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Description

I saw an ad online for someone looking for a male model so of course I applied for it as I consider myself a pretty good looking guy and always like the idea of people looking at me with a sense of envy or wonder. And when she offered a substantial advance of course I took it signing the contract before popping it back in the mail, she promised full payment once the project was over and then I would be on easy street for good long while. I can only imagine once the photos of me get out there how much more modelling work I’d be offered, this was the start of a whole new career with fame and riches coming my way. Oh yeah!

I drove to address supplied, though it was really in the middle of nowhere, where I was met by a tall slender woman wearing a satin bow blouse, man she just radiated authority and with the merest of nods she ushered me inside where she gave me a brief explanation of her artistry and ideals and how this project was going to be featured at the famed Museum Of Modern Art. I paid little attention as I was lead through the house but when she opened the bedroom door and showed me what she wanted me to model I suddenly focussed on her words whilst my jaw hung open and my tongue dried out.

My eyes fell on the wig, the dress, the heels and all manner of make-up, wait, she wanted me to dress like a girl?! She said her work centered on gender identity and role reversal in common society, or something like that, I said to her that if she wanted someone to model a dress why didn’t you just hire a girl? But she said she wanted to capture the awkwardness of a man’s first time in heels, the embarrassment in their facial muscles, the confusion of senses, the physical attributes of masculinity framed in a feminine way which can only be brought by a feminised man. She said each component of feminisation adds a new layer or dynamic to the overall picture. I tried to say no but I’d already accepted and spent the advance she sent me as well as signing the contract I’d neglected to read, besides, the combination of her power poses and thinly veiled threats words made me putty in her hands.

The next hour was a blur of shaving, make-up, dress fitting, swearing and everything else which humiliated me to the very core with each emasculating layer. She lead me into the extensive grounds and she was right, I felt the awkwardness in my pose, the confusion radiating through me, but I figured this wouldn’t take too long once she got her camera ready. As I stood ready to begin she returned with an easel and a set of paints. Huh?

She explained that she wasn’t a photographer and worked exclusively in oil paints, so she said to stand still and hold that enfeebled pose. I wobbled on these stupid heels as she said that this first sitting should only take about three or four hours, Huh? First sitting? Yes, she said, her paintings usually take a couple of weeks so I’d better get used to the feel of the heels and the swish of the dress, as this is just the first painting in a whole project.

As my painted lips tried not wobble and felt my tight underwear getting tighter my mind cast back to the bedroom where I was dressed and how the wardrobe was positively overflowing with dresses, skirts and shoes.

Shit.

Description

I saw an ad online for someone looking for a male model so of course I applied for it as I consider myself a pretty good looking guy and always like the idea of people looking at me with a sense of envy or wonder. And when she offered a substantial advance of course I took it signing the contract before popping it back in the mail, she promised full payment once the project was over and then I would be on easy street for good long while. I can only imagine once the photos of me get out there how much more modelling work I’d be offered, this was the start of a whole new career with fame and riches coming my way. Oh yeah!

I drove to address supplied, though it was really in the middle of nowhere, where I was met by a tall slender woman wearing a satin bow blouse, man she just radiated authority and with the merest of nods she ushered me inside where she gave me a brief explanation of her artistry and ideals and how this project was going to be featured at the famed Museum Of Modern Art. I paid little attention as I was lead through the house but when she opened the bedroom door and showed me what she wanted me to model I suddenly focussed on her words whilst my jaw hung open and my tongue dried out.

My eyes fell on the wig, the dress, the heels and all manner of make-up, wait, she wanted me to dress like a girl?! She said her work centered on gender identity and role reversal in common society, or something like that, I said to her that if she wanted someone to model a dress why didn’t you just hire a girl? But she said she wanted to capture the awkwardness of a man’s first time in heels, the embarrassment in their facial muscles, the confusion of senses, the physical attributes of masculinity framed in a feminine way which can only be brought by a feminised man. She said each component of feminisation adds a new layer or dynamic to the overall picture. I tried to say no but I’d already accepted and spent the advance she sent me as well as signing the contract I’d neglected to read, besides, the combination of her power poses and thinly veiled threats words made me putty in her hands.

The next hour was a blur of shaving, make-up, dress fitting, swearing and everything else which humiliated me to the very core with each emasculating layer. She lead me into the extensive grounds and she was right, I felt the awkwardness in my pose, the confusion radiating through me, but I figured this wouldn’t take too long once she got her camera ready. As I stood ready to begin she returned with an easel and a set of paints. Huh?

She explained that she wasn’t a photographer and worked exclusively in oil paints, so she said to stand still and hold that enfeebled pose. I wobbled on these stupid heels as she said that this first sitting should only take about three or four hours, Huh? First sitting? Yes, she said, her paintings usually take a couple of weeks so I’d better get used to the feel of the heels and the swish of the dress, as this is just the first painting in a whole project.

As my painted lips tried not wobble and felt my tight underwear getting tighter my mind cast back to the bedroom where I was dressed and how the wardrobe was positively overflowing with dresses, skirts and shoes.

Shit.