Portfolio

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Aspiring model needs a portfolio.
5.5k words
4.44
60.3k
27

Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 04/10/2015
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Ashson
Ashson
8,514 Followers

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."

"A bit?" I asked incredulously. "He could be used as a model for sleazebaggery. He offered me a discount if I'd sleep with him. I pointed out that I didn't do that sort of thing and he got all excited. 'Hey, I'll give you a bigger discount and hire you out to my sleazebag friends.' And he wanted to charge the earth."

"He was third on the list," Joe pointed out. "Didn't the others work out?"

"Oh, sure, if I was willing to wait three to six months and mortgage my parent's house for the fees. Do you realise what these guys charge?"

Joe promptly quoted a price range that neatly covered all three photographers. Yes, he knew. He spread his hands to the side in a helpless gesture.

"What did you expect? You wanted an established professional and that's what those guys charge. Consider their studio costs, equipment costs, staff costs, advertising and other overheads. It's an expensive business."

"Yes, well you didn't mention that I'd have to do nude shots for the portfolio."

"Ah, you don't," Joe said, looking slightly surprised. "A couple of artistic nudes would help pad it out but they're not essential. I didn't think you'd mind anyway. Being a model means a lot of getting changed in front of other people and you'd often find yourself nude in front of strangers."

"Andre said they were essential," I grumbled.

Joe, blast him, just laughed.

"Andre would. But if you don't mind being nude in front of the photographer they'll have no objection to taking pictures of you. They also wouldn't have any objection to making a discreet pass once you're naked."

"Maybe, but Andre didn't wait until then and there was nothing discrete about his suggestion."

"We already agreed that Andre is a sleazebag," Joe said. "The point now is what are you going to do about a portfolio?"

I chewed on my lip. I wanted to ask Joe if he'd still do it but how could I? I'd already turned him down.

"Would you like to reconsider my suggestion of having me do the portfolio?" Joe asked, saving me the trouble. "Like I said, it will be good advertising for me."

"Yes, please," I said, and I suppose I could have sounded happier about it. "Um, will I have to do nude shots at all?"

"It's advisable but not compulsory," Joe said. "Why don't you leave that for now? You can always decide during the shoot."

There was one other question I wanted to ask but I didn't know how to go about it.

"Um, about Andre," I muttered. "Um, I, that is. . ."

My voice trailed away, question unasked.

"Am I likely to make a pass at you? Probably, but I'd do it discretely and I'm willing to accept no for an answer," Joe said, sounding quite serious, but I'll swear he was laughing at me. "Rather, I should say that I'll unwillingly accept no for an answer."

I glared at him and changed the subject back to the portfolio. Joe grilled me on the sort of shots that Andre had suggested and I think I remembered them all. Joe was busy writing them up in a little note pad.

"One last thing," Joe told me as we were parting. "Make sure all the clothes are freshly cleaned and pressed. Creases show up as unexpected shadows and will ruin a shot. Same with spots and marks on the material."

The next few days I was really busy, running around selecting the clothes that I would be wearing, getting them cleaned and pressed, buying a few accessories (like stockings - I didn't know people still wore stockings.) and getting ready generally with a new hairdo, manicure and pedicure.

Finally things were getting under way. I was at Joe's studio and had put on my formal gown, that being the first thing I wanted done. I came swanning out from behind the change screens and waltzed over to where Joe had said he wanted me to stand.

Things promptly went skew whiff.

"Lose the bra," Joe yelled, looking at me through the camera.

"Excuse me?" I said, slightly offended.

"I want to take photos of you, not your underwear," he said. "The bra straps are far too prominent. Either detach them or lose the bra."

"The straps don't come off and I can't take my bra off. This gown needs a bra. If I bent forward you'd see everything."

"You won't be bending forward while I'm taking photos. Apart from that I don't care what you might show, as long as it's not the bra. I'd have thought at your age a bra wouldn't be essential. Your breasts aren't overly large. They should pass the pencil test with no problems."

Was he saying I was small breasted? I thought that I had nice breasts and that they were of a reasonable size. And what did he mean by the pencil test?

"Um, just what do you mean by the pencil test?" I asked.

"You haven't heard of it?" he asked, amused.

"Well of course I have," I said quickly. "I just want to make sure we're talking the same thing."

"Ah, I see. If you're standing topless and a pencil is placed under your breast will the sag of your breast hold it in position or would it drop free?"

How the hell would I know? I've never tried it. Of course it would drop free. My breasts didn't sag. Or did they, I wondered.

"Does it make a difference?" I asked.

"A little, but nothing we can't fix. A bit of invisible tape on the top of the breast together with a light dusting of makeup to hide it and your breasts lose their sag. Are you going to need the tape?"

How the hell would I know? What's more, what did I say to Joe? I guess he must have thought I was clueless as he gave a sigh.

"Look, just take off the bra and drop the front of the dress for a moment, trying not to crease it. A quick visual should show if it's OK. And try to lose the blush. It's showing through your makeup."

Quietly spitting chips I unhooked the bra and tossed it over with my other things. Then I carefully and reluctantly lowered the top of my dress to show off my breasts.

To my increased fury Joe just looked disgusted.

"Geez," he grumbled. "Don't you ever look in a mirror? You don't have any sag. You should know that. They'll stand up very nicely."

I could feel my face burning as I adjusted the gown. Had I just been insulted, complimented, or both? Still, I was feeling a little smug that my breasts passed muster. Too, too, humiliating if I'd had to put tape on them to hold them in position. I couldn't help wondering where Joe learned that trick, so I asked him.

"In our makeup classes at school," he said. "We're taught a number of little things to enhance our subjects. Did you think I just guessed at what makeup to put on you?"

I had been a little surprised at the deft way he'd made up my face. That was now explained as well.

After that things progressed quite rapidly. Joe would shoot, I'd dive behind the screen and change, Joe would shoot again. Arms and legs, gloves and stockings, it all went very smoothly and it was fun. I didn't start getting nervous again until it was time for the underwear shots.

I had some nice sets of underwear. I like brief frilly undies. They make me feel nice and naughty. It was one thing to feel nice and naughty when you're wearing a dress and no-one can see what's underneath, except for an occasional accidental glimpse. It was another thing entirely to wear those same undies without a dress. Still, I finally stepped out, expecting Joe to make some kind of comment. Sure enough, he did.

"About time," he growled. "What were you doing? Making them?"

Nothing about how I looked. Nothing about a very sexy set of undies. Just a complaint about wasting time. The man was blind and an oaf.

I promptly found another difference between dress and no dress. I'd been indifferent when Joe had adjusted my position while I was wearing a dress. Now, I couldn't help but notice how big his hands were and how capable they looked, how they contrasted to my skin, how close they were to certain sensitive areas. Close, nothing. A couple of times the back of his hand brushed against me in places they should damn-well not have brushed against me and Joe didn't even seem to notice. There was no way I was going to bring it to his attention, either.

I have to admit I found the situation mildly arousing. Not that I'd dream of letting on. I acted as indifferently as I could, smiling on command, taking the poses that Joe requested. Then the underwear shoot was finished and I was damn near panicking about the nude shots.

"OK," Joe said. "I guess that's a wrap. We can let it go there. If I'm unhappy about anything I'll let you know and we can do a few more shots."

"Eh? What about the nude shots," I asked, feeling a little indignant that he was just ignoring them.

"They're not compulsory. I told you that," Joe replied.

"Well, yes, but you did say they were advisable," I pointed out.

"True, but you were rather tense during the underwear shots. If we have to redo any shots it will probably be those, depending on how badly your tenseness shows. I just thought that you'd be so uptight about a nude shot that you wouldn't relax, so why bother."

Why bother? Because it was my portfolio. Joe couldn't just tell me no nude shots if I wanted some. He could at least try.

"Um, you're a very good photographer, Joe," I pointed out. "I'm sure you can do some good shots even if I am a little tense."

"You actually want to try the nude shots?" he asked, sounding quite startled.

I didn't glare at him and call him a rude name. I simply smiled.

"You've already saw my breasts earlier," I pointed out. "And I was nearly naked in my undies. It won't be that much different."

I fervently hoped and prayed.

"OK. In that case you might as well drop the undies and we'll see how it goes."

I turned and ducked behind the screen and I heard Joe laugh. Wondering why, I stripped off my undies and then prepared to step out from behind the screen. That's why he laughed. Why bother with the screen when I wasn't changing in to anything. I could just have easily taken my things off right then and there. Still, it wouldn't have felt right, taking of my undies in front of him. For that matter, I was having second thoughts about stepping out from behind the screen.

If I didn't, Joe wouldn't say anything but I knew what he'd think. I didn't have the courage to do it. But I did. I just needed a moment to prepare myself.

I eased out from behind the screen, my hands crossed demurely in front of me. Joe had been using an old couch for some of my shots and he had me recline upon it. Then he started positioning me. The trouble was that the positions he wanted me in left me feeling awfully exposed. And his hands were occasionally brushing against me rather personally, and it was worse now because there were no undies to disguise the touch.

"Just relax," he said. "It doesn't matter if your nipples or pussy are on display. You and I might be able to see them but the idea is to position you so the camera won't, at the same time trying to make it look as though you're not trying to hide anything. It's just coincidence that nothing is actually revealed."

I could understand his logic but still! I couldn't help but squirm and re-adjust my position.

"Last chance," Joe finally snapped. "Either you relax or I'll have to take steps."

I was already shifting my hand to cover my mound again, and it took me a moment to register what he'd said. Steps? What steps?

I found out pretty fast. Joe gave a put-upon sigh and attacked me. I kid you not. He just pounced on me and he was ruthless. He was all over me. I kicked and screamed and yelled at him to stop, but would he? Not him.

The whole thing was terrible and seemed to go on for hours, although in hind sight I guess it was only a minute or so. Then he stepped back.

"Well, you seem to be smiling now," he said. "Do you think you can carry this attitude through to the posing?"

I was still squirming and giggling.

"You tickled me," I accused him, panting slightly. "How could you?"

Ashson
Ashson
8,514 Followers
12