From Clay to Putty

"Are you sure?" I ask – for at least the tenth time – as I reach for a towel to wrap around my waist.

Shanna lowers her camera with an exasperated sigh and leans against the wall. "Yes, Clay, I'm sure," she says, probably for the eleventh time.

She sets her camera on a stool and walks to where I'm standing, my hand tightly clutching the large striped beach towel I've practically cocooned myself in. She puts both hands on mine and gently loosens my grip as she continues. "Every model-slash-actor has underwear shots in his portfolio. Look at the 'My Calvins' hashtag. It's blowing up."

"I know – "

"Plus," she interrupts, succeeding in prying my hand away and opening the towel, only to wrap the both of us in it, "it's not like you haven't done photoshoots in your underwear before."

"Yeah, but that was before," I say, my face reddening with embarrassment as I feel myself getting hard as she presses against me. I can't believe she's doing this – we aren't even dating!

I put my hands on her shoulder and try to gently push her away, hopefully distracting myself from her closeness as I continue. "But that was before. I'm trying to be serious as an actor now. I'm not some kid anymore."

"You're only 22," she chides, "though I have to say, you look older. Must be a Midwest thing, huh?" Then she thrusts her lower lips out and pouts, "Besides, you promised!"

Shanna is a photographer friend of mine I met when I moved to Los Angeles from Iowa almost four years ago. I need new head shots for my acting agency and last week she offered to do them for free in exchange for some pictures for a magazine editorial she's working on. I agreed, not realizing the photos she had in mind were of me wearing nothing but my tighty whities and a smile!

But a deal is a deal, and since I'm not the kind of guy who goes back on his word, here I am on a Saturday afternoon in my – well – tighty whities, but with not so much of a smile.

"And," she goes on, her voice is a purr as she seems to draw the word out for several syllables as she runs her index finger down my nose, over my lips and to my chin, "you're in great shape. These shots are gonna look amazing."

It's true. I am in great shape. I've studied nutrition, I watch what I eat, and I hit the gym six days a week. I'm even a certified personal trainer. Not to sound vain, but I know I look good and I like the attention looking good brings.

But I'm still hemming and hawing and she sees me glancing over her shoulder a few times and turns to see her assistant Matt adjusting some lights and filters. She furrows her brow and I know that look. Uh oh.

"Seriously?" she asks, and I can tell she's going to lecture me. "Are you nervous being undressed around Matt? Why? Because he's gay? That's silly."

"No. Of course not. I mean, yes. No... No. I know. It's just ..." I stammer, grasping for the right words that never seem to come when I have this conversation with people. Don't get me wrong, I'm not anti-gay or anything. I have plenty of gay friends and gay co-workers and some of my training clients are gay, and a lot of my fans on Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, and Facebook are gay... and I appreciate their support, I really do! I've even struck up friendships with a few social media friendships. I'm mostly cool about it. I say mostly, because what I don't like is when people feel they have the right to make sexually suggestive or offensive comments on pictures I post on Instagram and stuff. It's just creepy.

I shake my head and gesture to the towel wrapped around us. I open it slightly, just enough to reveal the briefs I'm wearing, and finally manage a low rasp, "I'm in tighty whities!"

But it comes out sounding more like a whine and I cringe at hearing myself. I mean, I wear briefs most of the time, and in modeling we almost always wear them to castings. But I think what it comes down to, is I'm not all that comfortable posing in my underwear in front of a lot of people, especially when that underwear is tight white briefs that show off every curve and bulge.

"Oh, now you're just being a baby," she says with a huff. "But if you feel better, I'll ask Matt to wait in the office until we finish."

And then she steps back and yanks the towel away from me! She tosses it behind her and I'm standing there in front of her and Matt in just my underwear. Suddenly she freezes and I just know she saw my erection.

"Really, Clay? Are you kidding?" she says loud enough for Matt to hear. "We're working here. Lose the boner and let's get finished."

I feel Matt's eyes on me and I turn beet red. Omigod! I manage to pull myself together and for the next hour we get in several good shots.

For the last twenty minutes or so of the shoot she talks me into a few poses that are more risqué than anything I've ever done. No nudity (thank goodness, because I'm totally against that), but definitely on the revealing side. She says she has me in Nautica briefs because she's making a play on the word Nautica versus Naughty and wants to put the Naughty in "Nautica", but I've been wondering if there even is an editorial, or if she's just taking these pictures of me a private collection or something.

I have to say though, the way she takes charge as she snaps away is kind of exciting and I'm getting hard again and I'm afraid if I'm not careful I'm going to make a mess! As it is, I've already leaked a little bit of pre-cum and there's a wet spot starting to form where the tip of my hard-on's been rubbing against the soft cotton of my briefs. I hope the camera doesn't pick up any of that!

We're just wrapping up when there's aloud, deliberate knock on the studio door, and Matt pokes his head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you have a phone call, Clay. It's your agent."

I look at him, confused, and then it hits me: my phone's been off for the past three hours. "Oh crap," I say. "I should take this."

I grab my phone and follow Matt to Shanna's office, oblivious to the fact I'm wearing nothing but my briefs, and pick up the phone. "Hey Steve," I say as I power on my iPhone, thumbing through the texts and other notifications I've missed, while I listen to my agent's agitated but excited voice.

"Hold on," I say, looking up from my phone and giving Steve my full attention. "What's that? I got a meeting for 'Icecapade'? An audition?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Clay," Steve laughs. "They liked your reel, but here's the rub – can you be there at four o'clock?"

I look at the clock on the wall. "Where is there?" I ask. He tells me and I almost swear but catch myself. "Dang, Steve, it's almost three and that's all the way across town."

"You better hurry then," he urges. "I texted you the address earlier. Call me when you're on the road."

I hang up the phone and practically float back where I've left my clothes in the other room. "I can't believe this," I say excitedly as I pull on my jeans and shrug into my shirt, babbling a mile a minute as I fill Shanna in. I hop around on one foot and then the other as I slip my shoes on. "This is the break I've been waiting for!"

I can tell Shanna's just as excited as I am and she kisses me on the cheek while she helps me button my shirt as I fumble to zip my fly.

"Let me know how it goes," she shouts after me as I race out the door.

***

I punch the address Steve texted me into Waze and head for the Ventura Freeway to the 101 to the Hollywood Hills and over the Sunset Strip. West Hollywood. It's hot outside and my air conditioning isn't working right. I'm still a paycheck away from being able to afford to get it fixed, so, to keep my mind off the oppressive heat as well as the tangle of traffic that's Los Angeles, I try to recall what I know about 'Icecapade.'

'Icecapade' is the story of a jewel thief-turned-author who taunts the FBI agent who's been on her tail as she tries to go legit. I heard about it from a friend and even managed to wrangle an early draft of the script. It's amazing and I would really, really love to be in this movie. Although the FBI agent is my dream role, I told Steve in no uncertain terms I'd do anything to get a part – any part – and oh boy, it looks like he really came through!

My only hesitation is the language. I'm a Christian and my family is pretty active in my home church back in Iowa. My parents didn't want me to move to 'Hollyweird' to pursue acting and modeling because they say California is a 'Den of Iniquity' and they actually believe it's going to fall into the ocean when the Big One strikes because of the sinful lifestyle out here. I have to bite my tongue and try not to roll my eyes when they talk like that, which they do every time I call home.

They're worried I'm going to fall in with the wrong crowd and get corrupted and stuff. Start drinking and doing drugs. Nevermind I don't do stuff like that, but I found a good church as soon as I moved here and ended up moving in with a few guys I met there. Between auditions, castings, my personal training clients, my other job as a waiter, and my church activities, I keep pretty busy so there's no time to get into trouble if I was that kind of guy. Which I'm not. I've had people tell me I need to relax and cut loose and live a little, but the truth is, I have zero desire to drink or do drugs.

I mostly love living in Southern California. One thing I don't like about it, though, is how fake some people are. I can't believe how many people I meet who are totally into themselves or into finding pleasure. When I tell a girl I can't date her if she's not a Born-Again Christian and that I don't believe in sex before marriage, I usually get told that I'm old fashioned, a prude, or just stuck up. I've even been accused of being gay! It's nothing I haven't heard before though.

My senior year of high school a few of my classmates spread a rumor that I was gay because I didn't want to go to Cabo San Lucas with them over Spring Break. I knew they were going there to drink and party and stuff, and they got mad when I turned them down. But to tell people I was gay? I mean, I was captain of the football and baseball teams, the Homecoming King and Prom King. Girls were always throwing themselves at me. As if I was gay!

Those kinds of comments used to bother me, but not so much anymore. You get used to it.

So yeah, I don't drink or smoke. And I'm saving myself for marriage, which is probably the toughest one for people to swallow because they look at me and heck – I'm almost 6'2 and have thick brown hair and hazel eyes, and with my body ... well, they think I'm nailing, or should be nailing, every chick in sight. But that's not the case, though believe me, there are a lot of temptations. A lot! I mean, look at me and Shanna: dang, I almost came in my briefs when she wrapped herself into that towel with me earlier! I know she wants to be more than friends, but I know for a fact she's not a Christian. But she's a good friend and I don't want to hurt her feelings, so I just tell her I don't want to risk ruining our friendship in the event things don't work out. She's been really good about it, and I'm glad.

But man! There've been times when I'll get home from a date with a really hot girl and have to take a long, cold shower! And sometimes even then that doesn't help and I find myself rubbing one out when my roommates are asleep, which is – oh gosh, such a sin! I mean, the Bible specifically says my body is the Temple of the Holy Spirit!

My phone chirps, thankfully interrupting my thoughts. It's a text from Shanna: 'Going thru pix we just shot. U look great! Chk ur email.' I groan (I don't ever want my family or friends to see those pictures) and text back a quick thumbs up. Then I call Steve.

"Hi, it's me. What's up?"

"Hey," he says. "Just a heads up – Frank Turner and Jason Donovan are producing 'Icecapade.' That was their office address I texted you."

I don't say anything. I'm kind of stunned.

"Are you still there?" His voice sounds tinny over the speakerphone. "Clay?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"Look," he says, and his voice sounds like he's trying to reason with me. "I know you say you have an issue with them, but the director himself called me this morning. Turns out he saw you in 'Northern Star' and asked if you were interested. I told him you said you'd do anything for a part."

"Who's the director?" I ask and Steve tells me it's Brian Porter.

I nod excitedly. Of course Steve can't see, so I say, "Yeah, I would for sure! He's amazing!" I'm a big fan of his work and I'm stoked I'll be reading for him!

"Thanks for going to bat for me, Steve, and that stuff with Jason and Frank was a few years ago. Ancient history. I doubt they even remember. I mean, if they did, they'd have killed the audition, right?"

"I think so."

We talk for a few more minutes and then we hang up.

***

My 'issue' with Frank Turner and Jason Donovan is that they're perverts.

I'd only been in L.A. seven months or so when I went on an audition for a movie they were producing. It wasn't a big part, but it was a good character and I really wanted it.

Then my agent tells me the producers – Frank and Jason – want to meet me, so I agreed. They must like me, right? I was so stoked. Me in Hollywood! They took me to lunch at Dan Tana's on Santa Monica Boulevard and right off the order wine. Okay, fine, that's cool. But when they offered me a glass, I declined and told them I was a Christian and didn't drink, and then reminded them I was only nineteen and they should be careful. I know lots of guys who'd have just done it, but I wasn't about to compromise my beliefs and values. Besides, it's against the law to drink if you're underage!

Well, I guess they took offense to the way I said it or something, because they told me if I wanted the part (and I really, really did) I'd have to do something for them. I wasn't sure what they meant, but then Frank put one hand on my thigh and the other on his crotch and started rubbing it. He said the part was mine if I'd go to a hotel with them, let Frank give me a blow job and then have sex with them – a threesome!

I remember telling them there was no way in heck I'd ever do anything like that no matter how good the part. I don't recall if I said anything else because I was so fired up, but I was out of there. I know some actors who've done stuff like that to get a part, but not me. Never. I stood up so fast I knocked over my water glass and it broke.

I was worried they would blackball me or somehow make trouble for me, but nothing like that happened, and I ended up never telling anybody what happened. Not Steve or my parents or even Shanna. And I've done okay. I've been in a couple of Indies, a few made for TV movies and several commercials. And I still model. Life's pretty great.

I call my parents next. "Hi Mom and Dad. Hey Chase," I say when the machine picks up. "It's me. Hey, listen, I'm on my way to a big audition so if you get this, could you say a prayer for me? Thanks. Love you!"

***

It's a few minutes before four o'clock when I pull up to the address Steve gave me. I park and give my name to the security guard in the lobby and he hands me a Visitor's Pass and shows me where to go. I'm nervous and my palms are sweaty and I'm a little lightheaded, but that's probably because I haven't eaten since breakfast almost nine hours earlier.

I take the elevator to the floor the security guard told me and before I know it, I'm standing in front of Jason Donovan and Frank Turner's suite of offices. Being a Saturday there's hardly anybody in the building and nobody on this floor. I'm suddenly nervous and I take a deep breath. I put my phone on 'Do Not Disturb,' wipe my palms on my thighs, and knock.

The door is answered by a blond guy about my age. He looks me over, and it feels like he's undressing me with his eyes. He leads me down a hallway to a large office that overlooks the Sunset Strip. As impressive as the view is, I can't take my eyes off the 80" flat screen TV mounted to the wall. Wow! I'd love to have something like this to watch football on instead of the rinky dink set I have.

Introductions are made and I'm relieved when there's not even a flicker of recognition from Jason or Frank. And I'm happy I don't fawn all over Brian Porter like some starstruck kid.

Brian Porter in his early thirties and about my height and has a real presence about him. He seems to be studying me and I hope he likes what he sees.

Frank is the same as I remember him. Ick. He's shorter than me but has to be at least 250 pounds, balding, and he wears these gold chains like he's some kind of rapper, except he's a middle-aged white guy.

Jason, on the other hand, is really handsome. He's probably twenty years younger than Frank, or more. He looks familiar and I think he used to be a model. He's also tall – maybe 6'3 – and he's got perfectly styled dark blond hair and blue eyes. He's dressed really nicely and you can see how fit he is, too. Somebody told me he and Frank got married after the Big Gay Marriage Decision, but I'm pretty sure he's only with Frank because Frank's loaded.

The kid – Eric – is a maybe an inch shorter than me, and is in as good if not better shape than me. He's tan and looks like a surfer. He's got wavy blond hair and he's good looking, but I wonder if his blue eyes are real or colored contact lenses. He's wearing a tight Underarmour tshirt in a glaring, vibrant blue, and faded skinny jeans that look like they're held together only by a few threads and a prayer. They show more of his underwear than I would ever be caught dead showing. Jeez!

He goes over to the bar flanking the far wall and begins to pour drinks. "What would y'all like," he asks. He sounds like he's from the South.

"I'll have a Gin and Tonic," Brian says. "Tanqueray if you have it. Two limes."

"I'll have a Long Island Iced Tea," Jason requests. "There's a pitcher of mix in the fridge."

"There should be a six-pack of Toolbox Spring Shandy in there, too," Frank says. "I'll take one."

The room gets quiet all of a sudden and I look up to see that everybody's looking at me. "Oh, um ... I'll have some iced tea, too." I'm glad somebody else isn't drinking.

Eric looks at Frank and Jason and then back at me. "You want a Long Island Iced Tea?" he asks.

"Yeah," I nod. I look at Jason and he just gives me a small nod.

Eric shrugs. "Coming right up."

Eric has a smirk on his face when he hands me my drink. I'm really thirsty and I'm glad it's in a tall glass. He finishes passing out the rest and then sits on the arm of Brian's chair. He starts stroking Brian's arm and I wonder if they're a couple.

"Huh," I say, looking away from them quickly. I take a sip of my drink. It doesn't taste like any tea I've ever had, but then, the only iced tea I drink is Diet Snapple Peach Tea. This is really good, though.

"What was that?" Brian asks. He gives me a curious look.

"N-nothing," I stammer, and I take another sip as I thumb through the pages he hands me. "Just something caught in my throat. It's all good." Dang, I hate lying.

I'm still hot from the drive over and the late afternoon sun beating in through the bank of picture windows isn't helping any, so I take another big drink and down half the glass.

Eric goes over to the bar and comes back with another glass of iced tea for me. I smile and finish my drink and take the new one. He sets out bowls of mixed nuts and chips on the padded leather coffee table. I'm famished so I grab a hand full of nuts. They're pretty salty and I wash them down with more of my drink. I almost say something about how salty they are, but I know how that'll sound and I don't want to come off as rude. Besides, nobody else seems to be having a problem with theirs so maybe it's just me. Anyway, I'm starving so I grab more.