Summer to Remember

Quick note, I know quite a bit about shopping, but I don't know anything about modeling - other than what I found via Google. Please be tolerant with some of what you're about to read, and if you know anything about modeling, please share. I'm always looking to learn.

All standard caveats apply, everyone's over 18, etc. Most importantly, though, enjoy the story. And as always, please let me know what you thought of my work when you're finished.

***

Ok, I was a bit of a pretty boy, and I knew it, but I never expected to have my looks make my summer to go like this...

I was about average height, thin, and fit. My bestie from school, Betsy, liked to call me lithe. I think she just liked the way the word sounded. Whatever, it described my taught body pretty well.

It wasn't anything I did. I just had long legs, longer eyelashes, naturally pouty lips, and a nice butt. I didn't dress girly. Sure, it crossed my mind a few times, and I knew a few boys that did. It wasn't my thing, or it hadn't been my thing, was probably more accurate. The gods just saw fit to make me this way. Ok, I wore my hair down past my shoulders, but if you had luscious auburn locks like I did, you would too. I don't care how macho you are, or think you are. Hello Jason Momoa...

My aunt Judy was the only family I had left and when I wasn't in school, I stayed with her. She wasn't actually my aunt. She had just adopted a sixteen-year-old pregnant girl and helped her raise her little boy the best she could. That sixteen-year-old girl was my mom, and I missed her terribly. She had a hard life and wasn't always around, but I remember her being fun and funny, always smiling. Aunt Judy told me she was sick a lot, and that's why she wasn't here.

That sickness eventually killed her. I'd later find out that another word for her sickness was addiction. My mom died in a dirty flop house somewhere in the worst part of town with a needle in her arm.

No need to get all maudlin. What happened to my mom made sure I'd never go down that path, so it was a good thing, nah, it sucked big time.

Anyway...

I loved summers at Judy's. It was an old Victorian-style house with massive porches and enormous oak trees like you might see on the cover of a romance novel or something. A vast yard surrounded the old house. There was even an incredible pool in the backyard.

The yard was my job when I was here. My choice of uniform was some ratty cut-offs, probably a little too short and a little too torn to be worn anywhere else, and a tank top. I got the riding mower out of the garage and went to work. The only time I'd stop was to take a drink from the hose, or to redo my ponytail. I loved my hair, but on a hot summer day doing yard work, it got in the way.

I finished mowing and pulled the tank top off, tossed it on the porch, and grabbed the trimmer. The feel of the sun on my sweaty body was invigorating.

The yard mowed and edged, the hedges trimmed, the few weeds I found eradicated; I stretched and slipped my shorts down my legs. Relishing the burn in my hammies as I bent at the waist to do it. Rocking back and forth a little to get that spot in my lower back, that always seemed to catch. Kicking off my shoes, I dove into the pool in my underwear.

I swam a few laps and just floated, luxuriating in the cool water, letting it drain all the stress and aches and pains from my body. All the time I swam, I was completely oblivious to the soft click, click, click of the camera on the balcony next door that had been my companion for the past few hours.

A quick rinse in the shower and I pulled on some gym shorts and a tank top, grabbed an enormous glass of sweet tea and fired up my computer.

"Les, honey, dinner in fifteen, and the yard looks great. Thank you." I smiled. Judy had found me deep in GTA 5, fighting with Merryweather Security over a weapons shipment I needed to resupply my bunker. I had some drugs to sell, a couple of cars I needed to steal, and a buddy of mine wanted to rob the casino again, but those could wait for after dinner.

"Steve, Steve Phillips, I live next door." The man setting the table for my aunt Judy reached out to shake my hand.

"Les, nice to meet you." I smiled and picked up the silverware, helping him with the job.

It was odd, but kind of nice. Having a family type dinner with a man was a rare occurrence in my world. It had always been me and Aunt Judy, and sometimes my mom, when she wasn't sick. Like I said, odd, but nice.

Steve described himself as 'sort of semiretired but not really.' He had sold his company for enough to live comfortably and then poured himself into his hobby when he got bored. He was a freelance photographer that had a few national accounts he did photoshoots for, mostly clothing. I had seen some of his work and had to agree he had a brilliant eye for capturing the models in just the right way to accent what they were wearing. One of his clients was a particular brand of lingerie that still mailed catalogs to the house addressed to my mom. I didn't shop from the catalogs, but found other uses for them now and then.

I couldn't prove it, but I think he made more taking pictures than he had at his old job.

"So, Les, what are your plans for the summer?"

"I'm just going to chill and hang for a week, then I need to find a job to help defray my living expenses for the next school year. Last year I was lucky enough to get tuition and books covered, but I'm usually on my own for rent and Raman." I laughed. "Usually, I can save enough that I only work one job during school and if the restaurant I worked at last year hires me back, I get a free meal on the days I work."

"I might be able to help you with that. I have a couple of shoots coming up for some winter collections for next year. If you want to stop by tomorrow, I can shoot a portfolio and present it to my clients. Modeling pays well, and it's easier than mowing yards." The way he grinned at me made me a little nervous, but I had spent last summer mowing yards and waiting tables six days a week and had barely made my goal.

"Sure, I guess. I mean, it couldn't hurt."

"I think it would be fun." My Aunt Judy pitched in, "playing dress up and having your picture taken. I think I'm jealous." She laughed. I blushed.

We finished dinner, and I excused myself. I had a casino to rob, after all.

Steve was ready for me when I got there just after lunch, showing me straight upstairs to his studio.

"I'm glad you came. I think this can be fun. To be honest with you, though, your aunt told me about how hard you work to pay for school, and I saw you working in the yard yesterday. I couldn't stop thinking how you'd be perfect for a job I have next week and could fit in nicely with one or two others if the first one works out. To be honest, I even took a few pictures of you working to see how much the camera liked you. It likes you a lot. You'd have to be a little open-minded..." He left the comment hang there like a ripe plum waiting to be picked.

"Open-minded, how?"

"For starters, there will be makeup, but I have someone to do that for you. Claire will be here any minute to help you get ready to shoot your portfolio shots so I can get approval to use you for the shoots."

"Makeup?" I gave him a funny look. "Just for the shoots and then it comes off, right?"

"Naturally, and all models wear makeup. It just helps the camera, just like actors and actresses." That made sense.

"What else?"

"Well, one of my clients sells women's shoes and some shots involve a complete outfit to show off the shoes properly. If you do that shoot, we'll want to paint your nails and you'll probably wear stockings or pantyhose. You might end up in tight jeans with a pair of riding boots or even a dress, depending on the shoes. Not required and totally your call. And if you do those shots, I don't have to hire as many models and I can pay you more." He was saying it like it was the most normal thing in the world. "It's just clothes."

"Let me see if I understand this. You basically want me to be a female model?"

"Pretty much. Listen, like I said, I have talked with your aunt. I know how hard it is for you to pay for your school. I just thought this would be easy money for you, and it pays very well, depending on the client. The shoe job pays $100 an hour. Maybe more if I don't have to hire extra models."

"Wait, $100 an hour?" The idea of making that much money dumbfounded me. "That's two lawns. That's a night at the restaurant, and you're telling me I can make that in one hour?"

"Minimum. I told you; the camera likes you."

"Ok, what do I have to do?" I knew I was jumping too fast, but I could pay my rent for a semester and actually eat for that kind of money, and I might not have to have a job at all.

"There's some paperwork, and Claire will be here any minute to help you get ready to shoot your portfolio. I kind of figured you'd say yes." There was that grin again.

Steve was a good salesman. I signed where he told me to sign and didn't balk when Claire told me to strip and lay on the folding massage table she brought with her. If he'd been honest and given me details, I'm not sure $100 an hour would have been enough. When Claire started applying the wax and ripping my hair out, I seriously considered bailing. Legs, arms, chest, she even sculpted my eyebrows. Then she trimmed and waxed my crotch.

"Some outfits might be a little skimpy." She smiled as if she were enjoying what she was doing. Sadistic bitch. And women paid for this. When she was done, I was completely hairless from my nose down. Even that little wisp of hair I called my mustache was gone.

Claire gave me a nice soft robe to put on and directed me to a chair in front of a mirror surrounded by bright lights, where she worked on my face. I just kept thinking about that $100 an hour and hoped for the best.

I sat there mesmerized by the beautiful young girl in the mirror while she worked on my hands, and feet, and then my hair. When she pulled my hair back and showed me the pliers in the mirror, I just nodded. I knew guys with earrings, after all.

The last step was the breast forms Claire glued to my chest, blending them to my skin, so they looked as natural as possible. A flick of her finger and a small zip-lock bag of ice solved the most obvious problem as she handed me a pair of panties to pull on. She helped me fasten the matching bra, and we went shopping in Steve's closet. That's what he called the area off to the side of the room where he kept all the rejects from previous photoshoots. It didn't take long for us to find half a dozen outfits that would work for my portfolio and the shoes to go with them. Steve had three of everything in that 'closet.'

Steve was a magician. Just the right word or a certain look to get me to smile a certain way or hold my head 'like that'. We worked for hours taking endless pictures in all six of the outfits and a few more we discovered after we got started. I was a cute girl in a frilly dress, a tomboy in jeans and boots. I was a glamorous young lady in a formal gown. He took pictures of just my feet in several pairs of heels, a few with a delicate bracelet dangling from my ankle. There were swimsuit shots, bikinis and one piece, all of them justification for the hair Claire had ripped from my crotch.

I was so into what we were doing, I even let Steve take a few boudoir shots with me in corsets with garters and stockings.

Outfit changes with makeup adjustments in between, holding poses and trying again and again to get just the look Steve wanted; I was completely exhausted. I also understood why models made what they made, and I felt like I had earned every penny. Then he told me I didn't get paid for the portfolio. In fact, he usually charged for them.

When he started showing me the pictures he was going to use, I understood I should have been paying him. Whoever he showed them to was going to want to use me to sell whatever it was they were selling. I just knew it.

"You should probably change." Steve took one last picture of me and laughed as I sprawled on the small loveseat off to the side of his studio. I was still wearing the red bustier with the garter and stockings, one of the bright red stilettos on my feet hanging delicately from my toe. "Your aunt wants to come over and see the pictures we took. By the way, you can put your things in the duffel over there." He motioned across the room.

"My things? Duffel?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. You get to keep everything you modeled." My hands immediately went to my chest. "Those Claire will probably charge you for, but I'd bet she'd give you a discount if you asked nicely." He laughed.

"You can pay me out of your first check." Claire smiled at me and kissed my cheek. "Now, let's get that makeup off and you into something more presentable for your aunt." I laughed at the suggestion, but secretly hoped she wasn't kidding. It had been grueling work, but I had enjoyed everything about the day, especially the pretty girl that looked back at me in the mirror.

I was clueless when or where I would ever wear any of it. That red lingerie set, or the white bikini with the big red lip print on the right butt cheek, or any of the clothes I had modeled. I gently packed them all in the duffel, anyway. Something inside me just knew it was the right thing to do.

"Don't forget these." Claire handed me the box with the breast forms. "My card's inside the box. Call me and I'll teach you some tips and tricks."

"Claire, I don't..."

"Leslie," she cut me off, "I've been doing this a long time. It may not make sense now, but trust me. Take them. Like I said, you can pay me out of your first check." Nobody had called me Leslie since grade school.

Judy and Steve were thick as thieves, going through all the pictures he had taken. I stood behind Judy and just watched as the pretty girl from before flipped from one pose to the next, from one outfit to the next on the computer screen. When the lingerie shots came up, Judy let out a muffled scream.

Conflicted, confused, befuddled; they all mean about the same thing, yet none of them quite described how I was feeling. I had no genuine desire to be a girl, but that image in the mirror wouldn't leave me alone. She was beyond pretty. She was gorgeous. Any guy I knew would love to have her on his arm, or underneath him while he fucked her raw.

They would all openly ogle her at the beach, especially in that little white bikini, and somehow, I knew she would enjoy the attention. She had reveled in Steve's attention as the camera caught every nuance of who she was, save one.

The duffel secured in my closet; I laid on my bed, fondling that nuance as I imagined being with her, then being her with someone else. Shit, I was fantasizing about myself. The image of her with a young, fit man between her legs driving her to ecstasy filled my mind, her rock hard cockette bouncing wildly as he pummeled her. Her moans getting louder and louder as she begged him to fuck her harder, to fill her cunt with his seed. It was too much. I spewed all over my stomach, tremors and aftershocks of the orgasm rippling through me as I gasped for breath. My ass clenched at the thought of what that fantasy meant.

I needed a distraction, and badly. Of course, I also needed to make some money for school, so spent the next three days scouring the neighborhood, looking for lawns to do and other odd jobs. I needed something, anything, to take my mind off the girl haunting my dreams and the nasty things she did in my fantasies.

"You ready to get to work?" Steve caught me pushing the lawnmower into the garage after another day of doing lawns. "You have three jobs, if you still want them."

"Three?"

"Yup. Should keep you busy for a while. My clients loved your portfolio. The first shoot starts tomorrow. I'll give you a ride."

"It's not in your studio?"

"No. I only use that for smaller jobs. The bigger ones are on location or at a larger studio where we can set up lighting and things like that. You'll need to wear your boobs. Probably a good idea to wear one of your outfits, too. The other models might be nervous about working with a trans girl. It would help if you showed up as ready as you can be. I'll pick you up at seven."

It was early, but I was ready. I even got my boobs on by myself. Claire was there and took care of me like a mother hen would one of her baby chicks. It was the shoe catalog, and it was worse than Steve had said. I felt like I was changing clothes for every pair of shoes I modeled. Three models, a full week of ten-hour days. The company was revamping their entire line, adding many of the clothes we wore with the shoes.

Once I proved I was there to work, the other models were fine. We laughed and joked about what a slave-driver Steve was. The idea of me being a boy, or trans, or whatever, never came up. We just worked. I quickly discovered that one, I was too busy to even try to watch them change, and they weren't interested in watching me either, and two, Steve was right. It was easier for me to get into the mood of the shoot if I got into character at home, showing up dressed as a girl.

The check Steve gave me was very nice. It would go a long way toward covering what I would need to make for the coming school year, and I had made it in a week. I got to keep a half dozen pairs of shoes and at least as many outfits. I was going to need a whole new closet for all this stuff.

For convenience, I left my breast forms on all week. When I woke up Saturday morning, I didn't even think about taking them off. As much out of habit as anything else, I picked out a bra and panties, a romper and a cute pair of sandals I had gotten from the shoe company. I went down to breakfast dressed as that girl, just without makeup. Smiling at myself in the mirror as I brushed my hair into a high ponytail, I decided I was still cute in a tomboyish sort of way.

"Cute outfit. I thought the photoshoot was over." Aunt Judy slid a plate of pancakes across the counter to me.

"It is. I wasn't even thinking when I got dressed. I just picked out the outfit and got dressed. After dressing like this all week, it's just a habit, I guess." I gave her a weak smile and took a big bite of my breakfast. Besides, she was right. It was a cute outfit.

I didn't even bother to change. I spent the day dressed and decided, 'They're just clothes. Why does it have to matter?' My friends and I ran some jobs on GTA and then switched over to a few other games, wasting the entire day online. I almost felt normal again.

Sunday, I spent the day working in the yard. More than just mowing and edging, I weeded the flower beds and trimmed the hedges. I did all of it in my ratty shorts over a skimpy string bikini, the white one with the kiss imprint on the butt. There was no T-shirt over my top and when I was done, my tan lines were obvious.

As I always did when I was done, I dropped my shorts and dove into the pool to cool off. A smile crept across my face as I realized Steve had probably been taking pictures of me from his balcony again.

Maybe I felt like I was still auditioning for photo shoots. Maybe it was something deeper, but when Aunt Judy told me to go get cleaned up because Steve wanted to take us to dinner, something clicked. Something about spending all week changing from one outfit to another, and all trying to get a specific response. I liked that response and loved what I had done to get it. Changing in and out of outfits, the makeup, the shoes, oh, the shoes, I felt more alive than I could remember.

I showered and cleaned off my forms and carefully reapplied them. Bra and panties, nothing too fancy, just enough to support my forms and keep my giblets in place. I chose a nice pair of tan linen shorts and a sleeveless pink floral silk blouse from the portfolio shoot. I knew just which shoes I could wear with them. Happy with my choices, I sat down to do my makeup. Nothing flashy, just enough to be noticeable.