(Nude Modeling)
When you look into my eyes
Tell me what you see
You're the object of my desire
My secret fantasy
(From the Diana Ross Red Hot Rhythm & Blues album, 1987)
A fellow blogger Corey Jarell (COREY@ I'LL KEEP YOU POSTED!)
wrote a recent post on nude modeling and it made me re-visit my book,
DREAMBOY: My Life as a QVC Host & Other Greatest Hits.
Below is an excerpt:
Dale likes people, so he chose to be a telephone operator. That’s how the poster read. My first taste of commercial modeling came when I was twenty-years-old, and I appeared in a print advertisement sponsored by the Maryland State Department of Employment. The agency did a series of posters highlighting real people who worked jobs normally attributed to the opposite gender. Featured were female construction workers, male nurses, female police officers, and me -- one of the first male telephone operators in the state.
Working for the Chesapeake and Potomac Telephone Company, otherwise known as “Ma Bell,” was my first real job after I graduated from high school in 1977. Day in and day out, I saw the faces of the “lifers” who worked there, people who hated the job but stayed on for the benefits. I couldn’t imagine staying at a job I hated for twenty years, like my brother would end up doing. But my mother was so happy when I called to tell her that had I passed the telephone operator test and was starting a job that had a paid vacation and a health insurance plan. She said, “Boy, you got a good job with benefits. Don’t mess that up.” And I tried, Lord -- I tried to stay with it.
I did love people, but giving out telephone numbers all day wasn’t my idea of relating to them. I loved the attention I got the day the cameras arrived and took the picture of me for the advertising campaign. The camera man flashed his bulb, capturing me in a moment as I flipped through a huge paper directory. Then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over and I was back to the real world of being just like everyone else. “Hello, directory assistance -- may I help you?” That was my standard, never changing phone greeting. Directory assistance operators were “programmed” to sound alike, and if you knew what was good for you, you’d better stick to the script or risk being canned. You were to answer the phone quickly and correctly, then get the person off the line as soon as possible so you could pick up the next call. That was the drill.
Speed and accuracy were crucial, while imagination was taboo. I spent three years with the company, confined to a desk, answering 411 calls. (Even though I spent the second year in a mental hospital, it still counts because technically I was still employed by the company. So I say that I had one year off in the middle, with good behavior.) If I stayed there, I could expect to do the same thing for eight hours a day for the rest of my life. It was not an enticing prospect.
Male operators were relatively new at that time, and their voices took callers by surprise. Often, people wanted to engage me in conversations. But frequent compliments on my “wonderful speaking voice” only delayed my getting calls turned around as quickly as possible. Working for the phone company did, however, allow me to move out of my ghetto, basement apartment in northwest Baltimore and into a really nice building in a gay area downtown. Then one day in 1979, I called in sick and never went back.
I needed to find a job that made me the center of attention, just like I had been that day during the photo shoot. I got the idea to become an art model after seeing an episode of Alice, a television sitcom based on the 1974 movie Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore. In one particular episode, Alice and her sassy, man-hungry waitress co-worker, Flo, (the character who popularized the catchphrase “Kiss my grits!”), take a break from their jobs at Mel’s Diner to attend an art class. When they arrive, to their surprise, they are given the assignment of sketching a naked male model. The sexual tension and innuendo that ensues makes for great humor between the two ladies; Alice is uncomfortable with the nudity while Flo, true to her character, overtly gives the male model “dirty looks.”
I envied the position of being desired, admired, and yet untouchable. My interest in art had led me to enroll in a night course in photography at the Maryland Institute College of Art, (MICA), and while taking class one evening I saw a flyer that read, “Seeking nude art models.”
It seemed like the perfect fit. I loved being naked. As a child, I was always comfortable wearing as little clothing as possible. During the hot summer days in Portsmouth, Virginia, my siblings and I ran around in our white cotton underwear. In high school, my best friend and I ran naked across the auditorium stage one day, during a play rehearsal when the drama teacher was not there. Back in 1975, such a stunt was called “streaking.” There was even a song made about it called “The Streak,” by Ray Stevens. Being naked in public gave me such a rush.
During my summers as a teenager, when I would spend time in Baltimore at my father’s apartment, I would walk down Gwynn Falls Parkway to the park at night and take my clothes off. Hiding them in the bushes, I would run naked through the park. How I never ended up running into the police or a rapist is testimony that God looks out for fools and babies. I eventually stopped my nude runs at night when I lost my house keys in the park. Not that I had my address on them, but I got scared that someone would find them and come after me. It was a rude awakening, but I still enjoyed nudity.
That next Thursday night, I arrived half an hour early just to make sure I would find the right room. A buddy came with me because he could not believe I would really pose naked and wanted to see it for himself. It was a night class for alumni students, and they ranged in age from late thirties to early fifties. Another model was also scheduled for the class, and when he arrived he started undressing right there in the middle of the room. I found that odd, because when I thought back to that episode of Alice, I remembered that the model character had a dressing room. I remained sitting in the corner of the classroom, feeling very much overdressed in my vintage winter coat, Calvin Klein designer jeans, and ankle boots. But then my buddy looked at me as if to say, “Your turn?”
The instructor asked me and the other model which of us wanted the long pose and which wanted the short pose. The long pose would be the same pose held for the duration of the class period, while the short pose would change every twenty minutes, after each rest break. (Poses were usually twenty minutes on and ten minutes off to rest). I opted for the long pose so that I could study what the other guy was doing on the short poses, then duplicate them the next time around.
On my ten minute breaks, I slipped into my jeans and wandered around the classroom to admire the work of the artists. The alumni class students were not required to work in any specific media, so I could be rendered in charcoal, oils, acrylics, pastels, or even clay. I got to be a favorite among teachers, and a few helped secure private assignments for me, recommending me to pose at the homes of local artists or at other art schools. Many of the art teachers themselves would also approach models to pose for their own private work. From there, word of a good model would get around. Sometimes I also posed for high school students, but for them I was required to wear swim trunks.
When I told my mother what I was doing, it did not surprise her. She seemed pleased that I was doing what made me happy. She moved to Baltimore during my second year of working at MICA and when people asked her what she thought of her son modeling nude, she told them, “It’s not like I have never seen Dale naked. I changed his diapers. It ain’t nothing new to me.”
I loved being naked and being watched. I prided myself on being able to zone out and hold a pose without moving. Standing still, my mind would drift to songs in my head, my favorite movies, grocery lists, and things to do later. When you are twenty-one years old, you feel young and fearless and never question the dangers that could be out in the world. I never thought that the artists who hired me privately might be crazy or be sex fiends. I never once felt I was in any kind of danger. One time, I caught the bus to a late night assignment at a huge, creepy mansion that had been used in the horror film The House on Sorority Row. Instead of worrying about being alone with a stranger in the dark house, my biggest concern was the cold draft coming from the fireplace.
Posing nude for private sessions invited sexual attention, and I was hit on twice during my nude modeling days. A traveling instructor once asked me to pose for him at his apartment in a temporary dorm next to the college. Halfway through the session, he confessed his deep desire for me, threw his arms around me, then pushed his tongue down my throat. I was surprised…but not turned off.
The second incident occurred when a very frail, old, white gentleman was drawing me at his home. He lived with his twin brother, (and I had posed for both of them during an alumni art class), but his brother was not present during our appointment. As the session was ending, he asked if he could put his arms around me before I redressed. I thought to myself, “He’s so old -- he probably hasn’t touched a naked body in a long time. What harm could it do?” He embraced me with the passion of a grandfather, and was so gentle that it never felt awkward. (Although there was still a slight sexual undercurrent present.) I was honored and flattered. He did not undress and never crossed that line again. I felt sad for him because I believe he was so far in the closet that even his twin brother did not know about his desires.
I see the fire
I feel the flame
It gets me every time you look my way.
You know how it makes me feel inside
Come get me with your eyes
Dirty looks…
As much as I loved working at MICA, posing during classes wasn’t always a breeze. There were times I stood in a pose so long that I would pass out. I learned early on that part of a model’s traveling kit included a comfortable robe, flip flops, a blanket to stand on, and a space heater. Sometimes the drafts made posing an extremely frosty experience; I figured I’d have arthritis before I turned thirty. The most frequently asked question by my friends was, “Do you ever get a hard on?” The answer: “Yes.” That usually happened while in a sitting or reclining pose, and once during a wrestling pose with another guy.
I posed for anatomy, watercolor, sculpture, and photography classes, but my favorite class was called “Drawing for the Clothed Figure.” It was during this class that I got to try out some of my costume designs. I would come up with interesting outfits for characters I’d invent, such as the “suave gentleman,” (wearing a tuxedo), an Arabian sheik, a prohibition gangster, or an English count. The instructor loved that I came up with my own ideas. I looked forward to those sessions and often wished I was the artist doing the drawing.
Long before television shows like America’s Next Top Model and Project Runway brought national media attention to modeling and designing careers, I was already posing nude, competing against other models for assignments, and designing original fashion outfits on a shoe string budget. My family and friends see these shows today and say, “This is nothing new. Dale was doing this back in the 80’s.” When I look at these shows, especially the modeling shows, such as TV Land’s She’s Got the Look, VH1’s America’s Most Smartest Model, Bravo’s Make Me A Supermodel, or Oxygen’s The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency, there is always a competition that involves posing nude. And there is always one contestant who has drama issues around being naked. Television loves conflict and drama. But in the real world, if you are comfortable in your own skin, wearing clothes just becomes an extension of that comfort.
In my lifetime, I have consistently reached for non-traditional jobs -- not because somebody told me I could not, but because I wanted to do them. I am glad I did. Through them I learned anatomy, physical discipline, design construction, fashion show production, and how to market an image. I also learned how to take rejection and not take it personally. Each new artistic venture I embarked upon seemed to unfold before me, as if created just for me in mind. Yes, Dale likes people, and that’s why he chose to be admired, desired, looked at and photographed. Look, but don’t touch. Well…sometimes.
Dirty looks
You're giving them to me again
Dirty looks
I want you to
Just keep them coming
Dirty looks…
I love it when you look at me
Like that, boy
30 minutes B4 Midnight..but I promise I'll be Clean tomorrow!!!
