Masquerade ✔️

eleven: noelle

Distractions are buzzing round my head, oh, does it matter what she really said?

God, I'm uncomfortable.

But to be fair, who is comfortably standing nearly naked in front of strangers? You think I would be, having been in this line of work for seven years, but something about it feels awkward and violating.

Devon, an extremely attractive male model who I'm doing this shoot with, clicks his teeth at me to lighten the mood and I laugh, even briefly.

We're doing a series of photos for a new perfume by someone, I can't remember, and both of us are mostly nude. Devon has white briefs on and I'm wearing a strange pair of bra and underwear that make me appear naked without actually being completely naked.

Unfortunately, in my line of work, being naked and in sometimes sexual positions is a requirement that just needs some getting used to. Devon is very comfortable, having been modelling for twelve years, and I'm managing.

We're standing against a white backdrop, plain and simple, and are surrounded by photographers. Devon is taller than me by a few inches, so I'm wearing stilettos that bring me up to his lofty six feet.

I'm gripping his face in my hand, my (fake) red nails digging into his cheek. The whole idea of the ad is that the perfume makes you strong, powerful, bold. It makes you fierce, it gives you control.

I've worked with Dev before, but not in such a sexual way, and it's odd. The whole thing seems very erotic, but in a good way.

"Devon, look at her like she's the sun. Like she's everything and nothing else in the world exists but her." Justin, the photographer, directs, watching us intently.

Devon shuts his eyes and turns his head, and when his eyes open, they give me such an adoring gaze that I nearly flinch. Instead, I look at the camera, my expression strong and fearless and bold.

"Chin down, Devon. You aren't worthy, you don't deserve to look at her," Justin instructs. "Give me more, Noelle, stronger, more intensity."

I look directly into the camera boldly, basking in the adoring gaze that Devon's giving me. As if I know that he's staring, know I'm being worshipped, and it doesn't even affect me.

"Fix her hair!" Justin yells and a young woman scuttles over, smoothing my hair carefully before returning to her place.

He snaps a few more pictures before turning off his camera and declaring "You all need to take five."

I sigh and relax, dropping my hand and moving out of the way as stuff begins to move around the set. Devon clicks his teeth at me again and saunters towards someone in the background.

Eliza, the woman in charge of hair and makeup, grabs me and sets a team of three on me before hurrying off somewhere else.

I ignore the work of the makeup artists and open my phone, checking my texts before tapping Snapchat. I've got at least five, but don't feel like responding. I'm working, after all.

Carefully, I snap a mirror picture and caption it with the words back to work and two emojis, one smiling, one frowning. Work is tough, but it's great.

In another few minutes, the team is done on my face and dresses me in a slinky black dress, slit up to the thighs on both sides and tight, showing off every curve and every muscle.