Nicholas

It's not all roses, you know.

You may think I've got the best job in the world - in fact, you probably do think that, or else you wouldn't be a member of this site.

But being the international staff photographer for HMBoys.com can have its drawbacks too.

"Whoa", I hear you say.

"I thought the whole point of HMBoys.com was that the HM stands for Home Made - because the boys take the pictures of themselves or get their friends to do it?"

Well, in the main that's right.

But once in while the boss gets an e-mail from a boy who's in some small town in the middle of nowhere.

He's got access to the internet in some backstreet café but he hasn't got a camera - certainly not anything as new-fangled as a digital model.

And he'd die before he'd ask any of his friends to take nude pictures of him.

Usually, you see, his friends don't even know that he's gay.

And that's where I come in.

I'm retired these days - and I've a pretty generous pension that allows me to indulge my hobby of travelling around the world taking photographs of the most beautiful boys on the planet.

And I know from experience that, if the HMboys.com boss thinks it's worth his while to give me a call and ask me to check out some kid in the wilds of Uzbekhistan or Udon Thani - or even downtown Union City, Tennessee, then I'm probably going to enjoy the experience.

But it's not all fun.

I'm not going to embarrass him by giving his name, but one of the most popular of the HMBoys once managed to set my portable studio alight by leaving the smoke machine that I'd hired for some particularly erotic shots switched on overnight.

(He and I were, of course, far too busy at the time with personal business to notice what was happening.)

And there was the time that the naked boy I was shooting in the branches of a tree fell out of the branches and into the arms of the local policeman. Believe me, I don't recommend an overnight stay in a provincial Lithuanian police station under any circumstances.

But the problem I had with Nicholas wasn't like either of those.

He was as good as gold.

Sensible.

Co-operative.

Fun.

But he just looked too young.

Now generally speaking, that's no problem. At HMBoys.com we don't even go to see a boy - and certainly don't put his photos on the site - unless we've got cast iron proof that he's 18 or older.

So there shouldn't have been a problem - because Nicholas was 18 (well, just!)

He'd scanned and e-mailed us copies of his ID card, his passport - and even his driving licence - so we knew he was telling the truth.

But, even when you can prove that some kid is really 18 and legal, you still don't want all the hassle involved in having to do so if you can possibly avoid it.

So the instructions I had from the boss were clear.

But the real problems began when Nicholas took off his clothes.

Most kids of 18 are pretty proud of their upper body development but lack confidence about how well they stack up "down there".

As a result - and believe me, I've photographed enough boys to know this is right - they almost always take off their shirts first and leave the pants until last.

But not Nicholas.

He wanted to keep that shirt on at all costs if he possibly could, whatever else he had to show me first in order to achieve that.

I was getting worried by now.

Sure he was a cute kid.

Very cute.

The sort who'd go down real well with a lot of you guys.

But the boss wasn't going to thank me for coming back with photos which might cause him a lot of needless bother if anyone ever - wrongly - queried Nicholas's age.

And the situation didn't get any better when the kid eventually unbuttoned his shirt and took it off.

It was really hard to photograph him so that he looked like his real age.

There just wasn't even a suggestion of hair on that chest - or even much muscle, come to that.

In fact, the situation only looked up when Nicholas's dick did just that.

Look up, I mean.

After all, If that thick, chewable piece of boymeat hadn't been subject to at least 18 years of constant exercise, stimulation and manipulation then I'm not the connoisseur of twink dick that I thought I was.

If I have to, I'm more than ready to swear to that in court.

Though the boss, as ever, is crossing his fingers real tight and hoping it's not going to be necessary.