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Authors: Lenore Black

Tags: #m/m romance

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BOOK: Spam! It's What's for Christmas
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Santa rolled his eyes. “You think you got problems? There’s a recession on, donations are down, and kids today, are they satisfied with a simple board game? No. They all want a Wii, and they whine if they don’t get it. Plus, it’s not even Christmas yet, and already I have bunions.” He narrowed his eyes at Ben. “And then I’ve got people like you thinking I’m some kind of bum or a mental case, because you’ve got these preconceived notions about what Santa Claus is supposed to look like. It’s a mission, buddy, not a fashion statement!”

Ben held up his hands. “Okay, okay!” Geez, was Santa supposed to have an attitude problem? “Here.” He fished out his wallet and dropped a couple of dollars into the kettle. The sum total of his worldly assets now consisted of his bus pass.

Santa raised a pierced eyebrow at him. “Two bucks? That’s it?”

“Yeah, well, they’re my last two bucks,” Ben told him dryly, “so enjoy it.”

“All right, all right,” Santa said, mollified. “Go ahead and wish for something. I know you want to.”

On the one hand, this was ridiculous, because Ben was twenty years too old for Santa Claus. On the other hand, his luck hadn’t been too great lately, and if making a wish would bring Kai back then, hey, no problem. He’d already established he had no personal dignity worth mentioning.

Santa rolled his eyes. “This is why I don’t deal in grownups. You don’t know a damned thing about making wishes.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” Ben protested.

“Yeah, but you were going to get it wrong.” Santa waved his hand dismissively. “Forget it. I don’t care what you want. You’re getting what you
need
. And you’re welcome, by the way.” He glowered.

“Okay, um, thanks. I guess.” Ben backed away before Santa could go postal on him. He hoped this wasn’t some sign of how the rest of his day was going to turn out.

The bus picked him up and took him from his seedy part of town to another part that was almost as depressing. He got off, avoiding the newspapers and other bits of litter that were blowing down the sidewalk like tumbleweed, and looked around for the address the woman had given him on the phone. Not surprisingly, it was the most rundown building on the block. He hitched up his optimism, what there was of it, and headed inside.

He got off the elevator on the fourth floor and pressed the buzzer outside the door marked “All Occasions Casting.” A perky brunette at the receptionist’s desk greeted him with a bright smile. She was fresh-faced and eager to be helpful, the kind of girl who used to wait outside the gates of the ballpark to ask for an autograph back when Ben was something more than an unemployed vinyl siding customer service representative.

“I, uh, I’m here to—” He trailed off.

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words “nude male model” to this girl with her peaches-and-cream cheeks and her neatly buttoned cardigan the color of daisies. It would be like discussing porn with Bambi.

His speechlessness seemed to do the trick, however. “Oh,” the girl said, the word round and pronounced on her lips, realization lighting her face. “You want to see Marge. Down the hall, last door on the left. Have a seat on the bench outside, and she’ll call you in when she’s ready.” The girl smiled, without the slightest hint she might be embarrassed for him. Ben had to admire her professionalism. He would not have been able to keep a straight face if he were in her place.

It took barely ten minutes before he was called in for his audition. The room was small and bare, cinderblock walls and a concrete floor. The only furniture was a metal table behind which sat a supremely bored-looking woman in her fifties, presumably Marge.

She gave him a look over the tops of her glasses, the kind of blunt assessment that would have made a streetwalker blush. “Not bad, although you practically scream ‘I’m a rookie’. I guess it wouldn’t do any good to ask if you have a resume or a head shot?”

“Um, I didn’t realize, was I supposed to—” Ben stuttered.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Marge said. “Okay, go ahead. Show me what you’ve got.”

He stood there, feet stuck to the floor, no idea what to do. Should he, like, act or something? Strike a pose? He stared stupidly back at Marge.

She let out a tired sigh, as if to say
do I have to spell out everything?
“Drop your drawers.”

He stared harder.

Marge shrugged. “What can I say? I need to see your talent before I can book you for a gig.”

Ben took a breath, unbuckled his belt, and felt his face turning hot as he pushed his jeans and underwear down his legs. Marge craned her neck, giving him a dispassionate once-over, and then nodded that he could pull his pants back up.

“What do you know,” she said, with an ironic quirk of her mouth. “Your talent actually is as big as you think.” She scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Show up where and when it says here. Tell McNally you’re a virgin, so he won’t be a jerk. He doesn’t mind working with new models, but he needs to know up front.”

Ben’s brain lagged a step or two behind. “You mean I actually got the job?”

Marge shrugged. “What can I say? I know desperation when I see it. And your talent really is quite impressive. Besides, we need someone right away. The guy scheduled for this gig tripped getting out of bed this morning and has a cast on his arm.” She sighed. “Not a brain surgeon, that one.”

Ben fiddled with the piece of paper. “So this job, is it—”

“Not porn
per se
,” Marge told him, “but it does involve graphic nudity. So if you don’t think you’re up to it—” She reached out, as if to take back the scrap of paper.

Ben imagined Kai on Christmas morning, the way his face would light up when he unwrapped that God-awful ugly compote. “No, no! I’m good.” He forced a smile and turned to go before Marge could change her mind.

“Knock ’em dead, hot stuff,” floated after him into the hall.

 

*  *  *

According
to the slip of paper, the job was for later that day, which was good, because if Ben had had any more time to think about it he probably would have freaked out and gone home and pretended the words “nude male model” didn’t exist in the English language.

Instead, he showed up promptly at the studio, another dingy building in another unpromising neighborhood. He rang the buzzer, told the scratchy voice on the other end of the intercom why he was there, and took the rickety elevator up to the eighth floor, his palms sweating.

A tiny little woman with purple-red dyed hair waited to meet him. “You the talent?”

“Ben.”

“Rona.” She gestured with her head toward a door at the end of the hall.

They walked into an enormous, mostly empty loft space. A man at the far end of it adjusted a camera on a tripod. Rona led Ben into a closet-sized dressing room.

“You need to fill out these forms.” She handed over a clipboard, briskly efficient. “’One’s a model release and one’s for taxes. When you’re done, here’s your wardrobe.” She thrust a plastic bag at him with something red inside. Actual clothes. He hadn’t been expecting that, and it came as a relief. “You can change behind the screen.”

Ben scribbled out his personal information. He’d never thought anything about taxes would make him happy, but the prospect of actually have something
to
tax put a smile on his face. He went behind the screen to don his costume, opened the bag and found that Rona had given him a pair of red velvet pants, sewed to look as if the fly had been peeled open, along with a Santa hat. He pulled on the clothes. His dick hung out of the pants, which he supposed was the point, graphic nudity and all. He wondered if possibly this was more humiliating than having no clothes on at all.

“You about done in there?” Rona called to him.

“Um.” He imagined Kai with that look he got when he was really pleased, mouth soft and round, eyelashes fluttering. He imagined the stack of bills sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be paid. He walked out from behind the screen, chin up and back straight even though his dick and balls were dangling out in front of him.

Rona tilted her head. “Good.  Those pants fit you perfectly.” Ben didn’t think she was making fun of him, but he couldn’t really be sure.

“Where’s my model?” An impatient voice shouted from the other room. “Are you drinking on the job again, Rona?”

“Go fuck yourself, McNally!” she hollered back and then plastered on a smile for Ben’s benefit. “Don’t worry. He’s a lot nicer to the talent.” She picked up a brush. “Okay, makeup.”

She made rather perfunctory work of his face and then turned her attention to his cock. Ben raised an eyebrow at her, and she said with a smirk, “Hey, it is the star of the shoot.”

When that was finally done, Ben made a move toward the door, thinking he was ready to get to work at last.

Rona shook her head. “Call sheet says you need to have an erection in the shot. We’re on a tight budget. So sorry, you don’t get your choice of fluffer. If you like boys, close your eyes and pretend.” A pump bottle of lube sat on the makeup table, Ben noticed belatedly. Rona squirted out a liberal handful.

“Um,” he stuttered as she reached for him.

“Problem?”

He went over his other options and came up with none. “Uh… no. No problem.”

Ben had never had any trouble getting it up, not once in his entire life. Mostly, he got it up for boys, but his days as a ballplayer had given him an appreciation for enthusiastic girls, as well. The bottom line was: he just liked sex. So he truly had no explanation why his dick chose this moment of all times to turn prima donna on him.
Come on, come on
, he thought coaxingly at it. But it stayed stubbornly uninterested despite Rona’s best efforts.

“More like this?” She twisted her wrist on the down stroke, something that never failed to get Ben going.

Until now.

“Maybe I just—” Ben struggled for some way to say
I’m not usually this inadequate, I swear
without sounding entirely pathetic.


What
is taking so long?”

The door to the dressing room flung open, and the photographer loomed there. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with short brown hair that was starting to recede just a bit, a mobile mouth that seemed equally capable of sarcasm as kindness, and bright blue eyes hot with intelligence. He wore black pants and a tight-fitting black shirt. Ben’s type tended more toward slight young pretty boys, but that didn’t keep him from noticing the body beneath those black clothes, not gym-rat perfect, but nice, very nice.

“Oh. So that’s the problem.” The man’s sharp blue eyes fastened on Ben.

Ben’s dick instantly twitched in Rona’s hand. This was lost on no one, and the man lingered, watching, until Ben was fully erect.

“Good,” the man said. “Give him a robe and get him in front of the backdrop.” He disappeared.

“I guess you do better when you keep your eyes open and pretend, huh?” Rona said, handing him the robe. “Leave this on until McNally tells you to take it off. He’ll need to adjust the camera and lights before he starts shooting.”

It was a relief to cover up, and even though standing around doing nothing usually drove Ben half insane, today he wasn’t complaining. The man finally got the lights set and the camera focused, and he nodded at Ben. “Ready for you now.”

Rona came and took the robe. Ben’s salute had lost a little of its enthusiasm, so Rona went to work on him again. Now that Ben stood under the hot glare of lights, his heart started to beat too fast, and his chest felt tight. Even admiring how the photographer’s black pants cupped his incredibly gorgeous ass did nothing to get him going.

The photographer nodded to Rona, who hesitated a moment and then headed back to the dressing room. The man approached, and Ben looked down at the floor. Damn it, he really needed this job.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to molest you.” The man sounded amused.

“I’m more concerned about getting fired.”

“Relax. What’s your name again?”

“Ben.”

“Gavin. So, Ben, luckily for you, Marge called this morning to tell me you’re new to modeling, in case you forgot to mention it. I built some time into the schedule for reassuring the anxious virgin.”

“You’re a sport,” Ben said dryly.

Gavin grinned. “Not something I hear every day. So, look, it’s normal to be nervous the first time out. I can help you with that if you’ll let me.” His gaze met Ben’s. “Is it all right if I touch your penis?”

The words alone were enough to make Ben suck in his breath, his dick suddenly a hell of a lot more willing. Apparently, he needed to reconsider what his type was, because this guy definitely had an effect on him.

Gavin’s mouth twisted into a self-satisfied little smirk. “I’m going to take that to mean: yes, please touch me.” He curled his fingers around Ben’s shaft and stroked lightly. “Did anyone tell you what this picture is for?”

Ben shook his head, not quite trusting that his voice wouldn’t crack.

“Penis enlargement.”

“What’s with the costume?” Ben asked, honestly puzzled.

“Apparently, for some people nothing says happy holidays quite like a big, hard one. You have what so many men can only wish for.” Gavin started to move his hand on Ben’s dick. “Just imagine all those men looking at this picture of you, admiring, envying. You like to be looked at, don’t you, Ben? A hot guy like you.” He circled his thumb around the cockhead. “Like to be touched. You know that old phrase ‘making love to the camera’? Well, the truth is that the camera makes love to you. Every click of the shutter, every time the flash goes off, it’s like hands, the most sensitive, most appreciative hands, all over your skin.”

Ben was not only hard by the end of this motivational speech, but he was panting.

Gavin gave him a look of appraisal. “I think we’re ready to get started.” He returned to the camera. “Just stand naturally.” He began snapping pictures.

Being natural was easier said than done when Ben was so pornographically displayed. His back went ramrod straight, and his shoulders tensed so much they were practically brushing his ears.

“Talk to me,” he said desperately.

BOOK: Spam! It's What's for Christmas
6.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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