Post-coitally he held me close and instructed, ‘Tell me you love me.’ I laughed, I didn’t tell him I loved him, and he went to sleep offended that I wasn’t already head over heels. I was silenced – the guy needed more than silence to confirm I thought he was beautiful. A tidal wave of contact continued as we sexted and phone sexed daily.They’ll probs have a crisis of confidence at some (read: many) point(s). When I woke up he was gazing at a picture of himself, cooing, ‘Look how beautiful I am here.’ In it, he was tarted up like some sort of forest imp. He had no qualms about sending images with both his erection and face in shot, so if he wanted to be famous he was going the right way about it.
But the fact is, we aren’t all models and we aren’t all paid for our symmetry and grace and, just sometimes, a model will live up to some of the tired tropes in the history of vanity.It’s just fucking funnier when it’s the freakishly beautiful male model you’ve decided to have sex with for a little while.Guys, I had sex with a male model and have decided to bestow upon you the wisdom I learned during this undertaking....You could blame my baby face, his five o'clock shadow, our three-year age difference, or the fact that he has about 100 pounds of muscle on me. Um, Then there was the time he got recruited to sing happy birthday to a 95-year-old woman at a nursing home.They all made dirty jokes about it and may have spanked him.
It made me wonder how he kept his own lawn (natural, thank God not weird and waxed like your stereotypical male mod/part-time pornstar), and how he would judge the rest of my anatomy (feedback was extremely generous considering I’m no Cara Delevingne).