All My Dreams Pass Before My Eyes - 13. Chapter 13 The Photo Shoot

He didn’t see it coming. One moment he was reaching into his locker for a notebook, the next moment he was on the floor, books and papers scattered around him.

“Sorry,” the guy said, a mocking smile on his face. He and another boy guffawed and snorted as they continued down the school’s main hallway. Landry Smith, a bully and a buffoon, was Johnson High School’s troublemaker number one, the apparent culprit of a hip check that had sent Toby flying. His sidekick, Rollie Finger, was numero dos.

Toby rolled over, sat up, and glared at them, shaking his head in disgust.

He was gathering his papers together and starting to stand up when he hit his head on something. That something turned out to be someone else’s head. After getting conked pretty good, he looked up.

“Oh, hi.”

“Sorry. Just trying to help,” Ha-joon said.

They’d never been formally introduced. Recently arrived from South Korea, he was a foreign exchange student. Toby remembered seeing his photo on the school’s web site at the beginning of the semester. He hadn’t paid much attention then. He was paying attention now.

That kid was cute! Short, probably 5’2” or 5’3.” Long black hair, over his ears, and attractively combed across his forehead. Those monolid eyes, invisible lids, giving him an almost doll like appearance. Amazingly full lips and a rounded chin. A diminutive body. Could he even weigh a hundred pounds?

When he stood up, Ha-joon held both hands out, some loose papers between his fingers. Looking down at first, then up to Toby’s eyes. It was a moment. The noise around them both seemed to fade away.

“I’m Toby.”

“Yes, I know.”

Toby giggled, somewhat embarrassed.

“How would you know?”

“I saw you the first day I was here. I inquired,” Ha-joon replied.

Another moment.

Toby was facing Ha-joon so he didn’t see Landry circling back down the hallway. Ha-joon apparently did. Just as Landry passed them, he surreptitously stuck his foot out, catching Landry in mid-stride. He stumbled once, trying to gain his footing, and then went down to the floor, rolling over a couple of times.

“What the hell?” He jumped up, fists clenched, ready to throw punches. The timing couldn’t have been better. The Associate Principal just happened to be walking out of a nearby classroom. Without a word, he grabbed Landry by the neck.

“How about you come into my office,” he growled, teeth clenched?

After watching them go, Toby and Ha-joon turned back to each other.

“Wanna hang out or something?” Toby asked clumsily.

“Yes, I would. Very much.”

A couple of meet-ups, shared burgers at a fast food joint and coffee at Starbucks. Sitting across from each other, Ha-joon looked around quickly, bringing his hand up and softly stroking the side of Toby’s head.

“You have nice hair.”

The next time they agreed to meet, Toby invited him over to his house. They were both laying on their backs, eyes to the ceiling, listening to some music. Ha-joon’s fingers nudged Toby’s. Toby nudged his fingers back. Then they were holding hands.

With a soft groan, Toby turned on his side, took Ha-joon’s face in his hand, and kissed him. Such soft lips, such a sweet taste. After some considerable necking, Ha-joon was naked except for bikini underpants, his arms stretched out over his head. He gasped as Toby flicked his nipples, one with his fingers, the other with his lips and teeth. Leaning down, he lifted his legs, Ha-joon obediently grabbing his calves. Toby tongue bathed his silky smooth inner thighs.

“Your skin is very white,” Ha-joon said after they were both naked. He was lightly rubbing the side of Toby’s hip.

“Too white,” he replied, blushing.

“Very nice. Very nice.”

Unlike with Bell where he was mostly subservient, Toby took the lead with Ha-joon. After fairly ravishing him, they locked their hips together, humping each other until one after the other orgasmed.

As his breathing returned to normal, Toby held his arm over his eyes. This boy was so sweet. Why was it that when they were in the throes of love making, the only thing he could think of was Bell?

***

When he got back to campus and settled into his dorm room, Carey opened the box and started looking through the magazines.

Several of them were different issues of International Male. The naked men in the pictures looked to be anywhere from eighteen years of age up to their mid-twenties. Most were slim and smooth. Almost all of them, except for the very youngest, had a full growth of pubic hair. Most of them were circumcised, some small to average in size, others amazingly large. A couple of them were pictured fully erect; most of them were soft or in the process of thickening.

When the men were photographed in pairs or in small groups, they held each other around the waist or had a hand on a shoulder or arm. One picture that caught his attention showed two men facing each other, their hips thrust against each other, their hands on each other’s waists. He could only imagine what was going on between their legs.

Some of the magazines were more overtly sexual like one called Blueboy. Two men together, one standing, the other one seated on a chair. His face was held very close to the other’s erect cock. Another set of photos depicted two cute guys, their erect cocks lined up alongside each other. One man’s hand was encircled around both erect cocks. Yet another showed two men, one standing behind the other. His bare ass clearly visible, the front of his body was pressed into the butt and back of the guy in front of him. This man’s naked side and part of his chest shown as he twisted around toward the other guy behind him. A hint of his erect cock was visible. He seemed to be laughing at something.

When Carey turned that particular page of the magazine, an 8x10 photo fell out. It was a duplicate of the page in the magazine. The photo was inscribed, “To Sanny, Your Friend, Tad.” Carey was shocked. Sanny was his grandfather’s nickname. He turned back to the page in the magazine and read the caption, “Kendall and Tad getting ready for some beach fun.”

Laying the magazine down, Carey rolled onto his back, continuing to stroke himself. Stopping briefly to pull his pants and underwear down and pull his shirt up, he rubbed his cock with one hand. When he brought his other hand up and pinched his nipple, his breath caught in his throat. He orgasmed with an explosive stream of cum.

He must have fallen asleep in just that position. When he woke up, it was the middle of the night. Groaning and groggy, he pulled himself to his feet, his pants still around his ankles. He caught a glance at himself in the full length mirror on the closet door. Suddenly, he was wide awake.

He studied himself in the mirror, pulling his shirt up to expose more of his stomach. His cock looked kind of nice. His balls neatly hung between his legs, pushing the shaft of his cock out a bit. It was long enough, even soft, to hang down a bit. He shrugged. Not very thick, but, oh well.

Carey quickly pulled his shirt off and kicked his pants to the side. He looked at himself, imagining what it would be like to be a model in one of those magazines. It made him hard. He couldn’t help but start stroking. Turning to the side and looking over his shoulder, he took a look at his butt. Not bad! He spread his legs and arched his back so his ass would stick out even further.

In short order, he came again.

Exhausted, he fell back on the bed, feeling himself start to fall asleep.

Suddenly, his eyes jerked open. That email! He grabbed his phone and read it more carefully.

She said she had attended that meeting. He felt himself blushing. I wonder who she was, he thought to himself. Was she the older lady? Was she the thinner one with the hair pulled back? Or, was she someone else watching from the darkness?

She was working on a project. What kind? For a class? Research? Something else?

She wanted to take a few pictures of him. What kind of pictures?

Carey grabbed his laptop and navigated to the school’s faculty section. Through a search, he found her bio and picture. Hathaway. Yep, that was her! Slender face, pointy nose, dark hair with some gray streaks pulled back into a pony tail. She was either naturally skinny or a workout fanatic. Her age wasn’t listed but her bio seemed to indicate she was in her forties. All kinds of professional awards and certificates. No marital status.

Flipping back to his mail, he reread the email from Professor Hathaway one more time. He clicked on reply and began to compose a response. Typing and deleting several times, he couldn’t decide what to say or how to respond. Finally, after the fourth or fifth try, he wrote, “Hi. I might be interested.” Taking a breath, he clicked on send.

He was just about to flip the cover on his laptop closed when he heard a “ding.” She responded! Three o’clock in the morning! Carey opened the email. “I can see you Tuesday at 7 pm. Will that work?”

“Huh!” Carey said out loud.

He had a lot of questions but didn’t really know where to start. Glancing at the pictures visible on the pages of a couple of still open magazines, his stomach turned over. Turning back to his laptop, he replied simply, “Yes.”

Again, a reply came back in a flash. “1704 Gordon St. No. A.”

Day after tomorrow. He closed the laptop, crawled into bed, and turned off the light.

***

Tuesday.

Carey felt like he was living in a brightly lit echo chamber. Everything looked slightly out of focus. Walking to class, classes themselves, lunch in one of the campus cafeterias. He could barely hear people talking, even when they were talking to him. His professors lectured, a word or two getting through from time-to-time.

The day dragged by. He would have had a tidy sum if someone had given him a dollar for every time he checked his phone for the time or an email update from Professor Hathaway.

Late in the afternoon, he lay on his bed, lazily thumbing through one of his grandfather’s magazines. He felt compelled to snake his hand under the waistband of his jeans to stroke his hard cock.

Carey lingered over one picture in particular. Two naked guys, probably in their late teens, on a bed, one on his back, the other on top of him. The guy on top had his legs spread, knees down, feet up in the air, toes pointed. The one on the bottom clutched the other’s butt. Their mouths were jammed together in a passionate kiss. Carey’s eyes followed the curve of the guy’s back down to his waist and up to the globes of his ass.

He wasn’t prepared for the cum discharging into his pants. Afterward, he lay there for a moment. Usually, he dozed after an orgasm. This time, he felt perfectly alert. The echo chamber disappeared. Everything appeared in sharp focus.

He stripped off his clothes, grabbed a towel, and went down the hall to the bathroom. While he showered, he used a razor to trim up his privates, leaving a shadow of a treasure trail.

It was almost dark when he pulled up to the address on Gordon Street. 1704 was a nondescript two story brick building located in the warehouse district, an area Carey knew was populated by a lot of artists.

Three doorbells were on the frame of the single entry door. Simply marked with small pieces of cardboard, they read, “A,” “B,” and “C.” He was immediately buzzed in after pressing the bell marked “A.” After he pushed the door open, he saw Professor Hathaway leaning out of an open door down the hall. She beckoned him forward with a wave.

The small sign on the wall next to her door read, “Hathaway Studios.”

Miranda Hathaway was indeed the more slender woman from the meeting. The only difference from the last time he had seen her, besides the fact that he could now see her whole face, was that she wore glasses with big black round frames. No make-up. Thin, pale lips. Just as before, she wore black slacks, a loose fitting black blouse, and flat shoes.

Serious and efficient, “You can address me as Miss Hathaway,” she said in a slight but firm sounding monotone. Handing Carey a clipboard, she went on, “Sign this release, if you would.”

“What’s it for?” as he glanced down at it.

“Boilerplate. It says you can’t sue me and I can’t sue you.”

Carey shrugged and signed it. Handing the clipboard back to her, Miss Hathaway turned to put it down on a nearby table.

This gave him a chance to quickly look around the studio. One large room with high ceilings. Big studio strobes suspended from above, others were mounted on light stands. A camera and lens sat on a large tripod. A long table on one side held a mountain of camera equipment. More lenses and cameras as well as pieces of equipment Carey couldn’t readily identify. Computers occupied desks on the far end of the studio. A pure white background dominated the room as it fell from the high ceiling and curved as it hit the floor and extended far into the room.

“Go behind that screen,” she said, point to some tall partitions at the near end of the studio. “Remove all of your clothes.”

Just as he figured. He was going to object. The words, hold on, formed on his lips.

Instead, he meekly said, “Ok.”

Just one sentence, remove all of your clothes, had made him hard.

Behind the screen, Carey found a couple of plastic chairs, a small table, and a clothes rack. A mirror was mounted on the wall. He unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, and unbuckled the belt on his pants. Sitting down, he kicked his shoes off and reaching down, pulled one sock off after the other. Pants and underwear next. He was naked.

He looked himself over in the mirror. Not bad he told himself. Of course, his eyes first went to his erect dick. Pink, maybe a tad over 6 inches, curving slightly up toward his belly button. Balls hanging neatly below, a small patch of dull brown pubic hair above.

His face. Thin, fine features. Light brown hair, kept neat and trimmed, a bit over his ears, short bangs over part of his forehead. Smallish, square jaw, thin neck. Pale skin, not ghostly, but still pretty light. He’d escaped the scourge of acne. His complexion was mostly blemish free.

His shoulders had always looked too boney, probably because his chest was so narrow. After lifting weights for a semester, he had a bit more definition although he wouldn’t say he had pecs. Pinkish brown nipples that always looked a little swollen. They hurt when he pinched them but it sometimes felt good, too.

Considering the amount of food he consumed, his stomach was still nice and tight. Narrow waist that curved gracefully to his hips. Attractive, almost feminine. Turning his back to the mirror and twisting around, he looked at his butt. Okay, he thought, that’s cute. High and tight. One mole in the small of his back, straight north of his crack.

Just then, he heard the door open and close followed by voices. Peaking around the end of the partition, he saw Miss Hathaway talking to a tall girl. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. They talked barely above a whisper. She wore a black t-shirt over a short leather jacket, tight jeans, and ankle boots. Her dark hair hung down around her narrow pale face.

Carey pulled back and gasped as the girl turned toward the partition. Sitting down quickly, he grabbed his shirt and clutched it across his lap.

She turned the corner and looked at him without surprise and with no expression.

“Hi.”

Wait a second! That voice. Not deep, but that was definitely a guy’s voice.

Carey looked up, his mouth open.

Clearing his throat, “Uh…hi.”

Without another word, he or she or, whomever, pulled his or her jacket off and hung it on the clothes rack.

Without looking at Carey, “I know. You’re freaking out, right?” Giving Carey a side long glance, “My name is Micah.”

“Oh. I…ah well…” He was pretty much speechless. “Ah…I’m Carey.”

Still standing, a hand on the clothes rack, Micah used the toe of one boot to tug the other one off. Balancing on one leg, he reached down and pulled the other one off with his hand.

Carey checked him out. About the same age as him, six feet, maybe taller. Thin, long legs, narrow hips. When he brushed his hair away from his face, Carey couldn’t help but stare at Micah’s luminous skin, very pale blue eyes, narrow eyebrows, thin nose, and pink lips. He apparently was wearing eyeliner, maybe eye shadow, and possibly lip gloss.

Carey sucked his breath in as Micah pulled one arm through the sleeve of his black t-shirt followed by the other. Grabbing the neckband to pull it away from his face, he deftly pulled it over his head. Topless, he was very flat chested. Tiny pale pink nipples, small stomach, smooth skin save for a few small moles.

Opening the top button of his pants and pulling the zipper down a couple of inches, he looked at Carey, lips open, with a wanna fuck me kind of expression.

Carey giggled nervously.

Wiggling his hips, Micah struggled out of his jeans. Once off, turning slightly to the side displaying bright pink bikini underpants. In one motion, he pulled them off, revealing an ample set of male equipment, completely smooth, devoid of all hair.

“Ready?”

Carey felt like he was glued to the chair. He was still in shock.

“Oh…yeah,” he mumbled.

Micah took Carey’s hand and pulled him to his feet. The shirt that had been on Carey’s lap fell to the floor. Totally surprised by the whole scene, Carey realized he had completely lost his erection. Even still, he modestly tried to cover himself up with his other hand.

Holding hands, they walked together around the end of the screen out to where Miss Hathaway was waiting.

Miss Hathaway motioned them onto the now brightly lit white set. With a few spare words, mostly using her hands, she directed Carey to lay down on the floor on his side facing the camera she now held in her hands. He propped his head up with his hand and elbow. She then placed Micah behind Carey, his head on Carey’s side at the narrow point of the curve between his chest and hip.

Strobes flashing from all directions with each press of the camera shutter were startling. Carey felt blinded at first until he got used to the popping lights.

After shooting several photos in this position, she asked Micah to wrap his fingers around Carey’s cock. In his hand, it immediately swelled to attention. Carey groaned. Micah’s fingers were so soft. If he would only begin stroking.

Out of the corner of his eye, Carey could see the photos appearing on a nearby computer monitor as Hathaway was shooting. Another monitor looked like a live video feed from a camera that must have been mounted near the ceiling. Who was watching?

Other poses followed. Carey on his stomach facing the camera. Same for Micah. Each one standing, the other sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around a thigh of the first, head very close to the other’s dick. Carey’s cock remained hard. Inexplicably, Micah was soft but his cock and balls were beautiful. They bobbed slightly when he moved.

From a high ladder, Hathaway shot photos of each one of them laying flat on their backs, arms behind their head. For some photos, she asked them to close their eyes as if they were sleeping. She directed Micah to lay on his side, knees tucked into his waist. Several variations of this pose were taken, hands and arms placed in different positions.

A large white box made of some kind of hard plastic, roughly 4 feet square, was moved onto the set. Again, Hathaway put them through their paces for several sets of poses sitting against and on the box. Separately and together. Carey remained stiff throughout; Micah amazingly flaccid.

Only when Hathaway had Carey pose on his knees, elbows down, ass up, fully exposed, did Micah’s cock swell. He looked at Carey, a smile on his face, his eyes glazed over.

At the beginning of the photo shoot, Carey’s heart raced. It was so exciting and lurid. As the session went on, the fact that he was completely naked receded from his consciousness. It was only when poses emphasized his private areas, like his cock, or his asshole, did it feel awkward.

Although Miss Hathaway appeared to pose them both the same way, she made subtle adjustments for Micah that made him look a bit more feminine. The shape of a hip, a hand on his neck, the other on his chest. It made him look positively alluring in both a masculine and feminine way. I could easily fuck his brains out, Carey thought.

A few articles of clothes were introduced near the end of the shoot. An impossibly tight long sleeved t-shirt that rode halfway up Carey’s stomach. Shots from the side and the back, some of them with him standing on tip-toe, others with his legs spread apart, hips thrust forward. Likewise for Micah, the same tight shirt with the addition of black pumps. Short shorts, dick out, dick peaking out. Baggy board shorts for Carey, pulled down to reveal his pubic hair, some even further down but displaying just the base of his cock.

Carey wanted to cum so badly he could hardly stand it. He wondered if Micah felt the same way. Amazingly, he was able to control his erection on Hathaway’s command.

“Hard!”

“Soft!”

Carey chuckled as he watch Micah’s cock go up and down. It was funny but also fucking hot!

Just like that, it was over. After Hathaway excused them, Carey walked back behind the screen. When he looked down, his cock was dripping goo. He wiped himself off on his underwear, then peeked around to see if Micah had followed him. Micah and Professor Hathaway were engaged in a deep embrace, lips locked to each other’s mouths. They stopped for a moment, both looking at Carey, then resumed their kissing.

After he dressed, he walked around the screen finding Micah, still naked, casually laying back on the white box. His upper body was supported by his elbows, knees up, legs spread. Miss Hathaway stood in front of him holding a strap-on dildo in her hand. She made no attempt to hide it.

Escorting him to the door, she handed Carey an envelope.

“Have a good evening.”

After he walked out, the door was slammed behind him. Carey checked the envelope. Two crisp one hundred dollar bills.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever.” He muttered out loud to himself.