had just come to aborting their relationship. Mr. DeMarco obviously knew the business and Callum felt lucky that the man was taking an interest in his career. The least he could do was follow the man's suggestions without questioning every little thing that made Callum uncomfortable. So Callum quietly stood there in front of the man, every inch of his body on total display, trying very hard not to appear as embarrassed as he felt, as Mr. DeMarco explained how they were going to proceed to develop Callum into a top-ranked model.
"Now," Mr. DeMarco began, "it's obvious, looking at your body, that there are a couple of different strategies we could pursue in marketing you. To be honest, considering the state of your development, you're probably too muscular for runway work. Most designers generally like their models on the thin side and you're just too well-developed already. But you definitely have the type of body that's in demand for underwear and swimsuit shoots. And we also should consider the possibility of presenting you as a physique model, though that would require more work on your part."
Callum wasn't surprised when Mr. DeMarco mentioned marketing him as a swimwear or underwear model - that was pretty much what he had visualized in his own mind. But he hadn't considered being a 'physique model.' He kind of liked the way that sounded - real masculine, like. Despite his determination to simply let Mr. DeMarco present his own ideas and suggestions, Callum couldn't help but interrupt.
"What type of work does a physique model get, Mr. DeMarco? I mean, I think I have a pretty good physique and I'd certainly like to get a job where I'd be able to exploit it."
Mr. DeMarco smile at the boy, obviously not upset by the interruption. "Well, Callum," he explained, "a physique model generally appears in magazines aimed at a male readership that is interested in developing their bodies. Physique models are used in photo-spreads that accompany articles explaining how various exercises or exercise regimens will enhance physical development of specific areas of the body. They are also used by advertisers who put ads in those magazines and who want to make a subliminal appeal to the readers that, if they use the products being advertised, they could obtain a similar body without any of the real work the model went through in developing his physique."
Mr. DeMarco leaned back in his chair and closely watched Callum as he continued. "There's also a lucrative side business for established physique models in posing for photographers who will then market their pictures. Many of these, of course, are full-nudes aimed at the gay market."
Callum's discomfort was palpable. "I don't know, Mr. DeMarco," he began, tentatively, "if I'm okay with that. It kinda makes my skin crawl to think of one of those perverts....I mean gays... jerking himself off to one of my photos, particularly one in which I'm naked. It makes me want to puke just thinking about it."
Mr. DeMarco looked at Callum with a slight frown. "Callum, it seems to me that you have somewhat misplaced priorities. I've already explained to you that I certainly share your opinion of homosexuals but the bottom line in this business is that the gay audience is a significant component of the market which designers and companies are hoping to tap.
"If, as you've assured me a number of times, you want to exploit your good looks, you have to be realistic and recognize that to fully do that you have to appeal to gay men as well as to straight women. Regardless of what you may think of homosexuals or how they make you feel, you have to be able to mask your disgust or you simply won't be fully successful as a male model.
"Besides, what do you care if some sick dude jerks himself off looking at one of your photos? How the hell does that negatively affect you? It's not like you're there, watching it. The truth is you should be happy if those guys get off on your pictures. That means they'll buy more of your photos and the photographers will notice that and you'll end up with more work and more exposure. And more money. And isn't that the bottom line?"
Somewhat abashed that Mr. DeMarco had been forced to again lecture him on his attitude, Callum hastened to assure the man that he would try to change his ways. "I'm sorry, Mr. DeMarco. You're absolutely right. I need to keep a focus on what my ultimate goals are. I'll try working on not showing my true feelings. I really will."
Mr. DeMarco's face showed only the slightest easing. "That's something we'll have to work on here, too."
Just then, as if on key, there was a knock on the door. "Come in, Troy," Mr. DeMarco responded, a knowing smirk now crossing his face.
Troy flounced in, his effeminate persona on full display. "I have the contract ready Mr. DeMarco," he said as he walked through the door and then came to an immediate stop as he took in the fact that Callum was standing stark naked in front of Mr. DeMarco's desk. "Oh, isn't he a studly one," Troy cooed, ogling Callum's nude body.
Callum turned scarlet and instinctively moved to cover up his genitals with both hands. This brought an immediate response from Mr. DeMarco. "Move your hands away, Callum. You have nothing to be shy or embarrassed about. Remember that. We were just discussing how you need to be able to take compliments and accept the attention you'll be receiving as a male model. This is as good a time as any for you to begin confronting your shyness."
Callum swallowed hard and then moved his hands back to his sides. If anything, his color deepened and spread down to his shoulders and chest.
"That's good, Callum," Mr. DeMarco praised the boy. "Now why don't you turn and face Troy so that he can get a good view of your body."
Biting his lip, Callum did as he'd been instructed. He had never felt so naked and vulnerable in his life, standing there, displaying his nude body as a nelly queen giggled and squealed. "Oh, he's so butch, Mr. DeMarco," Troy lisped. "I bet he'd be a real bull in bed." Then, his eyes lighting on Callum's cock, he almost shrieked, "Look at his cock! Maybe I should make that a horse; he's sure hung like one."
Callum could not remember being more embarrassed in his life as he stood naked, his manhood fully exposed, while Troy just gushed on about how hot Callum was. He wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into the leering faggot's face but he just stood there, as Mr. DeMarco wanted him to, letting the little queerboy take in the view of Callum's magnificent body - a body he'd doubtless recall later that evening for only God knew what use in his twisted imagination.
Mr. DeMarco was watching the interaction of Callum and his secretary with scarcely disguised amusement. He let it continue for a few minutes before he finally intervened. "The contract, Troy," he said, holding out his hand.
"Oh, yes, sir," Troy immediately replied, reluctantly yanking his eyes from Callum's body and turning towards Mr. DeMarco. "Here it is, sir. The standard contract. I'm sure you'll find everything in order."
"I'm sure I will, Troy," Mr. DeMarco responded. "That will be all for now, Troy," he added, dismissing his secretary.
Troy gave Callum's body one last, lingering, gaze and then headed towards the door. But as he passed Callum a hand reached out and took a firm grasp of one of Callum's butt-cheeks.
"Sonofabitch.!" Callum shouted as he whirled around angrily, but Troy was already walking through the doorway. He turned around, gave Callum a wink, and then shut the door.
"Sir," Callum immediately complained, sputtering in his fury as he swiveled back to face Mr. DeMarco, "that fucking faggot groped me. He fucking grabbed my ass."
"So?" Mr. DeMarco replied in a dismissive tone which conveyed that he was beginning to become tired of Callum's antics. "He grabbed your fucking ass. Big deal. I'm sure the same thing has happened a hundred times before when you were in a locker room with one of your buddies. Am I right, Callum?"
"Well, yeah," Callum admitted, nervously shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, wilting under Mr. DeMarco's disapproving stare. "But that was different."
"Why? Because they were straight - or at least you thought they were straight?"
"Well, yes. But they were definitely straight. I don't have any faggot friends I can tell you that. And they were just fooling around. There wasn't anything sexual about it."
"You mean unlike what happened with you and Troy?"
"So you felt a sexual reaction when Troy grabbed your butt?"
"Me? Me?" Callum responded, incredulously. "No fucking way. That's not what I meant."
"Oh, so you assume Troy was sexually turned on by you?"
"He was practically drooling, Mr. DeMarco," Callum replied, not understanding why he was now on the defensive. "You saw that."
"What I saw was a young man, of a somewhat fey disposition, who went out of his way to compliment you on how you look. I don't see how that's a proper reason for getting upset."
"He grabbed my ass," Callum complained with some heat.
"Yes, he did, Callum. But you just told me that if one of your buddies did the same thing you wouldn't take offense. It seems to me that the problem isn't in Troy's actions but in how you chose to interpret them. This is precisely the thing we were just talking about, Callum. If you keep over-reacting to every imagined transgression, you'll never be a success in male modeling. It's as simple as that."
Callum stood there, completely at sea. Part of him was sure that no self-respecting dude, at least no straight one, was going to let some queerboy just grab his ass because he felt like it - particularly not if he was naked like Callum was. But another part of him was wondering if maybe Mr. DeMarco was right. Maybe he had over-reacted. Regardless of what he thought, though, it was clear to Callum that Mr. DeMarco thought he had over-reacted. And Mr. DeMarco was the last person in the world he wanted to piss off.
Callum took a deep breath and then apologized, "I'm sorry Mr. DeMarco. If you say I over-reacted I probably did. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."
"Well, Callum," Mr. DeMarco answered after a moment. "You are new to the business and I'm inclined to let this incident pass. But I want it understood that I don't want it repeated. If you exploded the way you just did before a hiring agent you'd not only lose any chance at being hired but you'd reflect badly on me and definitely jeopardize the future employment opportunities of all the other models I represent. I hope you realize that I can't have that."
"Yes, sir," Callum meekly answered. "I understand. I'm sorry, sir."
Mr. DeMarco eyed Callum closely as if mulling things over. Eventually, though, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, he let the tension ease. "I'm going to let it pass this time, Callum," he told the boy, "but it's something we're going to have to work on here, before we send you out to photo-shoots."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Callum was grateful that Mr. DeMarco was willing to forgive his indiscretion.
Mr. DeMarco returned his attention to the papers Troy had brought him and reviewed the contract for a few minutes before looking up. Callum was relieved to see that the man was smiling again. "Callum," he instructed, "pull up a chair and sit down. I want to go over the modeling contract with you."
"Yes, sir," Callum replied, quickly moving to pull a chair over to the desk. He was going to place it in front of the desk, but Mr. DeMarco motioned that he should pull it alongside his own. It was a tight fit for two chairs behind the desk but Mr. DeMarco moved his chair slightly and both chairs were able to fit.
As Callum sat down he was suddenly reminded that he was still completely naked. His balls got a little scrunched up by his thighs and he was forced to reach down and physically re-adjust his junk. It was pretty embarrassing handling himself so intimately with Mr. DeMarco just inches away and Callum was pretty sure he was blushing by the time he got himself properly settled. But Mr. DeMarco didn't make any comments; he just smiled at Callum, patted him on the knee and moved the contract on the desk so that they could both read it at the same time.
Callum leaned a little forward and was just about to begin reading the contract when Mr. DeMarco reached out, picked up his phone, and hit the intercom button. "Troy," he spoke into the receiver, "would you bring in a glass of water for Mr. Phillips. He's probably pretty thirsty by now."
Obviously obtaining the response he expected, Mr. DeMarco replaced the phone in its cradle and turned to Callum. "It might be a good thing if you apologized to Troy when he brings the water in. The two of you will be working closely from now on and it's better if you don't start out with a strained relationship."
Callum was disconcerted by this last statement and blurted out, "But I thought I'd be working with you, Mr. DeMarco."
"Oh, you will," Mr. DeMarco immediately reassured him. "You'll be working very closely with me from now on. But Troy is part of our agency team. He's not just a first class secretary, he's also a very good photographer in his own right. He'll be the one taking the pictures for your comp cards next week and he'll also be in charge of your personal grooming. So it's important for you to have a good working relationship with him, regardless of any personal misgivings you might have."
"Yes, sir," Callum duly responded. He was about to question just how Troy was going to be in charge of Callum's grooming when the door opened and Troy fluttered in. 'God,' Callum thought, 'this bitch has got to be just about the nelliest flamer I've ever seen,' but, mindful of Mr. DeMarco's lecture, Callum managed to plaster a pained smile onto his face as Troy handed him the glass of water. Callum thanked him for the water.
Aware that Mr. DeMarco's eyes were on him, he continued. "I also want to apologize if I offended you earlier, Troy. I'm sorry if I did." He inwardly cringed hearing himself apologizing to this fucking fruit-basket but hoped he'd done it without showing how he really felt.
Troy just stood there smiling, letting his eyes rake up and down Callum's naked body, forcing the boy to visibly squirm in the chair. "Oh don't you worry, honey. A pretty boy like you with such a hot bod is bound to be a little skittish at first. But we'll work it out - don't you fret. We'll be close friends before you know it. Real close friends," he added with a leering smirk, "if you know what I mean." With that, Troy turned and minced his way out of the room.
Callum was sure he had to be blushing scarlet after this last exchange but a quick glance over at Mr. DeMarco showed that the man seemed completely oblivious to the disgusting implications of Troy's last words. Instead, he seemed intent on simply going over the contract terms. "Have a drink of water, Callum," he suggested, "and we'll get started." Stifling his irritation, Callum grabbed the glass and took a large swallow and then turned his attention to the matter at hand.
Callum was appreciative of the care Mr. DeMarco took in explaining all the terms of the contract to him. It was, Mr. DeMarco advised him, a standard exclusive modeling contract except for one or two alterations. Mr. DeMarco explained to him that, under its terms, Callum was agreeing to accept AAA Modeling Agency as his exclusive personal manager for modeling, advertising and entertainment purposes during the term of the contract, which was two years from the date of signing. That meant that Callum had to inform Mr. DeMarco of any offers of employment made directly to Callum in any of those fields and refer those matters to him.
Callum also was giving the Agency the exclusive authority to use and distribute, and to allow others it licensed to use and distribute, all pictures and other images of Callum in connection with not only advertising and publicity but for all other purposes covered by the contract. Callum also agreed to accept Mr. DeMarco's counsel in all matters relating to employment and other endeavors that involved modeling, advertising, and entertainment.
In exchange for the Agency's efforts in promoting him and helping him to find employment, Callum agreed to pay the Agency fifty percent of all money received for any work in the modeling, advertising, or entertaining fields during the term of the agreement. At this point, Mr. DeMarco turned to Callum and told him that AAA Modeling Agency's cut of fifty percent was higher than that charged by most agencies. "We believe it's justified," he explained, "by the special efforts we put into assuring that our models get the greatest possible exposure. But, because our percentage is somewhat high, we expressly provide an escape clause. If, after six months, you are dissatisfied with our performance you may unilaterally abrogate the contract and sign with another agency. This six-month period allows us sufficient time to recover any out-of-pocket expenses we may have incurred on a model's behalf and also provides the individual with the opportunity to determine whether or not he is cut out to be a professional model."
Callum was a little troubled by this provision so he asked, "Does this mean that after six months you can just terminate your relationship with me?"
Mr. DeMarco hastened to assure the model that this was not the case. "The six-month option can only be invoked by you. The agency, on the other hand, is firmly committed to representing you for the full two-year term of the agreement. I might mention, however, that in the history of this agency, no model has ever exercised the option, which I think is a pretty good indication of the level of services we provide."
Having dealt with that item, Mr. DeMarco made a point of mentioning another provision of the contract which required Callum to conduct himself in accord with the Agency's rules of behavior and to do nothing which would inhibit or impair his ability to fulfill his obligations under the contract. When Callum inquired as to this last provision, Mr. DeMarco informed him that it covered matters such as substance abuse. "I don't care if you drink a few beers or use some recreational drugs when you're not on-site working as long as you do so in moderation. But excessive use of alcohol or use of any recreational drugs while on the job will not be tolerated."
"The other thing that provision covers is physical alterations. I don't want you going out and changing the way you look. No wild haircuts; no tats; no piercings. Is that understood, Callum?"
"Yes, sir," Callum immediately replied. He could understand Mr. DeMarco's desire that the person who showed up for a job should be sober and look like the person the employer had contracted for. That just seemed like good business practice.
Callum picked up the contract and looked it over again. There were a lot of other provisions in it which he didn't really understand but he was afraid that, if he asked too many questions, Mr. DeMarco might think that Callum didn't trust him. But that wasn't true. Callum did trust Mr. DeMarco. Callum always relied on his instinctive reaction to people and his gut told him that Dean DeMarco was one person he could completely trust. So when Mr. DeMarco turned to him and asked him if he had any further questions, Callum immediately handed the contract back to him and responded, "No, sir."
"Then, Callum," Mr. DeMarco continued. "Are you ready to sign the contract?"
"Yes, sir," Callum eagerly answered. "I am."
"Then let's do it." With that, Mr. DeMarco picked up a pen and signed for the Agency. He slid the contract over to Callum and passed him the pen. Trying to tamp down the excitement he was feeling, Callum carefully added his signature above his typed name. He couldn't believe it. He now had an agent.
Mr. DeMarco must have felt some of the happiness Callum did, because he dropped his hand to Callum's naked thigh and gave it a good squeeze. Callum probably wouldn't have thought too much about this gesture if he didn't happen to glance down and notice, to his shock and horror, that his penis was fully erect. Callum was throwing a goddamned bone, right there, right in front of Mr. DeMarco.
And of course Mr. DeMarco would take that moment to glance down and see Callum's big nine-inch rod shooting straight up from his pubes. Callum thought he was going to die of embarrassment.
But Mr. DeMarco quickly laughed it off. "No need to be embarrassed, Callum. A young stud like you probably gets hard twenty times a day. Happens to all of my younger male models now and again and I'm sure this won't be the last time it happens to you, so don't worry about it. We're just two guys here. Besides, I'm glad to see you weren't exaggerating - it looks to be at least nine inches."
While Mr. DeMarco was clearly seeking to reassure Callum that there was nothing to be embarrassed about in his sudden tumescence, Callum found the continued focus on his hard dick profoundly unsettling. Here he was at probably the most consequential moment of his life to date, having just launched himself on the path to what he was sure would be a successful career, and he was flashing a big boner like he was some high-school junior who'd been having dirty dreams during a boring chemistry lecture. He wanted nothing more than to cover himself up but he was afraid that Mr. DeMarco would consider his reaction childish.
So Callum tried to shrug it off lightly. "Yeah," he responded quietly, "I guess it is about nine inches like I said."
"You guess?" Mr. DeMarco immediately replied in a tone of surprise. "Haven't you ever measured it?"
"No," Callum answered, surprised by the turn the conversation had taken. "Not recently, anyway."
"Well, we can take care of that right now," Mr. DeMarco declared. Before Callum had even a chance to react, Mr. DeMarco had opened the drawer of his desk and removed a ruler. Callum's mind was just beginning to process what was happening when Mr. DeMarco reached out with his right hand and grabbed a firm hold of Callum's erect penis. Holding it straight into the air, the man brought the ruler up next to Callum's cock with his other hand and then leaned down so that his face was just inches from the boy's crotch. "Nine and a half inches," Mr. DeMarco declared. "It's actually nine and a half inches."
Callum sat there in shock. Never in his entire life had he let another dude touch his cock. Well, maybe a doctor had handled it a couple of times during a physical examination, but that had just been a momentary thing. And his cock had been flaccid at the time. Not the rigid rocket that now stood up so proudly from his groin. No guy would have ever dared to touch his hard cock before. And Mr. DeMarco hadn't just touched his cock, he had grabbed it and then held on to it. And he was still holding on to it. Another man was holding on to his fully engorged cock and Callum was just sitting there, watching him do it.
But what was most upsetting for Callum was that his cock was acting as if it enjoyed it. Callum could feel it throbbing and pulsing, just like it did when he plowed some bitch. It felt so good, so very good, and so wrong, so very wrong, all at the same time. He shouldn't be getting hot while some dude held on to his cock. No fucking way. But he was - Callum could feel his sexual excitement rising. Then, just to make his humiliation total, he saw his slit open and a large dollop of pre-cum bubble its way to the head of his cock. Callum was completely mortified and embarrassed.
Mr. DeMarco noticed Callum's distress. "What's the matter, Callum?" he asked, concern obvious in his voice.
Callum was simply too embarrassed to even try to answer but Mr. DeMarco managed to guess the problem. "Are you still embarrassed because you're throwing a rod, Callum? Is that it?"
"It's...it's not just that," Callum eventually managed to stammer out.
"What then?" Mr. DeMarco pressed. "Is it because I'm holding your cock? Is that it? Or," Mr. DeMarco added with a glance down at Callum's throbbing boner, "is it because you're leaking so much pre-cum?"
Callum followed Mr. DeMarco's glance down to his cock and was abashed to see that his cock-head was now completely coated with pre and more was continuously leaking out of his hard tube. "Oh, God, Mr. DeMarco," Callum moaned. "I'm so sorry. I'm really not that way. Really. I'm not a faggot. I'm really not. I don't know what's happening to me."
Looking at Callum, Dean DeMarco could tell that the boy was on the verge of tears. He could only imagine how Callum would react if he were to experience an orgasm right now, with Dean nor merely watching but actually holding on to his hard cock. It would be a real hoot to bring him off, get him to shoot a full load right there, right now, but the man didn't want to hurry things. He glanced up at the ceiling camera and gave a wink. Then, slowly, he removed his hand from Callum's cock. He placed his hand on the boy's thigh and squeezed it paternally.
"Really, Callum," he soothed. "It's nothing to be upset about. It's totally natural for a young stud like you to be easily aroused. It's nothing to be ashamed about. Hell, you should be proud you have such a sensitive cock - and such a big one, too. I bet the bitches love you in bed. I bet you're a real stud in the sack."
"Well," Callum slowly managed to answer, "I haven't had any complaints in that department, that's for sure." He was so relieved the way Mr. DeMarco was handling the situation. The man was such a professional. Callum knew that he made a real smart decision in signing him on as his agent and personal manager.
Seeing that Callum was calming down, Mr. DeMarco removed his hand from the boy's leg and suggested that he get up and stand in front of the desk. "Now that we're in business together," he explained, "I want to give you some guidance on how we're going to proceed."
"Yes, sir," Callum readily agreed. He eased himself off the chair, moved it back to its place along the wall and returned to his place in front of Mr. DeMarco's desk. His hard cock was still sticking straight out from his groin but at least it had stopped leaking ball-cream.
Mr. DeMarco looked at Callum for a long moment and then asked him to assume various poses that emphasized different muscle groups. In truth, Callum had frequently struck some of these poses before, but he'd done them in front of a mirror, in the privacy of his bedroom. It felt much different to be striking the same poses in front of another person, particularly since Callum was not only naked but had a fully erect cock jutting straight into the air. Callum couldn't shake the feeling that there was something vaguely obscene in the positions he was striking since they seemed to emphasize not only his muscular development but also the hard cock bobbing between his legs. But he was sure Mr. DeMarco knew what he was doing and he simply complied with every request that the man made. He was just glad that no pictures were being taken of him as he assumed some of the more lewd poses.
After at least fifteen minutes of posing, Mr. DeMarco told him he could stop. Callum was really thirsty by then and he was grateful that Mr. DeMarco was observant enough to notice this and suggest he have some more water. After Callum had finished the water, Mr. DeMarco asked him to take a few steps back from the desk, spread his legs apart and raise his arms and place his hands behind his neck and lock his fingers together. Callum did as directed and then, at Mr. DeMarco's further suggestion, spread his elbows apart so that they were parallel to his torso.
"That's a great pose for you, Callum," Mr. DeMarco observed after Callum had complied with his directions. "It shows your muscles off really well. I think we'll use it as a baseline by which to judge how your physical development is progressing. So, if you don't mind, from now on I'd like you to assume that pose whenever you're just standing in front of me."
"Yes, sir," Callum immediately agreed. Callum wasn't sure that it was the most comfortable position to be standing in for any length of time, but he did have to agree that it fully displayed his entire body.
"Now," Mr. DeMarco continued, assuming a more serious air, "let's get down to brass tacks. You have a very nicely developed body, particularly your upper body. However, your thighs and calves are a little less well-developed so we are going to have to work on them. Furthermore, while your total body-fat looks to be around ten to eleven percent which is fine for swimsuit and underwear modeling, the standards for physique models are somewhat lower, around seven or eight percent. I'd think it'd be best to aim for that level of body-fat to give you the greatest range of options for future work."
"Yes, sir," Callum readily concurred. He really liked the idea of becoming a physique model - it seemed so masculine and manly.
"It's obvious looking at your body, Callum, that you work out. Just how often do you do it?"
"For about an hour and a half every day, Mr. DeMarco. I try to work it in around my class schedule."
Looking at Mr. DeMarco, Callum could see the man frown. "Is there a problem, Mr. DeMarco?" he asked.
"Well,' the man answered slowly, as if carefully selecting his words, "I certainly agree that education is important - very important. But it seems to me that in order to achieve your full potential you'd have to be working out about at least four hours every day - split into morning and afternoon sessions, of course. That would probably be hard to do if you're carrying a full schedule of classes. I don't know, Callum," Mr. DeMarco mused, "maybe it would be wiser if we slow-tracked your modeling career for now and let you concentrate on your school-work."
"Oh, no, Mr. DeMarco," Callum objected. Now that he had managed to sign up with an agency the last thing in the world he wanted was to 'slow-track' his modeling career. What he wanted to do was speed it up. "Don't worry about my classes. If you think I should start working out four hours a day, that's what I'll do. I'll just arrange my class schedule around my work-outs. Really," he added, terrified that this was going to throw a monkey-wrench into everything, "it's not a problem, sir."
Mr. DeMarco looked at Callum and then slowly smiled. "I'm glad to hear how committed you are to your new career. I just hope you're not sacrificing your education at the same time. But you seem like a very intelligent young man and I'm sure you'll be able to juggle the demands of both school and modeling appropriately."
Callum stood in front of the man, virtually beaming with pleasure as he absorbed the compliment. He couldn't remember anyone ever calling him 'very intelligent' and he was so grateful that Mr. DeMarco had done that. He was going to do everything he could to make sure that he made this man proud of him.
"Okay, then, Callum," Mr. DeMarco continued. "Here's what I want you to do." And then he laid out a vigorous training schedule that he wanted Callum to follow. Generally, it called for less weight and more repetitions for the upper body, and slowly increasing weights for his thighs and calves, which Mr. DeMarco wanted to build up. It also involved a rigorous running regimen to help lower Callum's body-fat percentages, together with a tightly controlled diet.
"The one thing I want to emphasize, Callum," Mr. DeMarco concluded, "is the importance of maintaining hydration and body energy levels. As far as hydration is concerned, obviously that means you must maintain a high-level of water intake. And, with respect to the maintenance of energy levels, over the years we've developed a formula that seems to work exceptionally well. We've contracted with a local bottled water company and they provide us with bottles of water with the appropriate doses of energy supplement already mixed in."
"I'll be happy to use the supplement, sir," Callum dutifully replied. But then, his awkwardness obvious, he asked, "How much does it cost?"
Mr. DeMarco smiled indulgently at him. "Actually, it is somewhat expensive to formulate but you don't have to worry about that. You're our client, Callum. We'll provide you with the supplement for free. Troy will give you a couple dozen bottles before you leave. You should drink two or three bottles every day."
"Oh, thank you, sir," Callum responded, his relief palpable. He had scarcely twenty dollars to his name right then and he knew his tight-wad of a father sure as hell wouldn't give him any more just to buy an energy supplement.
Mr. DeMarco nodded his head and then stood up. "Well," he said, obviously bringing the meeting to a close, "I think we're done here. You can get dressed Callum. On your way out, have Troy schedule you for a three-hour photo session next Tuesday and a standard two hour session on Friday. And also tell him that I want him to give some of our energy supplement - enough to last you until Tuesday."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Callum replied, lowering his arms and turning to put on his clothes. He was just about to pull up his boxers, when Mr. DeMarco spoke again. "One last suggestion, Callum."
"Yes, sir," Callum replied, turning back to face the man.
"It would be better if you stopped wearing underwear from now on." Seeing the surprised look in Callum's eyes, Mr. DeMarco explained, "A model will occasionally have to attend a casting call on very short notice. I've found that it can be very off-putting to the hiring agent if the model shows up wearing Calvin Klein briefs to a Hugo Boss shoot. If you're not wearing any underwear, there's nothing for a hiring agent to take exception to."
"That makes a lot of sense, sir," Callum replied. "Thank you for mentioning it. It's not something I would have thought of on my own."
"That's one of the advantages of having an agent, Callum," Mr. DeMarco explained. "To help you avoid pitfalls that you might not be aware of."
"Yes, sir," Callum agreed. And then added, "I'm glad you're my agent, Mr. DeMarco."
"Why thank you, Callum," Mr. DeMarco replied, clearly pleased by the boy's last declaration. "I'm sure we're going to have a very fruitful partnership."
Having decided to accept Mr. DeMarco's recommendation and go commando from now on, Callum was uncertain what he should do with the boxers he'd worn to the office. Seeing his indecision, Mr. DeMarco told him to just leave the boxers on the chair and he'd dispose of them for him.
Callum completed getting dressed and then turned back to face Mr. DeMarco, trying to ignore the fact that his still-erect cock was tenting out the fabric of his slacks. "Thank you so much, sir, for taking me on as a client. I won't let you down."
"I'm sure you won't Callum," Mr. DeMarco replied. "I'm sure you won't." They shook hands and Callum turned around and exited the office, a noticeable swagger in his step. As the door closed behind him, a broad smile appeared on Dean DeMarco's face. "A fucking gold-mine," he said to the air, "a fucking gold-mine."
Dean DeMarco was leaning back in his chair, his feet on the desk, fingering Callum's freshly discarded boxers when he heard a knocking on the door. "Come on in, Troy," he shouted.
The door quickly opened and Troy strode into the room. "Jesus H. Christ," he exclaimed. "What a fucking find!" The change in Dean DeMarco's secretary was startling. Gone was the swishy, mincing walk, the high voice with a hint of a lisp. In its place was a confident, masculine young stud, grinning from ear to ear, with a confident strut and a masculine, deep voice.
"I didn't overdo it with the nelly queen shit, did I?" he asked Dean.
"No, Troy," the man assured him. "You were perfect. That dumb fuck just ate it up. Keep it up for the next couple weeks and then you can slowly ease out of it."
Troy pulled up a chair and sat down. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Mind if I smoke," he asked, almost perfunctorily.
"No. Go ahead, Troy. But you know that it's just going to kill you eventually."
"Yeah," Troy agreed, as he lit one, "if the sex doesn't kill me first." He looked up and saw what Dean was holding in his hand.
"Are those his boxers," he asked. When Dean replied, "Yes," Troy asked if he could see them. Dean tossed them across the desk. Troy crumbled them in a fist and then held them up to his nose. "God, they even smell sexy."
"Oh, he's perfect Troy. Nice sexy face, absolutely beautiful body, an incredible ass. Fuck, he's even got some major meat between his legs - not that that's going to see a lot of action in the future."
"Yeah," Troy readily agreed, "but still it's nice to have on the package. Lots of guys like fucking a pretty straight boy who's well-hung - kind of adds to the thrill. And they're going to be lined up to fuck Callum's ass."
"Well that line's going to form behind me," Dean responded with conviction. "That's one cherry I'm planning on popping myself. One way or the other," he added with a chuckle.
Troy, who obviously knew what Dean meant, laughed out loud. "That would be fun. Maybe we could do him together. We haven't broken in a new boy like that that in a long time."
Dean was sitting there, just looking into space, musing on the vicissitudes of chance. "A fucking walk-in," he said aloud. "We bust our asses combing the bars and clubs looking for likely targets and then the hottest prospect we've had in at least a year just walks into our office off the street. No finagling, no hard sell. He fucking wants to work for us. I mean, he really wants to work for us."
Troy looked up with a grin. "Well, he's going get his wish. We're going to put his ass to work for us all over the goddamn city."
Dean looked at his some-time secretary, full-time partner in the AAA Modeling Agency. They'd been working together for seven years, since Troy turned eighteen. He'd been worried at first about taking on a partner, particularly Troy, but he had to admit it had been one of the smartest moves he'd ever made. Troy was a phenomenal recruiter; he had a real instinct for ferreting out just the type of straight guy who would be susceptible to their pitch. He'd even recommended Callum just on the basis of his original phone call. He'd told Dean that there was just something about the guy's manner on the phone, a self-assured arrogance, that made Troy feel Callum was both hot and ripe for the picking.
Dean could see for himself that Callum was hot the moment he walked through the door and it didn't take him much longer to realize that Callum possessed just the right combination of traits to make him the perfect patsy for their scheme - a huge ego, an abiding desire to make it big, and an all-enveloping ignorance of what modeling was really all about. Pretty and dumb, you just couldn't ask for a better combination.
And, to top it all off, like icing on a cake, Callum was a raging homophobe, something else that Troy had picked up during that first phone call. That was always the most fun - turning some straight homophobe into a willing fuck-boy for gay men. Well, maybe not that willing, but that merely added to the pleasure he'd feel when he watched Callum spread those gorgeous buns and take a big hard cock up an already well-used and leaking boypussy. And every time Callum took a load, every time some total stranger bent him over and fucked him like a sleazy whore, Dean DeMarco would be making money. After all, Callum had just agreed to pay AAA Modeling Agency half of all the money he made in the entertainment business over the next two years. If things worked out as they should, Callum was going to be doing a lot of 'entertaining' during the next two years and Dean and AAA Modeling Agency figured to make a lot of money off his efforts.
Right now, though, he and Troy faced the delicate task of turning Callum out, a step-by- step process that was going to take an incipient gay-basher and turn him into a placid receptacle for load after load of hot steamy man-cum. Dean didn't want to hurry things along. He wanted to take things slowly, savoring every step of Callum's metamorphosis from a straight stud to a gay man's boy-bitch. And he didn't want to fuck things up, either. They were going to be careful with Callum - he was just too valuable to risk scaring off by moving too quickly.
He brought his attention back to the present and saw that Troy was still sniffing Callum's boxers. He had to smile. Troy had a thing for smelling underwear. He always had. Well, Troy could keep Callum's boxers - he'd earned at least that for his performance today. Dean was sure he'd shoot a load into them later that night but right now he wanted to focus on the matter at hand - how to proceed with Callum.
"Troy," he said, trying to jar the boy out of his sexual revelry.
"Yeah, Dad," his son responded, not removing the musky boxers from his nose.
"Troy, I need your full attention. Put his boxers down for now. I want to work out our program for Callum and I want to make sure we're on the same page. I don't want you fucking things up like you did with Keith."
"Jesus, Dad," Troy responded with some heat, dropping Callum's boxers on to the floor. "How many more times am I going to hear about Keith? Yeah, I fucked that up. I know that. But that was over a year ago; I learned my lesson. You want to take it slow with Callum - I'll take it slow. Just tell me what you want me do. You don't need to keep harping on Keith." Troy let out an exasperated sigh. "What do you want me to do?"
Over the next half hour, Dean laid out his plan of attack. When he was done, Troy looked at his father. "You're a fucking genius, Dad. You really are."
"Thank you, Troy," Dean replied easily. "But just remember, the best laid plans of mice and men 'gang aft agley.'"
Troy rolled his eyes as his father quoted Robert Burns for probably the ten thousandth time. After hearing him say it for years when he was growing up, Troy had finally searched out the poem. Couldn't make heads or tails out of it - it was hardly even in English. What the fuck! Why didn't his father just say something like 'shit happens.' It pretty much meant the same thing and people actually could understand it. Whatever. He grumpily shook his head in agreement and then stood up.
"I'm going to head for home, Dad," he told his father. "I'll take the tapes with me and start working on them."
"Did you watch them at all?" his father asked and, when Troy shook his head 'yes,' continued, "How were they?"
"Super, Dad. They were great. I loved the footage where you had him posing with his big juicy hard-on bopping around all over the place. You did everything but make him twerk."
Troy had shown his father what twerking was just a couple of weeks earlier and Dean had actually considered having Callum do it. But he thought it might be a little bit much for his first posing session. Besides, he had to hold something back to keep his subscribers hooked.
"It's fine if you want to get the tapes ready right away, Troy," he informed his son, "but I'm not going to be posting them for awhile. I want to make sure we have at least four or five sessions in the can before we introduce him to the viewers. A guy like Callum figures to be real popular and I don't want to give the regular subscribers just one or two episodes and then tell them that's all we've got, like we had to do with Keith. That just pisses them off. I want to make sure we have enough footage to keep them satisfied for at least a month before we start uploading footage on to the site. And, as far as the premium subscribers are concerned, I personally want to be sure we'll be able to deliver on the goods before we even start advertising Callum. Keith was even a bigger debacle with them. So we won't be posting any Callum videos for a while."
Though he was irked, Troy didn't respond right away. It was obvious that his dad was never going to let him forget about Keith. So Troy just grit his teeth and ignored it; he didn't want to give his old man the satisfaction of knowing how much it irritated him. Instead, he reached down, picked up Callum's boxers, and jammed them into his back pocket. Then, he straightened up and left it with a "Whatever you say, Dad."
As Troy walked out of the office, he turned back to his father. "By the way," he informed him, "Kerry showed up while you were in here with Callum. I got him ready for you and put him in the storage room. He was pretty nervous when he arrived and that was at least a half-hour ago. By now he's probably climbing the walls." 'Or at least would be if he was able to,' Troy added to himself with a suppressed chuckle.
Dean DeMarco's eyes just lit up as he thought about his ginger-haired stud-puppy. Friday was a big day for Kerry - his first auction. He was in the office for his final prepping - something Dean always saw to himself. As Dean had informed Kerry when he set up this session, he needed to be assured that Kerry was prepared for whatever was thrown at him. Though he had popped the boy's cherry only a couple of weeks earlier, Kerry had already come a long way.
Kerry had returned from shooting his first video scene just two days ago - your standard prison rape. The producer had wanted to film a full-on gangbang with at least six guys but Dean had figured that was a little too much, too soon for Kerry. Besides, he wanted the boy's ass in good shape for Friday, so Dean had insisted on limiting it to two assailants, though he did agree after a certain amount of haggling and the addition of $500 to the contract price to letting the guy with the ten-inch cock have two go's at the boy. Kerry was real sore and completely hoarse after the filming was over but it wasn't anything he wouldn't recover from by Friday. Of course his upcoming session tonight wasn't going to aid in the healing process but Dean figured Kerry had to learn early how to perform even when he was in pain - he was sure to get a lot of practice doing just that in the next few months.
"Send the bitch in before you go," Dean instructed his son.
"Sure thing, Dad," Troy answered as he closed the door behind him.
Dean DeMarco remained sitting in the chair behind the desk, reviewing the session with Callum. It had gone just about perfectly for a first session. There was no question about it. Callum was going to be a real money-maker - as long as they didn't screw it up. And Dean was going to make sure they didn't screw it up. That was one straight-boy's ass he definitely intended to plow.
He had been sitting there at least five minutes when he began to wonder what had happened to Kerry. Did Troy forget to send him in? Just then, as if on cue, he heard a rattling at the door. "Come on in, Kerry," he shouted.
There was a slight pause and then another rattling of the door. "Get in here, Kerry," Dean called out again. This was followed by another rattling of the door. "What the fuck!" Dean exclaimed as he stood up and made his way to the door. "I told you to come in, Kerry," he complained as he opened the door. And then it was all he could do to keep from laughing out loud. There, kneeling on the floor in front of him, was an obviously distraught Kerry.
Troy had told Dean that he'd got Kerry ready and that, if anything, was an incredible understatement. The boy in front of him was a sight to harden any real stud's dick. He was on his knees, leaning forward at an awkward angle with his arms cuffed tightly behind his back. His fleshy nipples were festooned with a pair of heavily-weighted alligator clips that made them stretch pendulously towards the floor. Looking down the curve of the boy's succulent ass, the rubber tip of an obviously gigantic dog-tail buttplug waved back and forth in the air. As if that weren't enough, the straight end of an anal hook protruded upwards from his ass, connected by a tight rope to the back of Kerry's neck forcing the boy to keep his head upright. The rope, itself, was tied to the back strap of an O-ring gag which had been stuck in Kerry's mouth and from which an uncontrollable flow of drool was cascading down the boy's chin.
Kerry's pretty blue eyes sparkled with tears, whether from pain or frustration or humiliation Dean couldn't be sure. Probably a little of all three. And, completing this picture of abject male submission, Kerry's hard 7-inch dick jutted straight out from his groin, pointing to the floor, its fire-engine red color providing a vivid contrast with the striking alabaster coloration of the rest of the boy's body.
The contrast between the boy's cock and the rest of his body was so great that Dean reached down and ran his fingers along the length of the boy's shaft. Kerry immediately emitted a loud groan. When, a minute later, Dean's own fingers began to tingle with heat his suspicions were confirmed. Troy had Ben-Gay'd the boy's dick.
It was only at that point, when Dean bent down to check whether Troy had provided a similar coating to Kerry's balls, that Dean discovered the piece-de-resistance of Troy's preparations. Kerry's balls had been separated from his cock by use of a humbler, which explained the boy's uncomfortable posture - he was physically unable to straighten up. Glancing behind the boy's ass, where his scrunched up testicles were on painful display, it was clear that they, too, had been liberally coated with Ben-Gay.
Dean wasn't all that surprised. It had been obvious for a while that Troy really had the hots for Kerry - just from the vicious way he fucked the boy every chance he got. Thinking about it, Dean realized that he should probably expect to see a load of Troy's cum dribble out when he removed Kerry's buttplug. Well, it wouldn't be the first time that Dean had been forced to take his son's sloppy seconds.
Shaking his head with a bemused smile on his face, he stepped aside. "Get into the room, Kerry," he quietly ordered and then watched as Kerry slowly and painfully crawled on his knees into Dean's office, the weights dangling from his aching nipples swaying back and forth as he maneuvered himself through the doorway. Dean's own dick was leaking pre-cum as he followed the boy inside. Thanks to Troy's ministrations, Kerry's prep session had already begun.
It would be hours before Kerry would retrace his path out of Dean's office - once again crawling though this time because of exhaustion rather than the humbler. Even Kerry realized, as he slowly made his way to the storage room and his clothes, that nothing he faced on Friday night could possibly be worse than what he'd gone through today. As promised, AAA Modeling Agency had provided him with the training he needed to be a success in the entertainment business.
Despite his exhaustion and the painful soreness that seemed to emanate from virtually every part of his body, Kerry was grateful for everything DeMarco had done for him - even if he didn't always enjoy everything the man did to him. But that was one lesson that Kerry had learned from Dean DeMarco. 'Modeling' was tough work and you had to be tough if you wanted to make it this business. After his sessions with Troy and Dean, Kerry was sure that he was tough enough to do just that. He still wasn't looking forward to Friday, but at least now he was sure that no matter what happened he'd be able to handle it, thanks to Dean DeMarco. He was one hell of an agent, and Kerry knew he was lucky to have the man watching his ass - though watching sure as hell wasn't the only thing he did with it.