He’s been in San Francisco for one week. He moved here from a small town in the MidWest. He’s texting his girlfriend to let her know he’s naked and ok.
In person, he felt like a boy even though he’s 20. Very precise in everything he did, he had a hard time relaxing into simple poses.
I asked about his sexuality. “I’ve had sex with three people.” I pressed him on that response. “One girl and two boys.”
I asked what he planned to do in San Francisco and he said that more than anything he wants to be a pastry chef. He loves cooking. His sexuality was like a little bud ready to burst out.
He was soft, warm, a little voluptuous. Trevor, Pony and I all wanted to molest and fuck him. I think it was his innocence and boyish softness. He was almost irresistible in the way a young boy might be.
I took a break and when I came back he was chatting with Pony. I don’t know if you can see or feel how sexually inviting his presence was, the graceful (feminine) way he stood, his glasses. This grace won’t last in San Francisco. The City will wear him down and devour him.
I don’t know why, but late in the shoot I lost patience with him. I took his glasses away, messed up his hair (“Hey!”). He hadn’t expected it and frowned. He said “What do you want?” I had no answer.
I had him go into a crouch. “Like you’re just starting a race,” I said. Which he is. He looked up at me with no pleasure in his eyes. It was the last shot. He put his clothes on, texted his girlfriend to let her know he was coming home.
Enjoy – Paul Morris