Hi. I'm Suzanne. When I turned sixteen I started to seriously consider becoming a model. I had all the necessary qualifications. I was young, reasonably tall without being too tall, had a very nice figure, long blonde hair with eyes that were a green/hazel colour. My face was a delicate heart shape and I had perfect teeth and skin that was absolutely free of blemishes.
I didn't do anything about it at that stage because my parents were dead against it. They are slightly over-protective of me but, there again, I suppose most parents are protective of their children. So at that stage I didn't do anything about pursuing a modelling career.
Over the next couple of years my looks just kept on improving. I was fit and healthy and I skipped through adolescence with no trace of acne or coarsening skin. I didn't put on weight and my voice matured into a lovely contralto. With all due modesty, I have to admit that I'm really quite lovely.
I am also incredibly photogenic. Joe is a friend of mine and he's been doing media studies as his major at school. He's really good with a camera, both stills and videos, and he's talked me into posing for him a number of times. He lets me keep a copy of the photos he does.
(Might I point out that the posing I did for him did not include any nude photography, neither artistic nor pornographic. He did suggest once that he'd like to see a bit more boob, which I thought was an extremely crude way of putting it, but I had very firmly declined and he didn't push it.)
The reason I'm telling you this is so that you'll know that my decision to actually try my hand at modelling wasn't just a spur of the moment decision. I had been thinking about it quite seriously for a couple of years. Just after I turned eighteen I asked Joe what he knew about becoming a model. He had hired a couple in the past and I figured he could talk to them and get some tips to pass on to me.
Joe said no worries. He knew a couple of the girls quite well and he'd get back to me. A couple of days later he did.
The main thing that the models absolutely insisted on was that I should have a good portfolio, showing me in everything from a bikini to a ball-gown. Portraits as well as full length shots were a must. Also, don't do it on the cheap. Get a professional photographer to take the photos.
Joe, sweetheart that he is, offered to do the shots for me for free. He said it would be good exposure for him as a photographer. I hated to turn him down, him having been so helpful, but I told him that I thought I'd be better off getting an already established fashion photographer to do the portfolio as they'd know what sort of shots to include.
Joe said he quite understood and actually gave me the number of several professionals, ranking them in the order of their ability according to him. That afternoon I spoke very firmly to myself, picked up the phone and rang the first photographer on the list.
What a letdown. He was sorry but he was booked solid for the next six months. If I liked, he could let me know if a vacancy became available. What, wait six months on the chance that I might get an earlier appointment? No thanks. I thanked him very politely and said I'd try elsewhere.
The second number was just as bad. He was booked for two months and had a holiday planned for the following month. A three month wait was better than six months but still three months too long. Again it was thanks, but no thanks.
The third photographer went by the name Andre, and sounded as though he had a slight accent. French I assumed. He said that I was lucky. He had a cancellation next week and would be able to fit me in. A proper portfolio shoot would take at least four hours. If I liked he could mark me in as a tentative booking and he could meet me this evening to discuss my requirements.
I agreed, naturally, and that evening I went around to visit his studio. The first shock I got was when I met him. I'd been fancying a tall suave Frenchman carrying a camera. What I got was a guy who looked as though he was a reject from the boxing ring, rejected because his nose had stopped one fist too many.
Still he seemed to know what he was talking about. He asked if I'd be using my own clothes or hiring some. If I was hiring he could recommend some specialty shops that hired outfits. He said that in his opinion I had the looks to succeed as a model and I was showing sense in arranging a good portfolio before I started looking for work.
He then explained the sorts of shots that would be taken. There was I thinking pretty portraits and close-ups. There was Andre, specifying full length body shots, head shots, shots of my hands, with and without gloves, shots of my feet, with and without shoes. Full length leg shots in stockings, not pantyhose. Several sets of matching underwear, please, for underwear shots, and make sure the underwear is attractive. Oh, and make sure I shave as the current fashion was not to have a rough patch showing under the underwear.
He said it all so matter of factly, but I was struggling to take it in. It hadn't even occurred to me that he'd want to take photos of me in my undies. He added negligee shots and I was feeling rather sick, but wasn't going to show it.
What he added next was like a kick to the stomach.
"I hope you understand that you will need a few nude shots," he told me, speaking quite calmly. "They'll just be full length nudes showing you reclining. You will be positioned in such a way that nipples and genitalia will not be seen. I'm not doing pornography, after all. The nudes are another reason why you need to make sure you're freshly shaved. Even stubble in that area shows up badly."
I must have been blushing like a stop light at this stage. While men have often suggested that I might like to take my clothes off, none of them had been so matter of fact about it. Andre seemed to assume that I'd disrobe at his command.
I didn't need to worry about the blushing. I went quite pale when he told me how much it would all cost.
I'm like, "How much?" and he just smiled and repeated the same figure. He had to be kidding.
I started apologising for wasting his time.
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling horribly embarrassed. "I just can't afford anything like that."
"Well, maybe we can come to terms on the cost," Andre said, smiling. "I can give you a twenty percent discount if you decide to make it a very friendly session."
It took me a moment to get what he was hinting at. It was the way he was looking at me (and my breasts) that made we twig.
"What?" I almost shrieked. "No way. I couldn't. I just don't do that sort of thing."
"Really? You're surely not telling me that you're still a virgin?" he said sceptically.
My blush must have answered him. He rubbed his chin.
"Hmm. In that case I can do slightly better. A twenty five percent discount and if you're willing to entertain a few of my friends the whole thing won't cost you a cent."
Ye gods. The man was serious. He seriously thought I was just holding out for better terms. He couldn't pay me to fuck him and his friends. (Silly thought of the day. That was just what he was offering.)
I didn't even bother telling him no thanks. I just bolted.
One thing I did do. When I got home I called the first two photographers and asked them what a four hour photo shoot for a model's portfolio would cost. Pity I hadn't done that first time round. Both of them had prices similar to Andre. I hadn't realised that photography was so expensive. I mean, all they do is point the camera and press a button.
I was rather despondently walking through the mall the next day when I met Joe. Deciding he was at fault for including Andre in his list of photographers I gave him a killing look, but he just ignored it.
"What's up?" he asked, smiling, when he was supposed to be lying on the ground twitching.
"I saw Andre yesterday," I told him.
"Yeah? How'd it go? You have to watch him I believe. The girls have said that he's a bit of a sleazebag at times."
