The California Threeway

My two friends from the agency came over Friday night after we'd been at the Red Lion drinking. My roommate was out dancing, so we came back here, to finish off some whiskey and a bottle of wine. A lot of alcohol and the promise of sex was the only reason I had found myself naked in between two plastic bookends. Both of these guys are super fly, and they were all decked out in Prada stuff. One is a photographer, the other is a stylist. Lord knows I wasn't looking forward to the activity at hand.

Though I can never be too sure, I often wonder why I'm booking all of these modeling jobs. I work out a lot. I eat a vegetarian diet. I'm not a muscleman though. I guess I'm an ordinary hot guy. Or maybe because 85% of the class of 1990 have turned into big fat slobs, and as a result, I have been bumped-up to the role as the jovial Hollywood version of the thin everyman of my generation? The gig coming up on Monday is a shoot for boxers and it will require me to show my body, so it is important I am well groomed. That is something that I knew in the back of my mind was inevitable. The shaving off my body hair in order to earn a living. To be hated for my body hair is such a confusing paradox, and sometimes it makes my head spin.

I was so sure that I could at least avoid removal of my pubic hair, but those hopes were dashed when later on, I dropped my boxers and both guys went "EW."