AAA MODELING AGENCY

straighthell-stories:

This story was originally posted on Nifty, a site I no longer post on.  It’s ten chapters long and my intention is to post one chapter a week since the individual chapters are rather long.


                                               Chapter 1

       ‘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’d 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 at
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 he landed 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 cum-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
confident enough 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 handle a situation like that
and, if that’s the case, there’s no way you could be a successful model.“ 

       The man gave Callum another 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?" 

       "Yes, exactly." 

       "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 daydreams 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 not 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’d 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 for 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 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 an 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 stark 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.

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