Stas

I don't think I'd have even considered him if he hadn't been so darned pushy.

I mean, I've taken pictures of blond boys, dark boys, tall boys, short boys, handsome boys, cute boys and pretty boys.

But I'd never, ever have considered Stas.

Now don't get me wrong.

There's nothing much superficially wrong with Stas.

In fact, I guess quite a lot of guys would consider him quite hot, in a rough, tough, go-on-looking-at-me-like-that-and-I'll-break-your-arm-and-steal-your-pocketbook hustler sort of way.

But as a freelance snapper working with tens of thousands of dollars of photographic and video equipment, I can't take that sort of risk.

And several of my friends, while they wouldn't admit to knowing the boy personally, were only too keen to keen to pass on stories of guys who'd had less than pleasant experiences with the kid.

Stas's reputation spoke for itself.

Which is more than Stas ever did.

If he ever spoke at all it appeared to be in a rough, staccato manner accompanied by copious obscenities and a look that was something between a sneer and a threatening stare.

No-one, as far as I knew, had ever seen him smile.

But, for some reason last summer - probably not entirely unconnected to the fact that his new girlfriend appeared to have expensive, if tacky, tastes in clothes - word got through to me that Stas wanted me to pay him to be a model.

With Stas that just didn't work.

Last night's TV? He didn't want to know.

The music charts? He wasn't interested.

Football? Baseball? Basketball? He didn't give a damn.

I didn't even bother with the New York revival of The King and I (which several of my prettier boy models can talk about 'til the cows come home.)

In any case, if the object of the talking is to relax the subject, then I wondered whether I needed to bother at all.

Stas didn't just appear relaxed - he looked positively inert.

So I began our session with little hope of achieving much other than getting this annoying kid out of my hair as soon as possible.

But, as I clicked away in virtual silence, something strange began to happen.

The camera just began to fall in love with Stas.

It wasn't as though I'd set up anything special in the way of a set.

I just used the corner of my kitchen.

After all, subscribers to Thugs Monthly didn't go big on shoots in front of blazing log fires.

Any fires depicted in that particular periodical were more likely to have been set ablaze deliberately by their thug-arsonist of the month.

But, like I said, as soon as I looked through the viewfinder I knew I'd found a star.

And, thinking about it, why should I have been so surprised?

Elvis didn't smile so much either…

And what was it they used to say about Jane Russell?

Mean, moody, magnificent…

Well, that was Stas.

In fact, I don't think the pics would have turned out half as good if he had smiled.

And even his refusal to "perform" for me - and the obvious distaste he showed just for even the idea - appeared to work in my favour.

Unlike most of the boys I've worked with, he wasn't prepared to open the session with a long drawn out "tease". He just wanted to get his clothes off, get them back on again and get out with his money.

And, as you'll see when the full set's on the site, when instructed to display his "charms" he did so in a pretty perfunctory manner.

He even left his socks on throughout the shoot for Crissakes!

But, say what you like, the camera glorifies Stas.

I've shown the pics to lots of my friends and they all fall in love with the boy on the spot.

Not, of course, that they'd tell him that.

That would be risking, at the very least, a punch in the nose and maybe a knee in the balls.

But they're more than happy just to look.

I'm more than happy with the pics.

Stas is more than happy with his money.

And I've got a feeling that it won't be too long before he's back in front of the lens - and that this time he's going to be quite prepared to get his socks off.

In fact, the implied suggestion that if I didn't take his offer up he'd be demanding a personal explanation of exactly why not was enough to persuade me that, to avoid any problems, I ought to use him for a session.

After all, maybe Thugz Monthly or Bovver Boys or Cheap Street Trade might be persuaded to run a pic or two of him if I was lucky.

When Stas turned up at my studio that night he looked especially sour and disagreeable - in a sort of let's-get-this-over-with-and-give-me-the-money mood, if you like.

Now, if you've ever had your picture taken professionally, you'll know that one of the tricks of the photographer's trade is to chat inanely about nothing in particular so as to get his subject good and relaxed.

With Stas that just didn't work.