Mickey's Modeling Memoir Ch. 02

Thanks for reading my memoir!

I know it is moving a little slower than many of the stories you read on here.

Please keep in mind that this story is all true, so it may not be as exciting as a fictional account (many of which are kind of silly and would never happen IRL).

I am sure that the fact that everything I am telling you here actually happened to me will make you just as titillated as it did for me when I got to re-live it as I wrote it.

The story actually gets much spicier beginning in this chapter, once I pass my eighteenth birthday.

There is absolutely zero opportunity for a 15-year-old nude model. Legally, at least, not unless you want to lie about your age and pose for pornos. I spent the last two summers of high school working to make some extra money for college. I missed posing, but Uncle Jimmy, Erin and Cathy had moved on. Chrissy was the only one left living with grandma.

Actually, Chrissy went on to college on an arts scholarship and she became a professional artist and later an art professor. I like to think I was one of the ones that inspired her to follow that path.

My first year at the University was a nightmare. I was in way over my head. When I wasn't studying, I was worrying about my grades. I never really even thought about posing that first year, even though I am sure I could have gotten a job at the art department.

The first week of the new school year (my sophomore year), I was sitting in the cafeteria having lunch with everyone from the floor, including my only friend, Jerry, and his girlfriend. Of course, I did not have a girlfriend, and would not have one for the entire four years of college.

"I'm so damn tired of bein' broke." Translation: I need more beer money. Jerry always drank Old Milwaukee because it was the cheapest beer he could find.

"The art department is hiring." Jerry's girlfriend Melisa seemed like she was waiting for Jerry to complain about being broke so she could bring this up. I got the impression that they'd had this conversation previously. Jerry didn't answer, he just kept eating.

"Yeah, the art department is paying good money for art models to pose nude." Melisa had a plan, setting up Jerry for the kill.

"I'm not gonna pose nude." Jerry was very forceful. The tone he took said this was not his first time saying this.

"Yeah, you really gotta have confidence to pose nude - you really hafta have a huge cock. You're right, Jerr, you don't qualify." The table roared at Melisa's burn.

I don't have a huge cock, but I knew I was a good model. I walked straight from the cafeteria to the art building and applied.

The auditions were held a week later. I mention this because this is the first and only time I had to audition for a life model job. Maybe it's because I have so much experience, but no one has ever asked me to audition, to pose, to get any job since. Over the years, I went to many interviews expecting to have to pose, but no one ever asked me to. I never really understood why not.

The actual audition was probably the most interesting part of my university modeling career, so I'll tell you about it.

When I showed up at the room they had told me to audition, there were six instructors from the art department. There were 14 female applicants and six males.

Interestingly, they split us up by male and female, and the three male instructors took the male applicants to a separate room. There was no verbal interview, the male applicants would pose for the male instructors and the females would pose for the female instructors.

I never understood that. We were all applying to pose nude for an audience of both male and female students. Why did we need to be afraid of posing in front of each other? Made no sense.

Anyway, the instructions were that we were to assume ten poses and hold each of them for 30 seconds each. Gesture poses. My favorites. When they said there'd be an audition, I came up with a few ideas in my head. They were going to evaluate on our creativity, the artistry in our poses, and our ability to hold a pose. I knew if they planned to hire any males, I would be one of them. There was no way any of these guys were going to beat me.

When it came my turn to pose, I went to the changing room at the back of the room, took off all my clothes and put on the flannel shirt I'd brought. They'd said to bring a robe, but I did not own a robe, so I brought my longest flannel shirt, which was not long enough.

When I got to the dais, I could tell the instructors did not approve of my lack of a robe, but they told me to go ahead and pose.

I began with a couple standing poses and with each subsequent pose, I moved closer to the dais. My poses were challenging and dynamic. Uncle Jimmy and the girls had taught me well. My tenth and last pose consisted of me sitting with my shins on the dais, my butt on the dais, leaning back to lay my shoulder blades on the dais, with both my arms over my head and my hands and wrists on the dais. I held that pose for over two minutes, until one of the instructors thanked me. I'm sure they wanted to see if I could hold it. I could.

As I was getting up, I heard at least two people say, 'Wow!' It sounded like they were trying to say it under their breath, but it just came out. That was quite a reaction coming from this crowd. In my experience, young men are so afraid to appear to be a homosexual that they will do anything to avoid a nude male physique. One of the instructors actually clapped.

I jumped off the dais and walked back to the changing room without putting the shirt on.

About a week later, the administrative assistant for the art department called my dorm room. My roommate answered and the admin told him she was looking for me to offer me a position as a nude model for the art department. That information would find its way to the rest of my dorm's floor and provide lots of entertainment for Jerry and the few friends I had in college.

Of course, I was out studying when she called, so I had to call her back. When I did, she told me I had the job and I would be contacted by the modeling coordinator concerning my first class. She also mentioned that I needed to buy a robe and that wearing it was a requirement at all times I was not on the dais. I figured the instructors had told her to say that.

I do not know how many models they offered jobs to, but of the six males and 14 females who applied, only me and one other male, and four females, posed for the University. I don't know if they offered jobs to just us, or if they offered jobs to others and we were the only ones who followed through. Not everyone is cut out to be a nude model.

Of course, there were other models who worked for the University who had posed in previous years and continued to model. I ended up getting about 9 to 12 hours a week, three to four classes, which was about all I could handle with my course load.

I found that posing for the art department was really boring. Most people think that modeling is glamorous and that there are dalliances with co-eds. Nothing could be further from the truth. Modeling is three hours of sensory deprivation, and if you're lucky, your hands and feet and arms and legs won't be numb at the end. You'll usually end up walking home with your feet asleep and cramps in your legs.

There were so many rules and protocols. The University was terrified that a model would do something inappropriate, and the victim would sue the University. And the instructors were overbearing and tyrannical. There was no creativity. The poses were boring and difficult. Many of the artists, male and female, didn't really like the class, and did not make a secret of the fact that they did not like drawing male models. The male artists were openly hostile toward the male models and did everything they could to keep from having to draw our 'junk'. Men are imbeciles.

I was on the verge of quitting the modeling gig with the University but didn't because I liked the extra money. I also really loved modeling. Modeling like I'd done with Uncle Jimmy and the girls.

I made a mistake.

This was pre-internet, pre-Craig's list. I made up a flyer offering my figure modeling services, making a point that I was willing to pose nude, and I posted it on all the bulletin boards in the Art Building. I made those strips with my phone number on the bottom. I checked my flyers every day, and I was thrilled every time one of the phone number strips was gone.

I got a few calls, and I posed a few times for students that were looking to improve their skills. I really enjoyed these sessions, as the students pretty much let me run them and pose the way I wanted to. This was kinda like those summers. I wished I could get enough of these gigs to quit posing for the University.

I got greedy. I got a call from a guy named Bob.

"Hey is this Mick?" The voice was deeper than a student's.

"It is, who is this?" I was hoping it was a professor calling to see if I would pose for a model who had not shown.

"This is Bob. I'm a grad student looking to keep up my drawing skills. Are you available to model for me? You do model nude, right?"

"Sure. Where do you want to meet?" Actually, I really was not looking forward to modeling for a class - modeling for Bob would probably be more fun.

"I live just about a half mile off campus. Here's the address." This was the first time I would model in some one's home since Uncle Jimmy's room. Bob offered to pay twice what I was getting from the University. Bob had a model.

I rode my bike to Bob's house. The ride was easy through the quaint little homes in the college town. I arrived at the address Bob had given me and noticed two cars in the driveway. The house seemed well kept.

I knocked on the screen door just off the driveway. The door was open. A slightly overweight man appeared at the door. He was wearing a concert tee shirt and shorts.

"Are you Bob?" I don't know what I'd expected, but I had not expected Bob.

"Mick, come in, we've been expecting you. You're the star of the show." The house had an overpowering smell of Pine Sol. I should have just turned around right then and there. Who was 'we'?

I opened the screen door and stepped into the kitchen. I noticed there was nothing in the kitchen. There was nothing on the counters. The cupboards were open, and there were no dishes on the shelf. I could see the dining room ahead of me and there was no dining table, just a tripod. When I stepped into the dining room, I could see into the living room, and there was no furniture there, either.

"Where's all the furniture?" The red flags were piling up.

"My friend is letting us use the house." He's trying to sell it. As I looked around the room, I noticed there were a couple of crates in the room, and the windows were covered with sheets. I also noticed there was another man in the room. There was the second driver.

I looked back at Bob. He could see the surprise in my face. "Mick, this is Al. Al has posed for me lots of times. Have you ever posed with another male model?"

"No. You did not say there would be another model." There was anger and fear in my voice.

"I'm sorry, Mick, I thought we'd discussed it. You don't have a problem with it, do you? Your flyer said you were an experienced model." Bob was playing on my ego. He knew I did not want to admit that I couldn't handle the situation.

Al stepped forward and shook my hand. He was older than me, taller than me and I could tell he was much more muscular. He had a mustache, and I still only shaved once or twice a week. I tried to squeeze his hand as firmly as he did mine, but I could not.

"Well Mick, I thought we'd do some photography work. I know you are normally a figure model for drawing, but posing for photographs is actually easier. You've done photography work, right?" I had not. Again, Bob was using my inflated ego against me.

Bob was not an artist, just a GWC, a guy with a camera. I knew I should get out of there, but the money he'd offered me wouldn't let me leave. My greed and my ego overruled my instinct.

As we were speaking, Al was undressing. I was right, Al was much more muscular than me, and he was completely shaven, everywhere. His only hair was the hair on his head and his moustache. His cock was by far the biggest I'd ever seen, and he was un- circumcised. He had a deep all-over tan, and lots of tattoos.

"C'mon Mick, time's wastin', get your clothes off." Artists always have a difficult time asking the model to get undressed. We all know that's why I am there, but they just can't figure out how to ask for it. Bob did not have that problem, his was more like a command. This was the last red flag I would get.

I slipped out of my tee shirt and shorts and dropped them in a pile on the dining room floor. I had brought a robe with me, but it didn't seem like it would be necessary. I dropped it on the pile.

Al took the lead. He could tell I was nervous; I am sure he could feel me shaking. He spoke quietly and reassured me, whispering that everything was going to be okay and that I should relax and enjoy it. He started with his hands on my shoulders and kept moving them with each pose. His hands moved to my chest, then explored my lower abs and moved to my cock. He brushed it first and became more aggressive with each pose when I did not object.

Al was stroking me lightly with the tips of his fingers and Bob was now completely focused on my cock with his camera. I was not a figure model - I was just a cock.

I have to admit I was sexually inexperienced. Al was definitely very experienced - he knew exactly what he was doing. He built my erection slowly and deliberately. Every time I started getting too high, he slowed down to make sure I didn't come.

Al and Bob were working together.

Again, I knew I should leave, but it is difficult for a man to pull away when he's getting a hand job and he has a raging hard-on.

I was not the only one who was aroused. I could feel Al's huge erection on my leg, and I even felt a little pre-cum. Bob also participated, and not just by taking pictures. Al had his free hand, the one not stroking my cock, on the small of my back, occasionally massaging my ass. I felt a second hand stroking my cock. That had to be Bob. He had the camera in one hand and my cock in the other.

As Bob took over working me, Al began massaging my balls. As he did, he kept exploring. Soon his finger was at my ass hole. He traced it for what seemed like forever before entering. His finger was still slippery from the lube he'd used to stroke me, and his finger was pleasurable at first.

I'd never done this before, and I am sure Al felt me tense up. Al slowed down and whispered that it was okay. At the first knuckle, it became more painful. I cried out, which both Al and Bob took to mean they should go harder. Bob began stroking my complete shaft and Al continued to his second knuckle while beginning to enter with his second finger.

I think they thought they knew they had me. They knew I was a virgin (at least they knew I'd never been fucked by a man) and they figured they were bagging me today. I have no doubt that their plan was to spend the day fucking my brains out.

Al was much stronger than me, but I think it was the element of surprise. I am sure Bob had never had a man pull his erection out of his hands when he was on the edge of cumming. I am sure Al had one thing on his mind - burying his huge cock in my ripe ass.

Neither one of them resisted when I jumped to my feet. They both sat on the floor with looks of disbelief. Bob still had his hand shaped like my cock, and Al just sat there with his two fingers together like he was trying to make a pistol; the two fingers which just two seconds ago been buried knuckle deep in my ass.

I looked down at Al's huge throbbing cock and the thought of it ripping through my intestines was terrifying. I didn't say anything and ran towards the kitchen.

As I ran by, I grabbed at the pile of clothes I had left on the dining room floor. I ran through the kitchen and out the screen door. Standing in the driveway next to my bike, nude, I realized that I had just grabbed my tee shirt. I threw it on over my naked body and jumped on my bike. I rode away as fast as I could with the spikes on the pedals stabbing my bare feet.

Bob stuck his head out the screen door as I hit the end of the driveway. "Mick, come back, we'll slow down." There was no way I was going back. Bob and Al had planned to fuck me, and if I was into it, great, and if they had to rape me, even better. They knew they could rape me and never get in trouble for it - Bob and Al'd say I begged for it, and the cops would say I deserved it.

So now I was a half mile from my dorm wearing a tee shirt and nothing else. The tee shirt exposed the crack of my ass when I leaned forward, so I had to ride sitting straight up. This exposed my cock; I rode this way all the way home.

I am sure a bunch of people saw me and knew that I was nude under my shirt; I know there were a couple honks and hoots. Any other place else on Earth, I'm getting arrested for indecent exposure. In a college town, it's just another Tuesday afternoon.

I finally got back to my dorm building. I had some decisions to make. How was I going to get to my room on the third floor? I was still shaking like a leaf.

I decided the easiest thing to do was to just 'rip off the band-aid'. I found my dorm room key in the saddle bag on my bike - luckily I had stashed it there before I left for Bob's house. I jumped off the bike without locking it.

Like I said earlier, when I left the scene of my rape, I still had a raging hard-on. The friction of the tee shirt on my hard-on caused me to explode cum all over my tee shirt as I rode my bike back though town.

There was now a big cum stain on the bottom of the front of my shirt. The shirt was just long enough to cover all but the head of my cock, and just the bottom portion of my ass was peeking out. I took a deep breath and started walking.

I tried to move quickly but calmly through the courtyard, thinking I would draw less attention that way. It didn't work. I heard the cat calls and laughter as I tried desperately to make my way to my dorm.

I took the steps two at a time as I passed fellow students in the stairwell. Hoots and laughter. Again, on a college campus, nudity is seen as funny, not necessarily threatening. I kept my head down and hoped I would not be recognized later.

I moved as fast as I could down the hall, slipped into my room and closed the door. My roommate was on the floor but in someone else's room, so the door to the room had been unlocked.

I grabbed my shower kit and a towel and walked as cooly as I could to the shower room at the end of the hall. It was late afternoon, and I was the only one in the shower. I took the shower farthest from the entrance and turned the water up as hot as I could stand. I just stood under the stream of water and shook for the first thirty minutes. For the next thirty I cried like a child. I had loved posing since the first time I had posed for Uncle Jimmy, and Bob and Al had stolen that from me.

This incident did not end my modeling career, but it did change it. I continued to model for the University, which I found boring and uninspiring, and I also continued to pose for artists outside the classroom.

This did teach me to look at modeling in a different way. I had nearly been raped because I let the money that Bob was offering me cloud my judgement. I vowed that I would never again let money be the motivating factor for posing. From now on, it was about the art, as it had been when I was 14.

This would work out well, since most of the artists that wanted a model couldn't afford to pay me. I developed a clientele of two types of artists: students who would pay me with hand jobs or blow jobs, or professors who would repay me by recommending me to their students or getting me extra posing hours with the University.