Hot Tog

Will Photographer Crevan woo Faelan's men-hating-heart and earn her love or will she leave him in the darkroom?

   A neon yellow car swiftly pulled in front of the 23Main Skyscraper. The tires crunched the gravel underneath when the door clicked open and the weight of a man and his luggage left the vehicle. He turned and leisurely tossed a twenty into the front passenger seat before talking a step to the sidewalk and setting a rather heavy suitcase down. The September sun pulsated down unmercifully like a giant hammer, beating any remaining energy out of those stranded on the street. The small breeze did little to cool the beads of sweat tracing down the young mans neck. Crevan raised a hand to shield his eyes and mentally scolded himself for leaving his Maui Jim sunglasses in the backseat of the taxi. His green gold eyes traced up to study the ‘23M’ that was emblazed in silver on the front of the black awning. Pale pink lips opened to reveal two rows of pearly whites as he smiled. ‘F*****g California.’

  

   “Excuse me sir, can I help you?” a young, pimply boy asked from behind a small podium. The gold fringe on his red velvet valet vest almost blinded Crevan before he had the sense to avert his gaze to something less glittery.

 

   “Yes, actually; I accepted a job here for Lunar Modeling. A man named-” he rummaged in his blazer’s inside pocket before finding the slip of paper. “Mr. Ker-u-uck?" is supposed to meet me here. I think I might have the wrong building.”

 

   “Ah, Kuruk said to watch out for a foreigner. You must be Mr. Lyles! You’re at the right place. Welcome to 23Main Modeling agency!” He rang a small bell and another teenager strolled up with a brass rolling luggage rack. “Michelle will take your bag.”

 

   Before the obviously uninterested girl jostled his precious bag, possibly breaking the expensive contents, Crevan swiped it up and promptly laced the strap across his chest. Thankfully the girl said nothing, just shrugged her shoulders and walked back to her previous station. Apparently she wasn’t going to work hard if she didn’t have too. Instead, Crevan followed the bellboy to the revolving doors and into a surprisingly lush lobby. He couldn’t help but lift his head to stare at the crystal chandelier. His eyes roamed to the obvious show of money: original paintings set in silver frames littered the wall behind the cherry and black granite main desk, the crown molding was flecked in gold, and Grecian styled granite statues stood lit up in the walls recesses.

 

   Crevan knew Lunar Modeling’s leading man was loaded but DAMN.

Jason Mikchov was the creator of 23Main Modeling and ran everything from Target catalogs to Lunar Magazine, plus he was considered to be the fifth richest man in the world. Jason was also Crevan’s childhood friend. Where Jason went to modeling, Crevan went to photography.

 

   “There he is, Mr. Lyles. Have a good day!” the bellhop said pointing to a dark-haired, tanned man, who looked as thought he just stepped out of Iraq's battlefields, standing near the main desk. Startled out of his thoughts, Crevan shook his head, much like a dog, to straighten his thoughts.

 

   “Thanks-err, Thomas.” Crevan said, finally reading the teen’s nametag. He handed the kid a five and began walking towards the businessperson. He tried to collect his thoughts as he took long sweeping strides across the shining marble lobby floor. Small chks resounded quietly in a steady beat as his Prada calfskin boots struck the floor. When Crevan reached the man whose back was turned to him, he noticed just how tall and lean Mr. Kuruk was. Standing at five-foot-nine, he considered himself tall, but this person ‘Kuruk’ had at least half a foot on him. Crevan gently cleared his throat.

   “Hm?” The exotic man curiously turned his head. His gaze swept directly over Crevan but on the second throat clearing he glanced down. Kuruk had the kind of sharp angular face that would work under any light, the kind of black eyes that smoldered, and the kind of skin that would glisten even if it were dehydrated. It was as if he had the word “Model” tattooed on his forehead dispite the dirt smear across one cheeck. His perfect eyebrow cocked in the trademarked ‘If I’m in your way, too bad.’

 

   Yup. Model.

 

   “Mr. Kuruk?” Crevan asked professionally, praying he said the name correctly. He has worked with enough alpha male models to know how to use the often-elusive tact. “I am a photographer for Lunar Modeling and I have an appointment with you.”

   “You’re Crevan Lyles?” he turned completely around and widened his gaze to take in the entire man in front of him. Black tribal marks lacedd out from under the black wifebeater and seemed to flick at his digastrics muscle.

 

   “Yes,” was Crevan’s brisk reply. He pulled his eyes away from the tattoo and readjusted his coat.

 

  Suddenly Kuruk’s face lit up and he smiled from ear to ear, revealing perfect white teeth with longer than average canines. His large hand shot out and grabbed Crevan’s, and he began shaking it up and down excitedly, “Oh, wow, Mr. Lyles! It’s so nice to meet you, I have all your photo books, and your seminar files on the ‘Effects of Modeling on Young Adults’! Oh, wow, I’m shaking your hand!”

 

   Crevan had some trouble getting over the whiplash. “Um...thanks…I guess?”

  “Hey! After the shoot, do you think you could maybe sign my Nocturne photo book?!”

   “Sure, I guess. If I still have blood left in my arms,” Crevan managed to say. Kuruk was obviously athletic, and it felt like he was trying to rip Crevan’s arm out of the socket. With an embarrassed look on his otherwise enticing features, Kuruk released Crevan’s hand. He nodded apologetically and grabbed the stack of papers behind him.

 

   “So…um, yeah, since you’re here early, would you like to tour the building or go straight to the set and meet the models?”

 

   “I think meeting the models would be best. Tell me, are they male?” He asked carefully. He was not a new photographer but something about his photos came out better when he shot women. Crevan readjusted the strap across his chest and let out a sigh of relief at Kuruk’s answer.

 

   “I’m the only ‘male’ you’ll be shooting, the rest are all VERY luscious women.” Kuruk winked like a teenage boy. Turning, he signed a slip of paper, passed it to the older woman behind the desk, and gently grabbed Crevan’s elbow to lead him outside. “Anyway, the set is outside, so just follow me. Since you’re new to Lunar, there are some things you should know before I introduce you to everyone.”

   “Okay, go ahead, I’m all ears,” Crevan smiled, already friends with the man leading him back out of the lobby towards the main doors.

 

   “First, models are off limits. Mr. Mikchov has a strict ‘no fraternization’ policy and both model and worker will be fired on the spot. They are here to work, just as you are. If a model comes on to you, let me know, just as they will if you come on to them. Fine to look but no touching. Second, agents are fair game but not worth the effort. Most are men anyway, the rest aren’t even playing in your field.”

   “Lesbians?!” Jaw dropped, Crevan stood in the doorway, staring at Kuruk. The man laughed and guided Crevan out onto the sidewalk and began walking to the side of the massive building. Like any hot blooded male, images of women in tangled masses entered his mind.

 

   “Bingo. Hardcore Feminists is what they prefer to be called.  Like I said, not worth the effort. Third, deadlines are final. You won’t get a second chance or a postponement. So get the shots and get ’em fast. Mr. Mikchov will get you ANYTHING you need to get the job done so don’t worry ’bout…” Kuruk paused mid stride, taking Crevan by surprise. The tall, exotic man half turned and that is when Crevan noticed the ruckus within the lobby. Unable to see anything past the wall that was Kuruk, Crevan leaned forward to see what he was staring at.

An amazingly tall woman in a black dress and sexy stilettos stepped out of the lobby as if she owned it all and lit a cigarette. She threw her long black hair behind her and waved to a BMW waiting at the street corner. It drove up to the hotel as if to meet her.

 

   “Don’t f*****g walk away from me Tina!” Another woman screeched from the Grand Plaza‘s main entrance. “Get back here, you stupid c**t!”

 

   Several passersby stopped to stare at the woman wrapped in the Modeling agency/hotel’s mint green towel still dripping from a recent shower. Standing at what Crevan estimated was five-foot-eight, the small towel did little to hide the woman’s obviously curvaceous body. Tiny rivers snaked their way around her lush frame, making her natural tan glisten. Her short sienna hair was mussed erotically, with clumps sticking to her face and neck. She flicked the strands away as she stormed out towards the valet podium. It was all Crevan could do to keep his jaw from dropping all the way to the sidewalk.

 

  “’Bye, Sugar. Thanks for putting me up.” Tina waved a well-manicured hand as if the diamonds that encrusted the rings on her fingers were weightless. Crevan looked at the car that pulled up only to lose the battle; his jaw dropped so far it clicked. Patrick Matson, the Los Angeles Dodgers’ Ace quarterback, exited the car and straightened his pinstripe suit. His Super Bowl ring glittered in the California sun. Tina wrapped her arm around the large man and leaned up to kiss him lightly. She leaned back and mockingly said, “I know lesbians can’t fully understand, but guys are just SO much better.”

 

   “We were f*****g LOVERS for two damn WEEKS and you call ME the Lesbian?!!”

Tina did not bother to look back as she walked towards the sleek black BMW with her NFL boy toy, her three hundred dollar stilettos clicking on the concrete. She only flicked the half-burned cigarette behind her and laughed. With a click, the car door shut elegantly and the engine roared like a waking lion.

 

   Silence fell as Crevan openly stared the wet woman, he could almost see the steam coming out of her ears as she flipped the bird to the retreating car. So many vulgar phrases left that woman’s lips that Crevan almost blushed. All he could think of was the word lesbian as it echoed in his mind. Moreover, how cruel God was to make such a stunning woman untouchable by man.

 

   “Ahem.” Kuruk cleared his throat loud enough to startle the woman out of her fuming. She jumped, almost losing what little towel she had when she whipped around. Kuruk lifted his hand and waved her over.

 

   Crevan almost chuckled when he saw her tuck her bottom lip and walk towards Kuruk like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Key word: almost. It was hard to keep coherent thought processes when her hips swayed to music he could not hear. Crevan wondered just how good those hips would feel against his own when they swiveled like a belly dancer.

 

   “Um…hi…” She stopped in front of Kuruk and scratched the back of her head, embarrassed. All Kuruk did was tap his combat boot toe repeatedly, just staring at her. Each tap of his foot seemed to chip away at her resolve till- “She started it! All I mentioned was maybe a vacation after the shoot and she went all nuts calling me clingy, and I retaliated and she called her f*****g boy toy and I had to stop her and then….then…broken lamp…and...stuff…”

 

   Her ranting died off when Kuruk just scowled at her. Finally, he spoke in a condescending tone, “How many times have I told you TO MIND YOUR TEMPER?”

The woman visibly flinched. When Kuruk raised his hand to point back inside the hotel she just turned and started walking back inside. He glanced at his watch and did a sort of half step. Kuruk called out to her before the door shut behind her

 

   “Don’t be late for the shoot! Its quarter till 8!”

Finally, when Crevan found his vocal cords again, he asked “She’s a model?!” He could tell the ‘no fraternization rule’ might be hard to follow…especially since the image of her a*s under the towel kept playing in his mind as if stuck on instant replay.

 

   “Faelan? Ha! Not exactly. Fae’s the one who keeps the models in line. I’m the one who helps rein her in. Kinda fiery that one, since she’s ex-model-turned-agent.” At that, Kuruk must have seen something spark in Crevan’s eyes. “Nononono! Agents are not worth the effort! Were you even listening to me? GAY-LESBIAN-LIKES P***Y. I don’t know how else to say it, man, but she is to hockey as you are to football. Not even the same playing fields.”

 

   Crevan smiled and continued walking towards the outdoor photo set. ‘F*****g California.’

 

   “YO-HOO! Kuruk!!” a dainty voice called out. When Crevan rounded the corner still smiling to himself he found out who the voice belonged to. It belonged to a tan Asian woman with no tits or a*s but long shapely legs that never seemed to end. She waved a hand and slightly bounced like she was on an invisible pogo stick. “Kuruk, my pants are too big!”

 

   Four women stood before him decked out in shredded military camo pants, torn black midriff tank-tops, and scuffed combat boots. Each held a different weapon/prop, the largest being the black woman holding what appeared to be a shoulder mounted rocket launcher, then the Latina with a AK-47, the blonde with a unknown sniper rifle, and Crevan assumed the abandoned TKB-059 assault rifle belonged to the Asian. Kuruk had stepped forward to help the model whose camouflage short-shorts kept falling down her non-existent hips, leaving Crevan to stand alone.

  

   Thankfully the Latina with the AK-47 stepped up and extended a flawless hand. “Hey, I’m Melissa, the Russian blonde is Nichole, the Chinese ball of energy is Chou, and our very own bar of chocolate is Araine.”

   “Um…. Hi, I’m Crevan, and I guess I’ll be your photographer this afternoon.” He took her slim hand and used quite a bit of willpower to keep his eyes on her face. It wasn’t too much of a difficult task, seeing as how she seemed to sweat sex appeal, her dark eyes accentuated with a smoky eye and her long curled hair falling around her face as if she just ran five miles. Her lush lips formed a smile when she released his hand and turned back towards the battle field set.

 

   “Got ourselves a hot ’tog, eh, Mel? Bet your tingling with anticipation to break this one in.” Araine said almost like a catcall. Crevan could feel their eyes measuring him up and without thinking sent up a silent contradicting thanks to Jason for having the ‘no fraternization rule’. These women would eat him alive if they could.

 

   “Hey, ladies, be nice to Mr. Crevan,” Kuruk said offhandedly, tying something around Chou’s hips.

 

   “Puh-leez, you know I like my men with a nice, big-” Araine paused seductively tossing a loose curl behind her shoulder obviously staring at Crevan’s pants. “Lens, Kuruk, you know, a camera lens? I can’t help myself around those huge shutters.”

   Nichole dusted off her butt and took a step towards Crevan. Her hand extending for a handshake, she offered comforting words: “Don’t mind Araine, she’s quite literally a camera w***e but overall harmless.”

 

   “I’m a dead sexy camera w***e, thank you very much.” She hmpfed and readjusted the rocket launcher. “You ready yet China? Kuruk still needs to get in place.”

 

   Chou giggled and shimmied her butt, happy the camo pants stayed up. All the women and Kuruk looked at Crevan expectantly for a moment before he uttered an ‘oh’ and quickly got to work unpacking his gear. He turned his back to the group ignoring the well-meant giggles and kneeled down to riffle through his much loved but worn pack.

 

   Deftly, he secured his tripod and locked his still camera in place, then hooked up his laptop to instantly receive the digital photos for archiving, his hands nimbly inserting wires and attaching clips. His mind went into a kind of focused overdrive, ignoring the world around him as he zoned in on getting his personal gear set. Crevan carefully removed his Canon 1Ds Mark II and re-closed the sling bag.

 

   Small chks sounded in front of Crevan and seemed to be getting closer so he allowed his eyes to roam forward. His golden eyes were greeted with well manicured toes delicately placed in blood red peep toed stilettos. They continued their delicious journey up strong ankles, to tanned muscled calves, up to perfect knees…only to be denied further curiosities by a seemingly modest black A-line skirt that hugged slim hips in a sinful way.

 

   “Ah…hello.“ Crevan stuttered when he was finally able to speak. He tried desperately to keep his eyes off the crimson blouse that fluttered open teasingly at her chest; tiny sparkles littered the trim drawing his eyes towards the shadowed curves.

   “Yea hi, Sorry guys but Tina Masion wont be joining us. She decided to end her contract prematurely with Lunar.” She called abruptly over Crevan to the group behind him and readjusted the black attaché case under her arm. Her cool, unemotional look might have worked on the models but the wet and naked Faelan still remained imprinted in Crevan’s mind. Looked Crevan up and down and obiviously not recognizing him before continuing “Who is this fool staring at me like a rabid dog?”

 

   “Faelan, this is Crevan Lyles our new photographer. Crevan, Faelan O Neill the Agent Extraordinaire.” Chou bounced excitedly. When Faelan looked at the kneeling man before her with a less than pleasant smile Chou asked, “What do ya think?”

 

   “…rabid dogs, all of ‘em.” She grumbled before touching a earpiece and turning away from the group. She carried out a muffled conversation for a moment before facing Kuruk once more. “That was Mr. Mikchov. We got 4 hours, then the crew will be here to pack up and Mr. Thomson will be here to pick up his weapons. I hope you work fast Mr. Lyles because Chou and Araine will be coming with me at noon regardless of your camera’s status.”

 

   “Puh-leez Fae! We got this.” Melissa waved a bored hand and got up from her perch. With a nod she picked up her AK-47 and got in place. Crevan was surprised to find they had already rehearsed placement and it actually worked wonderfully with the natural light surrounding them. Chou and Nichole had softer poses, kneeling gently in front with the weapons cradled in their arms. Then Araine stood, the launcher perched on her powerful shoulder as if it weighed nothing, and Melissa with her AK 47; both women looked like they were ready to wage war, them against everyone. And Kuruk? Kuruk stood in the middle, a belt of bullets across his chest, without a weapon. But Crevan understood why. The women were his weapons.

 

   Women, the most powerful weapon of them all.

Author's Note

This is only part one and as such, an intro to what i hope to be a entertaining and comedic story. While it may only be rated Teen right now, it WILL be changed to mature when i have the erotic chapters posted.
Hope you enjoy my musings!