The host’s face was white, and so was the producer’s face—but I didn’t care. I wasn’t trying to put them on the spot—I truly believed that I won. And I really did win, in more ways than one.
THE END
PASSING GRADE
Frankie has spent most of his time at photography school slacking off: partying every weekend, missing class, and botching assignments. Now, with just a couple of months left in his course, he’s on the brink of failing, so he needs to ace his latest assignment: a photo shoot with a model he’s required to find himself.
The photography school is right across the road from the local modelling school, so Frankie figures there’s no rush. He leaves the vital assignment to the last minute, and then he finds himself at a loss when all of the local models are busy. Now, if Frankie is going to get a passing grade, he’s going to need to come up with a good idea, and he might just have one that will require a wig and a bit of makeup—and maybe a splash of vodka.
CHAPTER I
My go-to excuse for missing class was, “My alarm didn’t go off.” I’m not sure why my instructors continued to believe me—or maybe they didn’t believe me. Maybe they just didn’t care because they already had my money. If I wanted to fail, that was my own issue.
My alarm did go off—it always went off—but it didn’t always wake me up, especially after a long night of drinking and partying. I signed up for that photography school to learn how to take nice photos, but I stayed for the drinking and partying, because the students at that school did a whole lot of it.
It was a warm July morning when I accidentally missed a very important class: the class on how to find and hire professional and amateur models for photo shoots. When I saw the class on the schedule a few days before, I didn’t think it would be very important. I thought it would be an obvious one to miss, seeing as I wanted to be a nature photographer, not a portrait or a fashion photographer. I liked taking pictures of mountains and trees—not people.
But I missed more than just the lesson on how to find and hire models—I also missed the instructions for our latest assignment, which was due in a week: plan and execute a photo-shoot with a model, and then submit fifteen finished, processed photos for review. It wasn’t until the next morning—also a pleasant, warm morning—when I found out about the assignment. But I wasn’t worried. Our school was located just across the street from the local modelling school. I figured it would be simple enough to stroll on over and just ask one of the many girls there if they wanted to pose for me. Unlike many of the guys in my class, I had no fears when it came to chatting up girls. In fact, I was looking forward to the opportunity to possibly wriggle my way into a young model’s panties.
I still had a week, which was loads of time, so I was in no rush. A bunch of my classmates got started right away, but I had no intentions of missing Jenny’s big birthday party, which she was throwing at her parent’s mansion on the North Shore while her parents were out of town.
I’d been to that house before for one of Jenny’s big parties. The house had fifteen bedrooms and two separate swimming pools, one with an amazing view of the shimmering downtown core and the other in the middle of the house, in an open courtyard, totally private from any peeping neighbours.
Jenny would go out and buy thousands of dollars worth of booze as if it was free and she would let the party rage on until the early morning hours. But I wasn’t excited about the amazing house or the pools or the mountain of booze that would be on the kitchen island—I was excited about the girls.
Jenny seemed to know every single young, single woman in town. Her parties were always teeming with drunk, horny girls and only just a few guys. I got to be one of those guys, because I was lucky enough to be the one to help Jenny figure out her first camera on her first day of photography school. When I went over to help her, it wasn’t just because I saw her struggling—it was because she was sexy and I hadn’t had sex in over three months. I figured it was a good chance to get my number in her Pokédex, if you know what I mean. I had no idea at the time that she was the daughter of a multi-millionaire, with hundreds of pretty female friends.
I never did end up fucking Jenny, though I tried for weeks until I found out that I wasn’t her type. I wasn’t too surprised though—I wasn’t the ‘type’ for many girls. It didn’t help that I was shorter than Jenny, or that we weighed about the same. Jenny was into thick hunks with arms like tree trunks and heads like cinderblocks. She liked guys with tribal tattoos and veins that looked like they were about to pop.
But there were lots of girls who were into me, so I wasn’t too worked up about it. I was just happy to be in Jenny’s good books—being invited to all of her female-dominant parties. I think she might have thought that I was gay, but if that’s what she needed to think for me to get laid, then so be it.
I had four days left before my model photography assignment was due when I decided it was time to start getting things together. First, I went about tracking down a location. I knew that all of my classmates would be shooting their models outside, so I wanted to find an excellent indoor location, so my series would stand out.
I went for a walk around town, to find the perfect place to bring the model I didn’t yet have. As I was walking, I came across one of my classmates, in the middle of his shoot with his model. I rolled me eyes and laughed as I saw his girl posing against the stereotypical graffiti wall. The lighting wasn’t even nice—what a waste.
I sauntered into one of the city’s nicer hotels. I admired the big marble pillars and the series of large fireplaces scattered throughout the grand lobby. The room was filled with large leather couches and golden lamps placed on side tables. The room glittered with amazing natural light. So I approached the woman standing behind the counter. “Can I help you?” she asked, looking me up and down. She didn’t even bother to ask if I was checking in—probably because I didn’t look rich like the people who normally stayed at the hotel.
“I was just wondering: is there a manager in? I’d like to ask about doing a photo shoot in your amazing location.” I made a big, charming smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry—we don’t allow photographers to shoot in here. We sometimes allow it for weddings, but you need to be a guest here and you need to apply for a permit.”
“Right,” I said. “But maybe I can talk about it with your manager.”
“I am the manager,” the woman said.
“Right—but you have a boss. Unless you’re telling me that you own this place…”
She smiled in a terribly condescending way. “My boss isn’t in, but you’re welcome to leave a message for him.” She slid a notepad towards me. I knew that she was lying and I knew that my note would just be tossed in the trash as soon as I turned my back, but I left a note anyway, and then I went on to find another location.
Then I stopped for a bite to eat. After the food settled in my stomach, I felt like getting a drink. By the time I was finished my drink, it was dark and time to start getting ready for Jenny’s party. That’s when I had the great idea to ask Jenny if I could use her impressive mansion for my model photo shoot.
CHAPTER II
I was already a little bit drunk when I walked up to Jenny’s very large mansion. I perked up with excitement as soon as I saw the many girls through the many windows of the house. The music was loud and the liquor was flowing liberally. As I walked through the doors, all of the girls looked at me with glowing eyes. It was nice being one of a dozen guys at a party with over one hundred girls. Thanks to the lack of masculinity, the girls’ standards were lowered down to my level.
But I figured it would be a good idea to find Jenny and say hello before I got started on her friends—just to make sure I stayed in her good books, so that I would still be invited to future parties. I went from room to room, casually asking the party guests if they’d seen Jenny. I was surprised by how many times I heard, “Who’s Jenny?” Who were these chicks if they weren’t Jenny’s friends?
Final
ly, I found one girl who said, “She’s upstairs in the master bedroom.” I figured she was still doing her makeup or something, so I casually sauntered up the two flights of stairs and down the long hallway towards the mansion’s main master bedroom. I gently knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” Jenny called out.
“It’s me—Frankie,” I said.
“Come in!”
So I let myself in, but I only got two steps before I froze. There was a beautiful, naked blonde on the bed, with a ruffled blanket hiding her pussy and a her thin forearm hiding her tits. She looked at me with flashing eyes and smiled. “H—Hello,” I said. The girl had large breasts that her arm could hardly cover. She had a cute Indian-looking tattoo between her perfect boobies.
“Look this way,” Jenny said. So I looked to my side to see Jenny holding a camera. But she wasn’t talking to me; she was talking to her model. Her model looked over at her and continued to pose. I watched from the sidelines as Jenny got down low for some more artsy angles. “Great. Now slip your fingers into your hair,” Jenny said.
I watched as the model let her large breasts fall into the open. She had big nipples and big areolas. One of her breasts was slightly larger than the other, which somehow only made her rack even more mesmerizing.
“What’s up, Frankie?” Jenny asked.
And now I couldn’t remember what I wanted to ask her. “I just thought I would come say hi,” I said.
“That’s nice,” she said with a warm smile. Then she turned back to her model. “Now just cover one of your breasts and leave the other one out. Squeeze it, as if you’re having an orgasm.”
The model squeezed her breast while tilting her head back and parting her lips. She used her free hand to reach between her legs, slipping her fingers onto her barely-covered pussy. “Is this for that assignment?” I asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Are we allowed to shoot nude models?”
She laughed. “Yeah—Mr. Duncan said it was fine. Remember?”
“I missed the class,” I said. I felt hot sweat forming on the back of my neck, but I did my best to ignore it. I wanted to look at the model so badly, but I suddenly felt so nervous. She was so beautiful and intimidating. I didn’t want her to think that I was a creep, but I also didn’t want her to think that I was a loser. So I would occasionally look over with a casual smile, as if I was just appreciating her work. But even that felt creepy.
“Where did you find your model?” I asked.
“She’s not a model. Just a friend doing me a favour,” Jenny said. “I tried finding a model, but everyone’s booked up. Where did you find your model?”
“I haven’t found one yet,” I said.
Jenny looked over at me with wide eyes. “What? Seriously? The assignment is due in three days. Where’s your shoot? Maybe Danica here can be your model as well.”
“I don’t mind,” said Danica, the hot naked model with a smile that made my legs tremble slightly.
I looked away from Danica quickly as my heart fluttered. I took a deep breath and smiled. “No, that’s okay. I have it all under control. I was just curious—that’s all.” And then I remembered why I was trying to find Jenny: to ask if I could use her house for my shoot. I knew she would say yes, but now I didn’t want to use her place. I didn’t want to feel like I was copying her. I wanted my project to stand out. I wanted the instructors to see my work and say, ‘Wow! How original!’ But it was starting to look like the instructors were going to say, ‘Where the hell is your project?’
“Anyway,” I said, “good luck with the rest of your shoot. When you’re done, we should have a drink together.”
“Certainly!” Jenny said. Then she turned back to her friend and continued taking pictures. She asked Danica to get up on her knees, with her butt facing the camera. Before I slipped out I took one last look back, just in time to see Danica’s hairless pussy, slightly agape and wet as if she really did slip a couple of fingers into it during the previous ‘orgasmic’ pose. I also couldn’t help but notice the half empty bottle of vodka on the ground. Did Jenny get her friend drunk before convincing her to take off her clothes? If any man in our class did that, he would have been kicked out of school. My cock started to throb and I knew it was time to get out of there. So I went back down to the party.
I poured myself a stiff drink down in the kitchen, and then I looked around, hoping to spot a straggler. I didn’t know anyone at the party—and I never knew anyone at Jenny’s parties—but I was always able to find a girl who also knew no one. I spotted a little brunette chick standing at the back of the room where everyone was dancing. She was just leaning against the wall, sipping her drink. I moved in.
“Hi!” I said, raising the volume of my voice above the volume of the music. “I’m Frankie. What’s your name?”
She smiled and nodded her head. “Tae,” she said.
“Nice to meet you Tae. Are you watching your friends dance? Don’t you like to dance?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really know anyone here.”
We talked for a few minutes, then I started to pretend like I couldn’t hear her, so that I could say, “Want to talk in another room where the music isn’t so loud?” She smiled and nodded her head, so I brought her over to the kitchen where I poured a few shots for us to do together.
And then I found myself staring at her body, wondering if she would make a good model. I didn’t know much about models, aside from the fact that they were all thin and usually tall. Tae certainly wasn’t tall, and she wasn’t very thin, especially in her legs. She had thick thighs and a big ass that jiggled slightly with every step she took. She had small breasts, which she had pushed up with a push-up bra, and she had an unflattering flower tattoo on her shoulder, which looked like something a sixteen-year-old would get without her parents’ permission—and that’s probably exactly when and how she got it.
So maybe she wouldn’t have been a great model, but I wasn’t schmoozing her up to be my model. I just wanted to fuck her. I wanted to bury my face in her jiggly butt cheeks and I wanted to unload my thick cock in her tight cunt.
But now, I found myself with Jenny’s voice echoing in my head. “I tried finding a model, but everyone’s booked up.” What did she mean by that? Did she not try going over to the modelling school across the street? How could all of those girls be booked up? We were in Vancouver—one of the biggest cities in the country. Half of the girls in that thriving metropolis were aspiring models, so how hard could it be?
“Are you okay? You seem distracted,” Tae said. I pulled my attention back towards her. Was I acting distracted? I suppose I was distracted by this upcoming assignment. I probably wouldn’t have been do distracted had I just been at that class where the instructors told us how to find and hire models. Because now I was worried. What if I reached out to some models and they were all busy? Where would I find girls? And how much money was I supposed to pay them? What if Jenny was right? What if everyone was just booked up?
I had three days left to complete the assignment, but now I was worried that wasn’t enough time. I still had to find a girl, book her, shoot her, and then I had to process fifteen images. Just the processing alone would take at least an entire afternoon—longer if I didn’t want to half-ass it.
“Have you ever modelled?” I asked Tae.
Her cheeks turned red. “I don’t think I would be a good model,” she said with a coy voice.
“Why not? You’re pretty. You could do—I don’t know—swimsuit modelling.”
“I don’t really like wearing swimsuits, never mind having my picture taken in a swimsuit.”
“Or even fashion—what about a nice dress?” I said.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really like being in front of the camera, to be honest,” she said.
“You should try it. It’s fun. Here—follow me.” I knew where Jenny kept her camera gear—she had a whole gear room next to her dark room—all separate from her bed
room. She had a number of cameras: expensive Christmas gifts from rich relatives. Some of them were still in their boxes. I picked up a Canon that I was familiar with and then I grabbed a 50mm lens.
“Is all of this yours?” Tae asked with a rosy cheeks.
“It’s Jenny’s. She won’t mind me using it,” I said.
“Who’s Jenny?”
I laughed. Apparently no one at that party knew who Jenny was. I couldn’t help but wonder if Jenny just had other people use her house to throw parties, but she called them her own to benefit her own ego. “So there’s a really nice bedroom upstairs with colonial mouldings—I think that would be a really great room for this.”
Tae’s face became redder. She bit down on her lip and then she said, “I really don’t think I would be a very good model.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. Though she was right—she wasn’t going to be a great model, especially with her lack of confidence. But I needed something, at least as a backup in case I couldn’t find an actual model and an actual location. So I brought Tae up to that guest bedroom with the white walls and white picture frame mouldings. The bed was nicely made. I went over to the closet and started digging through clothes. I had no idea whose clothes I was searching through. “What about this?” I said, pulling out a long white ball gown.
Tae’s eyes flashed and her lips parted. “That’s a Marchesa gown,” she said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It’s worth fifteen grand. We did a whole class on Marchesa.”
“What kind of class?” I asked.
“I told you downstairs—I’m taking a fashion class.” But I hadn’t been fully listening to her downstairs, trying to figure out in my head how I was going to finish this damned assignment. And I wouldn’t have cared so much about this model assignment had I not nearly failed my last two assignments for various reasons relating to prioritizing parties like Jenny’s.
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