She is Zachariah's exact worst scenario.

I’m ushered into a studio that is the very image of professionalism, unlike most of my gigs hitherto in my modeling career, this place has that well-moneyed air of perfection, and— Oh Fuck!!

Oh good God, the photographer, it’s her! Ruby stands short, with one hand on the seat of her tight jeans and the other holding a camera… wait, no— it's <u>THEM</u>. A foxy Latina, hoisting a makeup tray leans against my sanguine-haired nemesis.

Why why why did it have to be Camila <u>and</u> Ruby?

These obnoxious girls used to take so much time out of their days trying to hit on me back in college, even when I literally asked them to back off. I remember that that diminutive redhead's idea of flirting was just fondling my ass or grabbing at my crotch. There were a number of times when her and Camila tried to steal photos of me changing or showering, and there were several instances I called campus police to get them away from my dormitory windows after curfew. It’s a miracle from God that neither of them ever saw my cock… but that was liable to change <u>very</u> soon.

If Ruby's still as sexually inappropriate as she was back then—and with all her power now as my photographer—then I'm in <u>deep</u> shit. Oh crap, she’s looking my way now!

"Oh my God, Zachy! From college? It really is you!" The redhead shouts, her eyes and smile growing wider the longer she stares at me.

"Please, don't call me that, it sounds weird." I say, attempting to distract myself from the horrid fact that Ruby of all people is the photographer.

"Whoa, is this babe our cover model?" A lady holding a lighting rig blurts out, breaking any sense of professionalism she might've possessed, "He's so hot!"

“He sure is!” Ruby agrees, biting her lip as she undresses me with her eyes, “Actually, come here ladies— let’s introduce ourselves!”

The lighting girl, a chubby blonde named Tess, and the costumer, a drop-dead gorgeous black woman by the name of Wanda, crowd around me to speak their piece and fawn like teenagers.

“It’s great to meet you, I’m already a fan.”

“How are you so hot? *Cough* I mean, how are you?”

“I can’t wait to dress you up, then dress you down!”

“A pleasure, Ladies.” I say with a **** smirk, woefully unsure how to respond to their coquettish antics.

Camila—the makeup artist here—still desperately wants to see me naked, or rather, she still craves the opportunity to see my penis. I can tell because her coffee-brown eyes keep drifting directly towards my crotch. She had a stalker-y crush on me in college, Hell— half of the women here did, and the thought of any of these girls seeing my most private parts sends a shiver up my spine, for that would be the most embarrassing thing I could imagine.

The last time a girl saw my cock she utterly <u>humiliated</u> me, and I fear these ladies want to do the same.

Their unspoken wish for the male form is granted when Ruby pipes up with a command to get the shoot started, “Zachy, please take off your shirt.” She hoists her camera, and snickers with delight as the other women present giggle, “I just need a couple of preliminary shots before we get to the real fun.”

“Yeah, sure thing, Rubes.”

As I shuck my satin dress shirt off my broad shoulders, the four ladies gasp. I can handle this part, my confidence is always at it's highest when people are going Gaga over my abs. Although I'm scared by Ruby eyeing me the same way a shark sizes up her next meal, I remain the picture of poise as I cast the garment to the studio floor.

So far, this isn’t nearly as bad as I had feared.