Modeling 101 By FW North

One of my university dorm roommates was a flamboyant Italian who spent his days smoking joints, listening to techno, checking himself in the mirror and eating pasta by the bucketload. Nonetheless, he was friendly enough, even occasionally offering me some of his pasta. I always politely declined, being unsure if the white sprinkles lining the plate were Parmesan or cocaine.

One day he decided to try out for a modeling job. Since he had seen me sporting a camera, he barged into my room asking if I would mind taking some photos for his portfolio. Feeling bored and curious, I accepted with a smile, which promptly became a frown when he said "Great! I'll get the Johnson baby oil".

Five minutes later he came out of the bathroom, shiny like a newborn seal and stark naked. I could feel my eyes twitch, but soldiered on. As I prepared some makeshift lamps around the room, trying to at least adjust the lighting, he scrambled for something to cover his nether regions - the nudity was supposed to be tastefully veiled.

Finally, with a pink feather boa strapped around his genitalia, he grinned and turned the radio on. When I heard the first chords of Prince's "Kiss", I looked around to check if I was the only one with a camera. Spotting none, I carried on taking photos. He kept a remarkably professional attitude, only dented by his continuous screams of "Can you see my balls?" over the blaring music.

I gave him the photos the following day. He didn't get the job.

in Amsterdam, The Netherlands


I am a member of the featherless bipeds (with broad flat nails) who have scattered around this planet we have decided to name Earth. I mostly travel these days, discovering our extraordinary world.

See FW's profile.

FW's website.


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