Date: Tue, 15 Mar 2016 18:37:16 +0000
From: DavidandLaurie <rampage938@btinternet.com>
Subject: CHARISMA Part 1 - Birth of a Porn Star

Here's hoping you will enjoy this effort. The author has never worked in
the porn industry so any errors or misjudgements are entirely because of
his ignorance and he hopes you will forgive his trespasses. If you enjoy
Nifty's magnificent literary library please give as generously as you can
next time you come across a really good, sexy yarn which has you reaching
for the box of tissues! Send your gift http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
On second thoughts, why not have a go yourself?



I HAD BEEN a photographer with one of the most important male modelling
agencies for a number of years before I encountered my first truly
charismatic model. I had often wondered what the word actually meant, so I
made an effort and looked it up in my big dictionary. The definition it
gave read: `charisma (n): the quality or power of an individual to attract,
influence, or inspire people.' I had heard of models considered to be
genuinely charismatic when facing a battery of lights and cameras but I had
never come across one – until now. I had always regarded such stories as
apocryphal fables. However, I was aware that the arrogant behaviour of such
models was usually tolerated and encouraged by certain celebrity
photographers, largely because the results of their shoots invariably meant
mega sales and commissions from prestigious publications such as
Cosmopolitan, Elle and Vogue. These led, in turn, to profitable TV or film
contracts, as well as centrefolds and, in the case of male models, major
advertising features for the extremely lucrative glossy `pink' magazine
market (Gay Times, Attitude and the like.) Something to do, I was told,
with raw sex appeal and the desire to lust after something one had no
chance of obtaining. Crap, if you ask me, much more likely to do with an
indefinable and probably deceptive quality of seductiveness generating
quantities of dollars or euros or yen. Anyway, that is all beside the
point.

Gino del Luongo's nineteen year old body was unblemished, a masterpiece of
physical perfection. Nervously standing there in front of me, he was the
epitome of youth on the verge of adulthood. On my instructions, he was
wearing US Marine Corps lace up boots and stylishly cut Moroschina swim
briefs which I had gone to much expense and trouble to import from Moscow
just for this one shoot and which I intended to present to Gino after the
successful conclusion of the shoot. The glacial whiteness of the rich
satinised swim wear contrasted perfectly with his naturally golden brown
skin, inherited from his Neapolitan ancestors, creating a vision that you
only saw a few times in your lifetime. It could cause traffic to screech to
an abrupt halt, trains to derail and planes to abort take-off. It had
certainly stopped me in my tracks, causing a primeval swelling in my crotch
and buzzing in my ears, dryness in my throat and blood to pulse in my
veins. The sap was undoubtedly rising in this jaded, dried up old stick.

I had only glanced briefly through his portfolio that morning in the hotel,
not having time to give it my usual detailed scrutiny as I was running
fiendishly late with the current schedule. I had handed him over to Andy,
my trusty `gopher', with instructions to get him into something suitable
for a trial posing session later in the day. I was now making my first
assessment of him as he materialised in my viewfinder.

Looking at another photographer's prints of standard studio poses in a
portfolio hardly gives one an idea of what to hope for from a prospective
model and I certainly had not expected to see anyone radiating so much
virility and raw sex as was revealed here. I stared at the image for a few
seconds attempting to take in the full impact of it. I am usually very
quick to come to a decision but I found myself trying to find words to do
justice to it. All I could come up with were feeble terms like
`attractive', `seductive', `stunning', trite clichιs of our trade that
were applied too frequently to too many male and female models. I needed to
find a word of unique power to convey the extraordinary impact made by the
nearly naked male body I was contemplating. Eureka! The word came into my
mind like a bombshell: EXPLOSIVE!

As far as I was aware, Gino del Luongo had been a rather unimportant member
of the modelling team we had assembled for this major video shoot. Indeed,
the most he could have hoped for as a first-timer was to role play a rather
`chic shabby' wine waiter and be very fortunate if his brief appearance
handing round trays of drinks in the background was not cut during the
editing process back in London. Hitherto, he had been just another good
looking if slightly anonymous young man from the wilds of south-east
London, on his first professional photo shoot. No doubt he was feeling a
bit out of his depth with little to do but cost the studio a lot of hard
cash just to kick his heels and lounge around a seven-star hotel on the
Cote d'Azur.

Gino had slipped off to the male changing room after breakfast where,
without warning, he encountered one of our most internationally celebrated
and hung male models in the all-together, sporting a rampant stiffie. One
of the bellboys was bent over in front of him with his trousers round his
ankles and arse in the air. Andy had seen Gino rush out of the changing
room, his face as red as a boiled lobster, with the celebrity's ringing
laughter in his ears. The newcomer was clearly a raw recruit to this
business and was definitely shy about it all, trying to hide his body under
layers of unbecoming bulky clothing in spite of the oppressive
Mediterranean heat of mid-June on the Cote d'Azur.

He had managed to retain a gamin boyishness that was peculiarly
unsettling. Yet the fusion of his languishing good looks, his air of
naivete, his hint of youthful arrogance and his awareness of the effect he
was having on the men and most of the women around him, all combined to
make me excited – and a little scared. When you have worked through as
many all-male shoots for raw-sex skin mags as I have you feel entitled to
become blasι with the familiarity of it all: one darn prick is very much
like another after a while. It takes a nervous, unsure of himself innocent
like Gino del Luongo, facing his very first bare-all professional photo
session, to bring everything into focus. Although the extent of his
nervousness was becoming evident to all the pro's on the shoot, both behind
and in front of the camera, and the undeniable fact that he was beginning
to worry me, I really liked what I saw in that viewfinder. I was ready to
believe that in Gino del Luongo we just might have stumbled upon a
potential superstar male model to rival the legendary Johan Paulik of
BelAmi fame. However, a hell of a lot of time, money and many reputations
(including mine) were being staked on this shoot and no one, least of all
me, could afford one single slip up. Nothing – absolutely nothing –
must go wrong.

Tomorrow we were scheduled to do a series of preliminary takes to sort out
potential blips like unwanted shadows cast by nearby buildings, glare
bouncing off someone's carelessly parked limo, awkwardly placed palms and
bushes which could interfere with positioning, that sort of thing. I was
hoping that these trial runs would help Gino to overcome his shyness, get
to know some of his fellow models, try not to trip over lighting rigs or
expensive hi-tech cameras on tripods and to ignore all the noise and
general mayhem of a video shoot.

The real photography would be done the following day, in three major
sessions. Very early in the morning to catch the softer dawn light on the
impressive white marble escalier at the rear of the hotel, with a majestic
colonnade behind it, leading down to a vast expanse of velvety lawns
overlooking the cerulean blue of the sea. Lunch would have to be taken on
the hoof to allow for an early afternoon session when the full overhead
glare of the midday sun had lessened. There would be a break to give the
models some rest and preparation time for the early evening `cocktail hour'
shoot, also to capture the subtle changes in the quality of the light from
the setting sun.

This was to be followed by the most testing and important part of the day's
work as far as our male models were concerned. Wearing extremely glamorous
and expensive evening dress (on hire, of course), they would play at being
some of the world's richest men (in their dreams!) Our sponsors had laid
out enormous sums of money for the hotel to come up with a faux
Oscars-style award ceremony at which our cast of world-weary models would
appear as minor or up-and-coming `celebrities'. I had made a decision that
we would add an extra `award', that of Best Male Newcomer and that Gino
would play that role. It had not been a popular decision in certain
quarters and had generated hours of overtime to change the shooting script
to fit it in. Neverthless, I got my way.

All the wealthy bona fide guests who would be staying at the hotel had
received discreet invitations several weeks previously to attend a lavish
celebratory dinner and cabaret. They had been told this was to celebrate
the completion of an important photographic event connected with publicity
for a major espionage movie in the final stages of production back in the
States. These guests had been informed that cameras would be filming the
event all evening and alternative arrangements would be made by the resort
management for those who had objections to being caught on camera to dine
discreetly elsewhere. Male guests who accepted the invitation had been
requested to wear full white tie while the ladies were asked to wear
evening dress with jewellery such as tiaras and other gewgaws. For those
who could not bring that kind of gear with them, they would be given
unhindered free access to `borrow' whatever took their fancy from the huge
emporium operating in the foyer. However, it was now time for me to get
back to work and see just what this kid could deliver.

"OK, Gino, you're looking great. I would like to take you through a
practice run now so you will get some idea of what will happen tomorrow. Go
off with Andy and get kitted out. Ask Doris in Wardrobe if she has still
got those skin-tight blue jeans we had in New York for Danny Everard. He's
about your size and build. While you are there, find a tight fitting clean
white T-shirt and, please, don't wear any socks or shoes, I think we'll go
barefoot to emphasise that gamin look of yours. OK?"

"Yes, Mr Charles."

"Oh, there's no need to be so formal, boy. I'm not your headmaster you
know. Call me Leland like everyone else does. Even I can't remember what my
real name is!" He grinned, sheepishly. "Anything else you want to know
before we start?"

"Er – what exactly does `gamin' mean?"

"It's kind of affectionate French slang for a street urchin." Seeing a
suspicious look cross his face, I hastened to reassure him. "There's
nothing bad about it, Gino."

He looked at me through half-closed eyes, as if he were trying to fathom me
out. Was I trying to make a pass at him? I didn't know myself then what the
truthful answer to that question would have been. He looked down and said
nothing. Meanwhile, Andy and the lighting supremo Louis had been fiddling
around and gave me the sign that all was ready.

I called out to Gino and told him to begin moving around slowly, just to
get used to avoiding all the equipment and to forget about the camera and
me. At first, he simply shambled around in front of the lighting rig in the
threadbare, ingeniously ripped jeans and muscle-hugging white T-shirt that
Doris had resurrected. He was obviously nervous and self-conscious but he
still looked utterly drop-dead, gut-wrenchingly dazzling, the very
apotheosis of SEX. He filled the jeans to perfection. They seemed to be a
part of him, concealing his body yet revealing everything through cleverly
placed small tears and holes. I dared not believe that this boy, when
stripped, would fulfil the promise of the way he looked in those jeans. As
he gained more assurance he began moving his hips and buttocks in time to
the soft Latin beat of the music Andy had organised.

"Oh, that's good Gino, very good. Now just discard the T-shirt slowly, in
time to the music, without missing the beat. Think you can do that?"

He threw me a look straight from the back streets of Naples that said more
clearly than any words, "You fucking dirty minded wanker, I can do this
sort of stuff in my sleep."

He discarded the T-shirt in one fluid motion, disclosing the utter
flawlessness of his torso. A barely smothered gasp from Andy told me there
could be no further doubt that young Gino del Luongo oozed sex as easily as
most guys leaked perspiration in this humid heat. I glanced over to where
Andy was standing out of shot, just in time to catch him pulling at his
crotch, trying to ease the pressure his rapidly swelling cock was
experiencing. The boy must really be something special if he could turn on
a hoary, seen-it-all-before old timer like Andy.

I could not keep myself from staring at the image in the viewfinder.  A
part – a very small part – of my brain kept telling me I was rapidly
turning into a dirty old man, but I was past caring. As I stood there
something compelled me to stare lustfully at the perfection of the body
hidden from me until now. In all the years I had been photographing young
men for the `pink' glossies I had seen too many muscle-bound gym
fairies. Gino's body was altogether special; he did not quite have a
swimmer's V-shaped torso, but that basic form with proportionately balanced
broad shoulders; his pecs were outlined rather than strongly defined. His
stomach was subtly flat with just a hint of a six-pack, his biceps
delightfully moulded. His bodily definition was excellent, the kind that
could only come from good old-fashioned manual labour, and even more
attractive for all that.

"Do you want me to do anything else, Leland?"

I pulled myself together, not having been aware I had almost been in a
state of suspended animation, having fallen victim to the magic of
charisma.

"Oh, sorry, folks. I was just thinking about giving young Gino here a more
important job to do tomorrow. Yes, Gino, would you mind changing back into
those Moroschina briefs so I can do just a teensy bit more. Then we'll call
it a wrap for today."

"Sure thing, boss," he grinned cheekily and glided off behind the backcloth
with Andy panting along behind him. What had I done?

I had made an instant, off the cuff commitment to the youngster which
everyone present had heard. This was something I had never done before. I
could not back out of it now; to do so could prove fatal to the whole
shoot. That languid cockiness of his had effectively blown my so carefully
crafted schedules sky high. OK, he still appeared to be very nervous,
apprehensive and unsure of his position, but that blend of innocence and
cynical mistrust was producing a dangerous, highly charged, sexually
explosive mixture, which could act like dynamite in that viewfinder if I
mishandled this tense situation. However, I was not the only one who would
have to tread carefully through this minefield. A sudden disturbance behind
the backcloth was followed by Gino's raised, angry voice.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Keep your filthy hands off me,
pervert!"

To my horror, I heard Andy stutter and stammer. "I'm s-s-sorry, Gino, it
was an accident. I didn't m-m-mean to t-t-touch you there."

"Like fuck you didn't, you dirty old sod."

Gino suddenly appeared in front of the backcloth, dressed in the swimwear
as instructed. I pretended I had not heard the exchange between them.

"OK, Gino, let's get this over and we can all relax round the pool with a
few drinks. Ready?"

There was a frigid silence as Andy and Louis stopped what they were doing
to watch young Gino del Luongo filling a pair of swimming briefs as if we
had never seen briefs filled before. I knew my tongue must have been
hanging out, panting and drooling like a thirsty dog. I had to clear my
throat twice before I could speak.

"Fine. Now turn around slowly – stretch and flex – (Please, boy,
don't squeeze those arse cheeks together like that, you'll have me shooting
a load in my pants if you do it again!) – move again in time to the beat
– oh, that's brill!" (I just can't watch that bulging packet moving
around inside that thin cotton pouch any longer, its like watching ferrets
in a sack. As for the way the cloth stretches over those perfect, muscular
globes of his arse ...) I knew I should have had the courage to end the
session at that point but I told myself I had to check him one more time in
the viewfinder.

"Gino, can you do those last couple of moves again, more slowly this time,
for the benefit of the camera. Thanks."

He did something subtly different this time. I did not know what it was –
and to this day I still don't – but I felt my groin stirring heavily, my
cock pressing against my briefs, aching as it became trapped in the
confines of the pouch.

The longer I gazed at that image in the viewfinder, the more I began to
notice many small things about Gino del Luongo that were slowly driving me
crazy. His smouldering brown eyes, that boyish, impish grin, the skin-tight
Moroschina briefs tightly embracing the curvature of his seductively
muscular arse. His slab of thick cock nestling against his left thigh. His
broad shoulders and sculpted pecs seemed to be cunningly understated. His
nipples crinkling into temptingly pink points and I observed the twin
mounds of his bubble butt flexing every time he moved or bent over. He had
me. Deep in my groin and deep in my stomach, I knew he had got me. I might
be keeping control of myself and the session but he was so artlessly
charismatic that I used two rolls of film in no time at all. Yet I still
had not managed to get him to strip any further than to hook his thumb
inside the elastic waistband of the briefs and drag them down just far
enough to expose the base of his thick shaft crowned with a cushion of
light brown pubic hair.

"Fuck, you're a real hot number," I said, unable to keep silent any
longer. "You're going to need a minder to keep the hordes of females away
once they see these photos!" He smiled and threw me a saucy wink.

"You gonna get them into the mags, then? Even though they're not official,
like?"

I could not answer. I knew these pictures would never appear on the
legitimate market. They had only been taken for test purposes with no
intention of being published and nothing had been signed. As a professional
model Gino had legal rights and I knew I would never be able to persuade
him to sign the necessary releases to enable anyone to publish. There
simply was no way I could override his right of veto. I knew he would never
be this innocent again and that these pictures would show a less assured
Gino del Luongo than I would get tomorrow, or the day after, or even the
day after that. I took a few more quick shots as he pulled on the
threadbare jeans and clinging T-shirt again. As I watched him, I knew there
was a porn superstar in the making. More implortantly, I could see that
Gino had sensed it too. He could see dollar signs everywhere. He knew he'd
probably have to take cock up his arse to make the mega bucks, but that
prospect did not seem to faze him. I also knew that over the next three or
four days, this neophyte would flourish in front of my lens and all that
youthful innocence would disappear forever. So would any trace of camera
shyness. Andy handed me an ice-cold pure orange drink as I continued to
watch Gino.

"That boy is one fucking horny bastard," Andy growled in my ear. "Don't you
wish you could slip that hunk of teenage meat in your mouth and suck
forever?"

Andy's crude words rattled around my head as Gino stopped to chat to a
couple of the make-up girls. "The other guys tell me he's as straight as a
ramrod, with loads of teenage self-importance," Andy continued. "Fuck!
These boys get hotter every year!"

"No, Andy, it's just that you're getting older every year," I murmured.

"Why the fuck do all these porn models who want to appear in the gay mags
have to be so fucking straight?"

Andy strove off like a peevish little boy who had lost his favourite toy. I
sipped slowly on the orange. Yes, I reflected, Andy had a point. Perhaps
youthful bravado, egotism and the lure of money had brought Gino to this
point in his young life in the first place. Besides, the effect Gino was
having on the two girls he was chatting to told me he just had to be
straight.

To be continued...