Coming of Age

Rome

When we arrived at Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci Airport the next morning, we were shocked to be met not only by Armando, but also by Rob Palmer, who had apparently taken a red-eye flight to confirm that everything was ready for us at the hotel. Hotel limousines took us to The St. Regis, a five-star Marriott hotel just about a block from the National Gallery of Ancient Art. Just as in Athens, we were led directly to our suites, bypassing the registration desk.

Our suite was designed like a roommate apartment, albeit a very luxurious one. An elegant sitting room separated two spacious bedrooms, each with a king-size bed and private bathroom, which was bigger that most people’s living room. Each had a spa-like tub and a walk-in shower with room for six people and multiple sprays. A large balcony was accessible from any of the rooms.

We were given 30 minutes to freshen up and report to the hotel’s Lumen restaurant, where we enjoyed a delicious lunch. Since most of us had skipped breakfast, we were famished and ready for a hearty meal. At the conclusion of lunch, Armando previewed the week’s agenda.

Tomorrow was designated as “Family Portrait Day,” when Armando would photograph each of the adults individually, as couples, and with their sons. There was no need to photograph Johnny, Troy, and me separately because Armando had already photographed us at Christmas.

The next two days were to be what Armando called “Commercial Photo Day,” which seemed to be much like the Andrew Christian photo shoots we had participated in but with different products. Finally, the last two days were to be “Special Photo Day.” Armando explained that for years he had been collecting photos of men all over the world and wanted to include our photos in a book to be published as Men of the World.

“Family Portrait Day?” whimpered Mom. “I’m a fright. I can’t be photographed looking like this.” The other ladies commiserated. They weren’t prepared to pose for the camera.

“Not to worry,” said Rob. “I have booked reservations for each of you this afternoon in the hotel’s spa. You can have whatever spa treatments you would like, and that includes the men too.”

“But I have nothing to wear,” said Mrs. Andersen.

Rob sighed demonstrably, “Oh, Emily. Have I ever let you down?” The men chuckled; the women didn’t, but they knew that Rob could be counted on to have a plan.

Right after our conference was over, everyone reported to the spa. The moms got the full treatment, from hair to toenails, and the dads got massages. Since Johnny, Troy, and I were not scheduled for our massages until later in the afternoon, we three paisanos decided to hit the gym first for a long-overdue workout.

The masseur assigned to me in the spa was a real stud muffin. I couldn’t help but get aroused when he rubbed my body, especially “down there.” I kept hoping that he would offer me a “special massage,” but he just smiled and never went that far. When I got back to our suite, I expected to see Troy there, but he didn’t show up for another 45 minutes. When I asked where he had been, he told me that he had gotten a “special massage.”

“Damn!” I complained. “How come you got one and I couldn’t?”

“I dunno,” he said. “Maybe your masseur is straight.” And then Troy pretended to get excited, “Or maybe he’s a top, and he was just waiting for you to ask him to fuck you.”

 “Har har har,” I growled. “In either case,” I said, “you owe me one.” I pulled down my underwear and waved my hard dick at Troy, who immediately took the cue and went down on me.

We had been instructed to gather at a private room next to the restaurant at 6:00, so after the blow job, Troy and I got dressed and headed to that floor.

The room was impeccably designed and furnished like a luxury drawing room. “I wanted to show you this room,” said Rob because it’s a great place to relax, read newspapers or magazines, or just chat. You can also get snacks or beverages here, and a breakfast buffet is available every morning.”

From that private room, Rob led us to the Lumen Restaurant. Over a delicious Italian dinner, Rob announced that a hotel motor coach would pick us up at 8:30 in the morning to take us to Armando’s gallery and studio, where the family portraits would be taken. “Clothes will be waiting for you there,” said Rob.

The next morning, our destination was quite a surprise. Armando’s studio was essentially a warehouse stocked with all kinds of sets and props as well as photographic equipment. It was situated behind a gallery containing four large rooms. Armando explained that he owned and operated the gallery with two other artists, a painter and a sculptor. Each artist had his own separate studio, and the fourth was for special events featuring joint exhibits or works by outside guest artists.

The pieces on display were incredibly impressive, and they all carried hefty price tags, in the thousands and above.

Nic directed our attention to opposite sides of the studio where there were dressing rooms. In front of each was a clothes rack, one containing tuxedos for the men and the other containing the same evening gowns that the women had worn to the theatre in Athens. It seemed that Rob had collected all of the formal wear, brought it with him on his red-eye flight, and sent it out for cleaning. Trays on the ladies’ rack also contained the jewelry they had worn.

While the women took turns changing into their gowns, Armando photographed the fathers separately in their tuxedos. “What about Rob?” asked Mrs. Mazure.

“Don’t be silly, Sarah,” said Rob. “This shoot is for family.”

“Well, I don’t care,” she snipped. “I want a photograph of you.”

Rob looked at Troy, and Troy smiled and nodded his approval.

“But I don’t have—”

“There,” said Armando, pointing to a stock room. Rob walked to the stock room and found a whole rack of clothes, including a large selection of tuxedos.

After Rob’s sitting, Armando began photographing the mothers individually. Then he photographed the parents in couples, and Mrs. Mazure again insisted that Rob join her in the picture. Finally, he photographed the parents with their sons. The whole session took all day.

That evening, Rob treated us to dinner in the Cavalieri Hotel’s La Pergola, universally rated the best restaurant in Rome and one of the four best in all of Italy. The wine, food, ambience, and service were magnifico.

The next morning, we all gathered in our private room for the buffet breakfast. Mike reminded the parents that they all had the right to observe the day’s shoot, but they agreed unanimously that they had trusted Mike to monitor the sessions in Athens and did not feel the need to change course now. Besides, they were all dying to see the many historic and artistic sights in The Eternal City.

When the four of us arrived at Armando’s studio, we were met by one of Armando’s two assistants. Armando had also brought in two male models (Lorenzo and Pietro) and two female models (Angelica and Sofia) for the shoot.

In the studio, we found props of all sorts positioned everywhere. Armando explained that he would be taking two types of photos. Some would contain the target product in the actual pose. Some would just be eye-catching photos with the product superimposed on the photo after the fact or featured in a sidebar to the photo.

Since this was not an Andrew Christian-sponsored shoot, Armando had collected not only underwear and swimsuits from different companies (Diesel, Aussiebum, 2(x)ist, Calvin Klein, Timoteo, CellBlock 13, c-in2, and others)—companies I had never heard of until Troy introduced me to gay Websites—but also a wide variety of men’s clothing and accessories, toiletries, watches, wines, electronics, etc. Armando’s plan was to approach a multitude of companies for possible sponsorship. In other words, keep fishing until we reeled in one (or more).

For starters, he directed the three of us to put our tuxedos back on, and then he led us to the alley behind the studio, where we found a parking lot full of Porsches, Maseratis, Ferraris, Alfa Romeos, Lamborghinis, and Bugatis. But the inventory was not limited to Italian cars. There were Rolls Royces, Bentleys, BMWs, Jaguars, Teslas, Corvettes, and Lexuses. Armando photographed each of us modeling each automobile in various poses and various degrees of undress.

When we went back inside the studio, we found a mock fountain set up in front of a Roman backdrop and one of the female models, Angelica, dressed like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday.

“You can sing ‘O Sole Mio,’ no?” Armando asked Troy.

“Si, signore,” replied Troy.

“In Italiano?”asked Armando.

“Ovviamente,” replied Troy. “Of course.”

“Over-a-minty,” mocked Johnny.

“You serenade girl,” instructed Armando. “Move around fountain, dance, improvise.”

“Capisco,” said Troy, turning to stick his tongue out at Johnny.

“Un  momento,” said Armando, turning to one of his assistants manning a video camera and asking if he was ready.

“You’re going to film this?” asked Troy.

“Miss Bianchi request it. I no ask questions. Ready?”

“Anything for Miss Bianchi,” said Troy.

Armando had Angelica sit on the rim of the fountain and also told her to improvise along with Troy. Then, he cued Troy to sing a capella. Troy eased into the song, approaching Angelica, circling the fountain, walking on the rim, kneeling before the model, pulling her up and dancing with her—just like you would expect to see in a musical. It seemed thoroughly rehearsed, though it wasn’t.

“Eccellente!” proclaimed Armando. Then, he removed Troy’s coat, untucked and unbuttoned his shirt to expose his hairy chest, and said, “Ancora.”

Armando cued the cameraman for the encore, and Troy repeated his flawless performance. He wasn’t just a singer; he was an entertainer.

Next, Armando took still photos of Troy posing with his shirt unbuttoned—some with the coat on and some with it thrown over his shoulder. He also had Troy pose shirtless with the coat on and also with it over his shoulder. In some of the shots, there was a bottle of wine or other featured product on a nearby table.

Then, it was my turn. Armando had his assistants change the set. They brought in a rather plain-looking dresser with a mirror. Armando had the other model, Sofia, stand in front of the mirror dressed in a very sexy evening gown. It was flaming red and strapless with a plunging neckline. Sofia wore a necklace with three strands of diamonds and a tear drop hanging between her half-exposed breasts. Mike and I recognized it as a parody of the picture that Claude had taken of Mike in France.

“But why the plain dresser?” Mike asked, “instead of an ornate one like we used in France?”

“Distraction,” said Armando. “The eye must focus on people,” he said. “We are selling sex, not furniture.”

Whereas Claude had positioned Mike standing behind the beautiful model helping her with her perfume, Armando had me helping my lady with her diamond necklace. We began this set with me dressed in a full tuxedo. Later, I wore only briefs, changing to a different brand with each shot.

So as not to waste time running back to the changing room every time, I just changed right there. I was already acclimated to changing in front of other people, male and female, in Greece, so it didn’t seem like any big deal. Armando repeated the set with Johnny and then with Troy, telling each of us to remain naked after our turns.

Upon completion of that set, Armando directed the three of us to go over to a table and select a pair of socks and a watch from the wide selection. While we did that, he had his assistants remove the dresser and bring in an ottoman. He had each of us in turn stand with one foot resting on the ottoman at just the right angle to cover our junk. We posed as if we were pulling up our socks with the watch prominently displayed.

In a variation, he had two of us facing each other with a foot on the ottoman. Then, he added the third man sitting on the ottoman with his back to the camera. He also shot one of us sitting on the ottoman facing the camera with legs crossed to cover his crotch and a second man standing behind, hands reaching around to cover the sitting man’s eyes in a kind of “see no evil” theme.

Armando also had us pose facing the camera, legs spread approximately two feet apart, hands cupping our dick and balls to conceal them. We each posed individually, then in pairs, and then as a trio—some shots with female or male models, some not. That pose might work with the other guys, I thought, but not with me because my dick was just too big to cover up. Armando acknowledged that fact and said that he would touch it up later.

In all of these ads, the intent was to draw attention to the watch. I could just imagine a caption in the ad saying something like, “If you’re not wearing a Rolex (or Cartier or Piaget), you’re not wearing anything at all.”

Many of the sets carried a theme. Armando had his assistants switch the backdrop to a scene from the inside of the Coliseum. They also brought in a Roman chariot and a horse. With these props, we simulated a Ben Hur theme. Sometimes we stood alone in the chariot, sometimes with one or both of the female models. The horse was a mannequin, not a real animal, but Armando said that did not matter because the photos would probably not include the horse’s head. And if they did, he would modify the pictures with adjustments to the lighting (chiaroscuro) or blurring the edges (sfumato), techniques perfected by Leonardo da Vinci.

Another set depicted a cowboy theme. At first, I thought Armando decided to do that because we were all from Texas, but he said that many Italians have a fascination with cowboys. Who doesn’t? And then I remembered that Clint Eastwood got his big break in so-called “spaghetti westerns,” cowboy movies filmed in Italy.

Armando had us dress in cowboy hats, western-style shirts, jeans, leather belts with silver buckles, and leather boots. Sometimes we wore a badge on our shirt or a gun belt strapped across our waists. Strapped at an angle, the gun belts drew attention to our bulging crotches. Mike reminded me that many of these items are actually made from Italian leather.

Mike’s comment triggered my memory of the bandana he had given me years before, so I suggested to Armando that we include bandanas in our costumes, and he liked the idea. We wore them over our faces (like outlaws), around our necks, and hanging out of our back pockets or, with underwear, out of our waistbands.

He posed us on and off the horse. Mostly, we posed alone, but there were also poses where one of us sat on the horse behind the rider, holding onto him with an arm around his waist. In some of these scenes, the rider wore nothing but hat and boots. On the horse, our private parts were blocked by the saddle’s horn. In another scene, we straddled a bench with a boot blocking the view.

The contracted models, male and female, tried not to stare at our naked bodies, but we could tell they were looking. Either they were taken with Johnny’s blond hair and blue eyes, Troy’s hairy chest, or my big dong.

The rest of the day continued in similar rotations with different products prominently featured, some with the female and male models, some with just us. As we were getting ready to go back to the hotel, we thanked Armando and his assistants as well as the hired models, and I handed each of the models a card from the St. Regis with our suite number written on the back.