Meeting the photographer and the visagiste

Friday eventually came and with butterflies in my stomach I drove to the appointed place. Model’s life is not easy, I was supposed to show up at six thirty and obviously I was on the dot. I was dressed in a casual but still sexy little black dress. I knew not to waste much time on doing makeup and hair, since the visagiste would take care of that.

The whole facility was just waking up to life, the guard let me in and soon I was welcomed by the photographer who introduced himself as James. He looked… uniquely to say the least. He was rather handsome but his style was not exactly what I sought for in men. He was athletic but not ripped and of mediocre height, only slightly shorter than me in my ten centimetre heels. That was fine, just like his face - masculine but not too roughly chiseled and clean shaven. His auburn hair was cut in a weird version of those fashionable fancy male styles; to me it looked just silly. So did his clothes; he wore something between a buttoned up blouse and a T-shirt, it was tight and revealed his toned muscles, but in my opinion tight clothes were for women. His pants were ball squeezers, almost like leggings but with pockets, they showed that James did not skip the leg day; there was also a visible bulge in their front, apparently the photographer was blessed in that regard and liked to show off. To complete his silly look he wore colourful sneakers that could have been a hit in the 90s. But he was polite, even charming, had a firm handshake and decisive masculine motions. I had never had more ambivalent feelings about a man before, at least at first sight.

The visagiste was also a man, his name was Alex and he was clearly homosexual, with the stereotypical mannerism and voice; feminine jeans and T-shirt completed the image. He was relatively handsome although a bit too androgynous for my taste, he was about the same height as James and also fit, but not nearly as athletic; he obviously focused more on cardio than weights.