Date: Sat, 1 Apr 2006 16:13:35 +0100
From: Sussex Lad <sussexlad@googlemail.com>
Subject: David Beckham Photo Shoot

This is pure fiction. The events described in this story are fiction. They
do not claim to be true in any sense.


Rain! What else do you expect in April? The windshield wiper on the
Mercedes could hardly cope and the traffic was moving very slowly. The
driver had to be at a studio in North London in a few minutes but, at this
rate, he'd be late. He looked at the rain sodden Londoners and their pale
skin as he drove. Just occasionally he'd glance down at his torn jeans and
the sight of well-tanned thigh. Was he feeling guilty that he had spent the
cold winter in Madrid? Not really. That's where he worked.

He hadn't done a photo shoot in a while. There had been some shoots for
advertising campaigns but not one dedicated to him and him alone. He was an
old hand now, of course. How many had he done during his career? He'd lost
count but started to count them in his mind as he waited for the traffic
lights to change to green. He'd enjoyed them all, though some more than
others. He'd never been shy about his body and he'd never had any doubts
about showing it off on magazine pages. If people liked to see him in
stages of undress that was fine. If they got an erotic kick out of it that
was even better. What would this shoot be like? The lights changed and he
moved forward as his imagination started working.

He usually let the photographer decide on things; theme, poses, clothes and
so on. They knew their jobs and usually had some instruction from the
commissioning magazine. He was happy to be the model, do as he was told,
look as good as possible and only make an occasional suggestion. He caught
sight of himself in the rear view mirror. Was this the way that he'd be
wearing his hair in June? Possibly. It certainly wasn't going to be very
long by June. Right now it was really short and cropped and he liked it
that way.

'I suppose they'll get my fucking shirt off,' he thought to himself, 'they
usually do.' He grinned to himself. He always enjoyed being shirtless and
any scan through the Internet would prove that. The thought of being
shirtless in front of a camera made his crotch lurch involuntarily. 'Fuck!
I should have had a wank before I left home.' Too late now.

A mile to go and the rain stopped. Typical April now, bright sunshine.

So what did he know about this photo shoot? It was for Attitude and that
was a gay magazine. He'd done a shoot for them once before and it had been
fun but he knew that they wanted to sell as many issues as possible. He'd
be on the front cover and many pages inside but how would he be posing and
what would he be wearing? Would the pictures be 'off the wall' or downright
sexy? Would it be overtly gay? Would they even be of him dressed? Dressed?
Surely not. He didn't know. They'd given him no instructions and no
suggestions about what he should wear. Right now he was in trainers, those
torn jeans and a black shirt open over a white vest. He'd prepared himself
physically, of course. He'd had a long workout to tone his body before a
long hot shower. He hadn't shaved, however. They usually liked him a little
stubbly. That's what he was always told.

And the photographer? He had never worked with the man before but he had
seen him. He'd been pointed out to him at some celebrity bash. The man was
young and he had had to look at him twice, no three times, to convince him
that it wasn't one of his fellow players. He looked so very much like a guy
who'd probably be in the England team with him. So very like him in almost,
no, every way. Uncanny. And how did he feel about this player, and by
default, this photographer? He smiled to himself and though 'Oh yes, I've
got plenty of thoughts. Plenty.'

He saw the name of the road that he was looking for and turned
right. Nondescript units and featureless frontages. Number 112? There it
was. He turned into a drive and around the back of the building. There was
just one other vehicle there, a 4x4 and he parked beside it. As he climbed
out of the low Mercedes the rain started to pour once again.

'Fucking typical.'

As he ran towards the plain door it opened and the man that he had once
mistaken for a fellow footballer smiled.

'Hi David. Come in.'



That's the start and now I want you to make some suggestions. If I get
feedback I'll choose the best and include it in Part 2. Let your
imagination run wild because Mine will.

What kind of photo shoot would you like David Beckham to do? Which
Premiership footballer did Beckham mistake the photographer for?


sussexlad@googlemail.com