Ever find yourself in a spot where you think you would do just about anything for money because you are in such a miserable financial bind? You know, school bills, hospital bills, credit card bills--all work, no play, and no way of getting yourself out of the financial bind you seem to be stuck in.
Well there I stood in that very spot about a year ago. I was visiting some friends in the boonies and trying to contemplate a way to get quick money and clear out some of my bills the good old-fashioned American way--by being lazy and not breaking my back in the process.
Well the couple I was visiting happened to be a bisexual couple who, for obvious reasons, liked to collect all sorts of porn--be it straight, gay, bi, or lesbian. Since both the male and female were bisexual, this would be common sense that you would find porn of all varieties lying around their house.
Well this couple happen to be very good friends of mine and know most of the details the general population--until now--may not have been aware of. For example, the fact that I am a total nudist and exhibitionist. Their house was always a safe place for "naked time" and I never had any qualms about dropping my pants and joining in the naked festivities. (You know, naked driving, naked yahtzee, naked macaroni and cheese cooking, etc.)
So there I sat, wallowing in my debtful misery, when the girl whips out an issue of Allboy--a gay publication--and flips to the amateur pictures section. She pointed out that it was a hundred dollars if they used me and that I was much better looking than most of the guys they wound up picking and that it would ceratinly help my situation. I was a little bit on the, "Oh my god! What if someone I know sees it and gets the wrong idea?" kick--until she reminded me I had nothing to worry about if anyone I knew would even be purchasing such a magazine. Because of the content of the magazine, she was sure my secret double life as a naked model would be safe if anyone did happen across it.
She had raised a very good point. As far as I saw, I'd be safe and humiliation free. Plus the fact that I am in fact an exhibitionist and do get a rush out of the thought of other people looking at my naked body. As fate would have it, her boyfriend also happened to be taking photography classes and had no qualms with photographing me in the nude.
So next thing I know, I'm stripped down naked discovering just how hard it is to actually get aroused with an audience of three and the intimidating eye of the Poloroid lens aching for a shot at my pecker.
The whole ordeal must have taken a good hour just to get out five usable pics. As I'm sitting there filling out a model release form after the fact, the girl suggests I send a couple to Playgirl as well.
I thought, No way! I had stumbled across an issue of Playgirl in my sister's belongings years ago and I was defnitely NOT Playgirl material. From what I had seen, they were all about the beef, not the little skin and bone thing old gay guys tend to be more partial to. Not to mention the fact that a magazine like Playgirl set up the risk of having a family member or co-worker stumble across my naked body one day. That was the last thing I needed.
Until the girl pointed out that Playgirl payed out $250 a picture and more if you were chosen as man of the month. My shyness quickly fading, I went ahead and filled out another model release form.
The pics were mailed out within the week. A couple of weeks go by and Allboy jumped on me like a rottweiler on fresh meat. They were very eager to accomodate my financial needs, but requested that I send in more pics and close-ups of areas such as my butt, torso, and, as they put it, my woody. Charming, really.
But still I obliged. I had another friend take a few more pictures at a closer range and got the butt shot, the woody shot, the torso shot, and sent them in.
In the meantime, the one day I don't check the mail is the one day Playgirl finally decides to send a response a month after the pics were sent their way. They wanted me to fill out another model release form and to inform me they were still considering me for publication.
I think one of the most mortifying moments in my life was having my dad walk into my room to wake me up and ask why I was getting mail from Playgirl. From the groggy throes of sleep, all I could say was, "I needed money so I sent in pictures." "Naked pictures?" He wanted to know. "Yeah." A little laughter and then he left the room.
So another month goes by and suddenly I get a call from the guy who took the first pictures. "Hey Carlos, did you see the latest issue of Allboy--September-October, 2000?" No, why? "You're in it."
Great! I thought. And where is the money in all this? With lead in my stomach, I drove down to the boonies and hunted out my issue and flipped to the page the boy had instructed me to look for. And there I was, in all my naked and aroused splendor.
The pictures actually came out pretty decent. But there were a couple of things I objected to. The first was their mispelling of the name Ebin (they used Erin), the second was the horrible quote they put next to my image--it had to be the most degrading thing I have ever allowed myself to be a party to.
"I am hot and always ready for some good f@@king. I can't get enough c@ck up my hairy butt and I love it when a guy likes my a@@ and wants to eat my hole. I am only 19 so I am ready to f@@k all the time and I wish I could take every one of you guys who read this magazine one at a time and have you f@@ck my manc@@t until I am filled with love j@zz!"
Really now? How flattering. This would be the part where I dig a hole in the sand to bury my head into. And the fuckers still hadn't paid me for this mockery of my image.
So there I was, exploited in every way and utterly humiliated. I put on a smile and called the magazine company to find out where the hell my money was. They said there was some mix up with my address and they hadn't been able to send it to me.
Right--but they had no problem sending me a request for more pictures of my naked ass? If my friend hadn't been a frequent reader of the magazine, I would never have even known if they had used me or not. But I got the check the next week and decided to put the whole ordeal behind me--you know, right next to that long line of people I was dying to have fill me with love j@zz.
So about half a year goes by and I completely forgot about Playgirl, until one day in December when I went to check the mail and discovered a letter with the familiar letterhead sitting there in my box. I tore into it to discover a check for $250. I guess they had found my scrawny little body worthy of their pages after all.
So there I sat faced with another choice. Signing the check and cashing it would be the equivelant of a third model release and my final okay to go ahead and use my image however they saw fit. Tearing it up would save me the risk of possibly being degraded again.
And there in the same box sat another credit card bill, still accumulating late fees that kept adding to insane overlimit fees in this ongoing viscious cycle I couldn't seem to break.
So I cashed the check. Later in the same week I was informed that I would be displayed within the pages of the March 2001 issue which would be available by February. I kept my fingers crossed.
February couldn't come fast enough. I had way too much time to think about what I had done by cashing that check. What if one of my aunts saw the issue? Or someone from work? What would I do? What if it got back to my mother? My stomach was in a thousand knots by the time the issue was out. With dread heavy in my gut, I went with my friend Kristin (not Kristen) to go get the infamous issue.
I'll admit here that I do not regret Playgirl at all, although the knowledge of my appearance is floating around at work and there are people that have informed me they plan on getting issues. I was very happy to see that I was not objectified at all in this magazine and that they set up my image quite tastefully. The picture was good. I didn't even object to the fact they used my real name or location. I mean, hey, if you lived in RI you already knew me, so it's not something that could ever be kept secret if any one person I knew happened to get that issue. What made it sweet was the quote they used. Note the difference: "I believe cuddling after sex makes the experience seem more unified and whole." Very tasteful! Now that's something more along the lines of a thing I might actually say.
I figured that this would be my last stint as a porn stud, but I went down to the video store recently and the guy that knew I was in the other magazines happened to be working and heard of my moving to San Diego. he suggested I try one more mag--Playguy, another gay magazine. So I picked up an issue.
Now I am faced with another dilemma. In thumbing through this gay publication, I already know that I will be degraded and depicted as some great big homo-slut if I do send in pictures again. But I also really need the money in my savings account going towards the U-Hual and gas expenses of moving cross-country. As much as I don't want to be degraded again, I'm thinking that I may have no other choice right now. I'm working doubles most of the week at work, but I'm limited to only 39 hours. It's damn near impossible to find a good second job in this god-forsaken slice of hell we call Rhode Island, and August draws nearer.
The $300 Playguy offers would bring my estimated total savings by August up to $3000--a very well-balanced sum if you ask me. So I probably will end up doing it and hating myself all the more when I see whatever wretched comment these people are going to slap next to a close-up shot of my member. Shudder to think. . . .
Hopefully anyone reading this will not make the same mistake I did. If you're a guy--do NOT send pictures into a gay publication! Playgirl is perfectly acceptable, but that's it--ya got that? And for those of you judging me by my actions, put away those fingers. I really have no choice on this last consideration--like I said, I'm working my ass off right now and it still is not enough. I also went through the lengths of consolidating my credit card bills and my hospital bills--so it's not like I'm entirely taking the easy way out and I find people staring at me naked a lot less despicable than going out and selling myself on a corner. At least if it's only photography of me by myself I can still call it art--no matter how degrading the remark that may be sitting next to it.
check out editted versions of the infamous pics of the budding porn star.
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