And I somehow managed to force a smile. “Nothing,” I said as my gut turned and gargled. “I actually think I remember where I left my SD cards. But thanks anyway.” I turned and left without saying a proper goodbye. My mind couldn’t process a proper goodbye.
I didn’t want to fail my photography course, but it was looking like I was on track to fail. This wasn’t my first botched assignment. Just a few weekends before, we were told to go out and take pictures of bridges as part of our composition class, and I left that assignment to the last minute as well. I ended up getting some photos of a single bridge on my way to school the morning the assignment was due. I failed. Then there was the test for our technical class, which I missed because I was in bed with an awful hangover. At the time, I didn’t think it would matter much. The test was only worth ten percent—but now, all of those little percentage points were starting to add up. I probably wasn’t too far away from being completely eliminated from getting my certificate.
After leaving Jenny’s house, I returned to my apartment and went straight to my computer. I looked up the phone number for the modelling school across the street from our school and I made a call. It took a minute before the administrator picked up. “I need a model today,” I said. “I’m not feeling picky—just whoever is available is fine,” I said.
“Sorry, but all of our students are busy with seminars today,” the woman said to me.
“What about afterwards? Can’t you just interrupt a class and ask if any of them would be interested in modelling after school today?”
“Sir, there’s a job board in the lobby of our school—you’re welcome to post something there. Otherwise, you can use our online job board, though before you can post there, your account needs to be approved by an administrator.”
“I don’t have time for that,” I said.
The woman ended up hanging up on me, and I suppose I don’t blame her. I certainly wasn’t coming off as very professional, but I didn’t have time for professionalism. I just needed a girl. So I went onto Craigslist and I made a few posts in a few different sections. I even decided to offer fifty bucks to whoever could save my ass. I would have offered more if I’d had more. But apparently fifty bucks wasn’t enough—though I did get a few e-mails from girls saying, “I’m not available today but I’m available this weekend. Is that okay?” I only had twenty-four hours—less now. I looked at the time and saw that it was already the afternoon. In a few hours, there would be no more daylight. And once daylight returned, the assignment would be due. So it was looking like I was going to need to use lights for my shoot, which meant I couldn’t just choose a random spot on the streets.
I called up Jenny. “Hey Jenny!” I said, forcing a big smile into my voice. “I know that you prefer to be behind the camera, but I was wondering if you might want to model for me.”
“Frankie?” she said. It sounded like she was at a very loud party. “Is that you?”
“Yeah—so do you want to meet up and pose for a few pictures for me?”
“Is this for your assignment? You know that’s due tomorrow, right? It’s worth fifteen percent of our final grade, Frankie!”
I forced a laugh. “No, this isn’t for that. I already did that,” I lied. “I was just hoping to get a bit more practice, and I thought it would be fun to shoot you.” I suddenly felt like I sounded mental. I closed my eyes and bit down on my tongue, and I knew that she didn’t believe a word I was saying.
“I’m sorry, Frankie, but after you left this morning, I took off for Whistler. I’m here for the next few days for the film festival. I’ve got to go, Frankie. Do you need me to call one of my friends for you?”
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to enlist her help, so that my expensive tuition to that fancy photography school wouldn’t just be flushed directly down the drain. But I had too much stupid pride. “No, no. I’m good. I’ll see you when you’re back. But wait—if you’re in Whistler, how are you going to submit your project? Were you able to get an extension?”
“I submitted it today,” she said. “I dropped the pictures off on my way out of town. Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“Nope, I’m good. I’m actually getting another call, so I’d better go.” I hung up the phone and then I tried to do the math in my head. How many failed assignments and tests did I have? Would this be the one to push me over the edge, or did I still have a bit of wiggle room?
The light in my bedroom was starting to wane. I looked out and saw that the sun was starting to disappear behind the downtown buildings. I only owned a couple of LED lights and a flash—not enough for a professional shoot. I sat down on my couch and stared at the wall. Was it worth it? Were the parties memorable enough? Was the drinking fun enough?
Across from me was a mirror. I found myself staring at my own reflection as I wished I had a model who could drop everything for me. And then I watched as my eyes widened as I had an idea. What if I used myself as a model? There were no rules against shooting a male model, and as far as I was aware, there were no rules against setting the camera up on a tripod and being my own model.
I sprung up to my feet, suddenly excited, suddenly feeling hopeful that my photography school days weren’t quite over yet. Even if I just got a barely-passing grade, it wouldn’t be a flat zero, pulling my entire average to the bottom of the ocean. I could pull off a half-assed shoot with myself as a model and then I could regroup and finish out my course with a bit more focus and a bit less partying.
I ran and grabbed my camera and my tripod. I got my lights on their stands and I set them up around my living room. Then I put on my only suit, which I’d bought for my uncle’s wedding a few years before, and I stood in front of the camera. I had my camera set to take a photo every five seconds, so I started posing. I felt like an idiot, but at least I wasn’t an idiot who was going to fail the school he paid his entire life savings to attend.
After five minutes of posing, I excitedly hopped behind that camera to see my pictures. Then my newfound hope started to dwindle and flicker. The pictures were bad: boring and uninspired and poorly lit—and I was a lousy model. I was trying to look confident and masculine, but I just looked small and fragile in every photo. I had a feeling my instructors would take one look at the photos and know that I left it to the last minute. They would know that I just slapped a shitty shoot together in my apartment, and I would probably just get a zero regardless.
If I just had a model… I didn’t need a great location or great lighting or even great compositions—I just needed a model. At least then, it would look like I put in a bit of effort. The whole point of the exercise was to learn to work with models, after all. But no one was available.
I looked at my crappy photos again. There were a few where my back was to the camera, with my face hidden. I laughed as I had an idea: what if I just put on a disguise? The disguise would have to be good—good enough that no one would think it was me. Maybe I could dress up like a girl—put on a wig and a little dress and then I could make a few changes in Photoshop to hide my more obvious features.
I laughed at the idea, until I had no other ideas. Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea. Maybe I could pull it off—at least enough to skim past fifty-percent. What did I really have to lose?
CHAPTER IV
I rang Jenny’s doorbell and waited. The neighbourhood was dark and quiet. I was fairly certain that there was no one home, with Jenny’s parents out of town and Jenny up in Whistler, but I wanted to make sure before I broke into her house with all of my camera gear.
I rang the bell a second time, and then I stepped back to see if any lights had turned on inside—but the house was still dark, which was exactly what I wanted.
I popped open the cover for the keypad and then I punched in the code to unlock the door. I’d seen Jenny punching it in many times before, and it was an easy code to remember, merely because it was so simple: 1-1-2-2.
The lock whirred and then it clicked. I grabbed the handle and gently p
ushed the door open. I poked my head in and said, “Anyone home?” I didn’t want to take any chances. I knew that Jenny’s father had a very scary rifle collection, and I didn’t want to get blown away for breaking and entering.
The house was quiet and dark. I dragged my camera case into the massive foyer and then I closed the door. I didn’t turn on any lights, in case the neighbours had been informed that the house would be empty while Jenny was gone. I turned on my phone’s flashlight, so that I could find my way to the large staircase. I started my night by closing all of the blinds and curtains. Then, I walked through the house with my flashlight, trying to find the best room for my shoot. But every room had large windows. Even with the blinds closed, I couldn’t set up a whole bunch of lights. Even the rooms in the basement had surprisingly large windows.
But there was one space where I was safe from being seen by the neighbours: by the courtyard pool. In that courtyard, I was completely surrounded by Jenny’s house, free to turn on any lights I wanted. That would be my spot for my photo shoot. So I set up my lights, and then I even went to fetch a few extra lights from Jenny’s gear room. She had large lights that were almost powerful enough to mimic daylight. I put my camera on a tripod and then I moved it around, trying to find the best angle for my first shot. There was a floating blow-up flamingo in the water. I had the fun idea of getting on it and posing, as if I was sun tanning. But first, I needed to get into my disguise.
I made my way up to Jenny’s room. I opened up one of her many closets and started digging through the options. I giggled as I imagined myself wearing her skirts and dresses. I even snorted when I lifted up one of her thongs. “I really hope she doesn’t have cameras,” I said to myself. But I’d been looking around constantly, and I hadn’t spotted any cameras.
I felt like an idiot and a pervert—but I was desperate, and I now only had twelve hours to finish and submit this damned assignment.
I found a bathing suit: a red one piece. I held it up to my body and figured it would fit just fine. I also found a strapless bra in one of Jenny’s top drawers. I already had some double-sided sticky tape inside of it from the last time Jenny used it. I figured it would be perfect for creating a fake bust.
But it wasn’t going to be enough of a disguise. I needed to find a pair of big sunglasses. So I kept searching through closets and drawers. I ended up finding a whole bunch of makeup. I hadn’t originally planned on putting any on, assuming I could find a big pair of sunglasses, but now I was thinking it might be a good idea to put on a bit of lipstick, and maybe some blush, just to make myself a little bit more unrecognizable.
During my search for a big pair of shades, I found a whole drawer of wigs. “Perfect!” I said. My original plan was to slick my hair back and hope that it didn’t look too obvious. But the wigs were high quality, and I knew they would help me get a little bit further from my natural appearance. But I couldn’t find any sunglasses.
But maybe I didn’t need sunglasses. I had all of that makeup—maybe I could just disguise myself with some eyeliner and some eye shadow. When I was a kid, I would watch my older sister do her makeup, so I had a rough idea of how to do it. I took off all of my clothes and then I sat down in front of the mirror in Jenny’s en-suite bathroom. “Here goes nothing,” I said as I looked through the many makeup options before me.
First, I rubbed on some concealer. Then I grabbed the highlight pallet. I remembered watching my sister put on highlight—brushing it on her cheeks and then brushing it with powder until it was blended. It didn’t look hard, and it always made her look like a different person, which was exactly what I wanted now. So I brushed some on, and then I found a little jar that was literally labelled ‘BLENDING FACE POWDER’. I brushed some of that on, until I was satisfied with the look. Then I moved onto my eyes. I started with eyeliner. I drew it on carefully, and then I screwed up. I used a makeup wipe to give myself a clean slate, then I tried again—and again, and again, and then I finally had something that seemed okay. I brushed on a tiny bit of green eye shadow, and then I rolled on a bit of black mascara. I kind of liked the way my eyelashes looked covered in mascara—they looked so long, and made my eyes look so big. I puckered my lips and put on a bit of pink glossy lipstick.
Next, I put on a wig. First, I put on the platinum blonde wig, but that looked way too intense. So I settled with the light brunette wig with the blonde highlights. The hair was soft—I think it was real human hair, meaning it was probably worth over five hundred bucks. The makeup on my face probably wasn’t cheap either, and I’m pretty sure the red one-piece that I was now putting on was designer brand.
It was a snug fit, especially with that strapless bra stuck to my chest. No matter where I positioned my cock, there was a bulge—that was just something I would have to deal with in editing. At least I now looked unrecognizable.
I stepped back and stared at myself in the mirror. I didn’t just look unrecognizable—I actually looked pretty good. I liked the way my long hair rested on my shoulders, and I liked how big and shiny my eyes looked. And hell—my body didn’t look half bad either.
But I wasn’t finished my transformation. I still had my legs covered in hair. So I slipped into Jenny’s bathroom and I ran the tub. I used her pink razor to shave away my hair. I took my time, making sure not to leave any awkward patches that would make my life miserable in editing.
It was awkward shaving my ass, running that razor up and down my butt crack, carefully trying my best not to cut myself. I kept telling myself that I would buy Jenny a new razor—I just wasn’t sure how I was going to do it without outing myself.
Now I looked good. My legs were smooth and my face was pretty. I did a full spin in front of the mirror, and then I noticed the clock on the wall. It was midnight. I’d been in Jenny’s room getting dolled up for over three hours. “Shit!” I muttered. Where had the time gone? Why had I spent so long doing my makeup? I had class in just nine hours, and I still had to get my pictures and edit all of them. I didn’t have time to admire myself in the mirror—I had to get to work.
Before I left Jenny’s room, I grabbed a pair of black strappy heels. I had no idea if they would fit on my feet, but I figured I could use them as set decoration, placing them by the pool as if my ‘model’ took them off before hopping in. But before putting them down next to the pool, I had the sudden urge to see if they would fit my feet, so I tried them on, and sure enough they fit—and they looked super cute, too. I wobbled slightly as I tried to walk in them, and then I decided to leave them on my feet for the photos. Though they didn’t exactly make my life any easier. Getting onto that floating flamingo inflatable wasn’t easy in the heels, but somehow I managed. I had my camera running, taking a shot every five seconds—and the first few dozen shots were hilarious: me wobbling on that flamingo, clutching the edges, terrified it would flip and ruin three hours of makeup work.
But the photos I got once I was settled on my little raft were great—amazing even. I looked surprisingly sexy and confident. At the time, I was grinning because I felt so foolish, but in the photos, that grin looked suggestive and hot. My legs looked amazing, especially with those strappy heels on my feet. I already had so many great shots to work with.
I carefully climbed out of the pool without getting wet, and then I repositioned my camera. I decided to switch from a 50mm lens to an 85mm lens. The shots would be tighter on my face, but I didn’t mind, now that I knew I didn’t look at all like myself. I aimed the camera towards the side of the pool, and I got a series of shots with me dangling my feet in the water. I couldn’t believe how cute I looked in all of the photos.
My next setup had my lower half in the pool, with my elbows up on the side of the pool. Again, the photos were excellent—some of the best I’d ever taken in my life. The shots my camera took of me pulling myself out of the pool were among the best I took that night.
I got many more angles, getting as much as I could while I had myself all dolled up. I knew that I wouldn’t have time
to get myself dolled up again once I had myself cleaned up, so I had to make sure that I had everything I needed.
I went to look through my shots to come up with ideas for new shots when I noticed that I had over one thousand pictures already on my SD card. That was more than enough to work with—as long as there was a single good one for every seventy bad ones. But as I looked through the options, once I was on my computer back in Jenny’s room, I realized that there were very few bad photos. It was going to be a challenge to pick the fifteen best for the assignment.
I didn’t get changed out from my wig, makeup, and bathing suit. I wanted to get everything done before I prioritized cleaning myself up. Besides—I knew that house would empty for a few more days still, so I was in no rush to get out. I ended up spending the night, editing those photos on my computer in Jenny’s bedroom. I was up until 5:00 AM, and then I went to sleep in Jenny’s bed with my assignment finished and saved on my hard drive.
I felt silly when I woke up wearing makeup and a wig and a one-piece bathing suit. I stared at myself in the mirror for a few minutes before I got myself cleaned up. Then I got a weird feeling as I stared at my proper self in the mirror. I’d gotten so used to seeing myself all feminine and pretty after spending hours in front of the mirror and then more hours staring at myself on the computer screen. My real self almost seemed unnatural and wrong—but I knew that feeling would just be temporary. I knew that I was just tired because I only slept for a couple of hours. I didn’t actually think that I made a better woman than I did a man. I laughed at the thought, even though the thought sent a tingle down my spine.
CHAPTER V
I handed my photos in on a little thumb drive. My instructor looked at me with narrowed eyes, as if he was actually surprised that I was handing the assignment in at all. “All fifteen pictures are here?” he asked with a tinge of suspicion in his voice.
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