Model For Me |l.s.|

chpt.1

Some might say my lifestyle is strange, but not me. From a young age, mum had me in child modeling for Toys R Us catalogs, diaper commercials, and even with small roles in television shows. I'd always been told that the camera loved me, and I took it literally for the first eight years of my life, until I came to the realization that it was just something as simple as personification to emphasize my photogenic appearance.

A lot of people dislike my mum for "throwing me in the lion's den from birth," but I couldn't be more grateful. She's given me opportunity after opportunity, and because of her, I've never gone to bed hungry, or without a roof over my head.

We've got two houses: One in Doncaster, England, and one in LA. Being raised by a British woman, she's ensured that I obtain a strong accent, and it also helped that I visited her old home so often. That was back when I had fewer jobs that weren't quite so widely known to the public eye.

I can admit that I take pride in where I've landed myself career-wise, with her guidance. She does all the behind-the-scenes parts of my job, and for that, people have speculated that she's my manager, in addition to being my mother. She is just merely the most organized and determined woman I've ever met and has inspired me to be the same. My true manager is named Simon, and he'd taken interest in me once I'd landed a spot in a Disney show. He's always got his eye out for a job that could take my career to the next level, and so far, he's gotten me jobs with numerous magazines and a few decent commercials. He's always said that I have potential to be an A-List celebrity, and that the end goal is to land myself a cover on Vogue. It's always been my greatest dream, or, it has been ever since I found out what vogue was, seven years ago.

Right now, we're doing an advertising photoshoot for a company's new boxer briefs collection. It's Calvin Klien, which is a big deal in itself, but my actual face isn't shown, so it isn't as great for my name as one would think. They were insistent on putting me in short ones, since I've got a more "feminine figure," or in other words, a big ass and slim waist. My body has made it slightly more difficult to land jobs, as it's not the typical fit for men's sample sizes in clothes. Because of my uniqueness in my build, I've been denied jobs as well as hand selected for others. I suppose it depends more on the job, as well as they brand or company's desire for a more uncommon physique.

"Alright, that's a wrap," I hear the director of the shoot say. We all cheer, much like any typical brand would when finishing a shoot. "Good work, everyone! You'll be contacted with the finished product within the next week!" 

I'm handed my jacket by my manager's assistant, Tracey. She's a real sweetheart, but I have to say, far too jittery for my taste. 

"Thanks, Trace," I say, and she hums in response, before rushing back to Simon's side. I walk over to him with a nervous smile, hoping he's got nice things to say. "Any notes?"

"You did good," he admits. "Your professionalism shined through well today, Mr. Tomlinson."

"Thanks, Simon," I grin proudly at the compliment. He's hard to please, sure, but that only makes his approving words more delightful to hear.

"I have to meet with your dietitian, though. I'll forward you the meal plan and such." With that and a pat on my shoulder, he walks off.

It isn't long before I've gotten dressed and am heading to my car with my mum. She is insistent on attending every job I have, and to be completely honest, it's a relief to have her support while I'm on the clock. 

While we're sat in the car, mum is on the phone with someone - probably her boyfriend, Mason. She met him a year ago at a fashion event, and he'd been a reporter for some news publisher that I haven't bothered to memorize the name of, even after all this time. He's a twat, but in an awkward and desperate to bond with me sort of way that makes me want to gouge my eyes out and stuff them in my ears.