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