‘Can you see my abdominals?’

‘In great detail.’

‘Good.’ He ran a hand down his greasy stomach. ‘Very proud of these, I am.’

‘Do that again. One hand behind the head, the other running down your stomach. Good.’

‘Looks pretty sexy, doesn’t it?’

‘Oh, hot stuff, baby.’

‘How about the back?’

‘Face the curtain. Now look back at me. Shows off your trapezius.’

‘I’ve got a lovely trapezius.’

‘And throw a right jab. One, two, three and bang!’

‘I’m working up a sweat here. These lights are bloody hot.’

‘Looks more authentic.’

‘Got what you need?’

‘I think so.’

‘Right. Fun time.’ He bent over, pulling his shorts to his ankles, backside sticking straight at the camera. I pressed the shutter. ‘Oi! You cheeky bugger!’ His face was red as he looked back at me.

‘Send that one home to the folks.’

‘Oh yeah. She’d love that, my nan. Here I am flashing my arse in the RAF, love, Mervyn.’

He tossed his shorts to the floor. The brilliant white of the slip seemed to draw all the light in the room.

‘Hope nobody’s peeking.’

‘It’s all right. The blinds are down.’

‘Good job. Right. How do you want me?’

The cover of the latest Man’s World showed a model sitting on top of a pillar. ‘Just perch on that. Don’t put any weight on it.’

‘Hope the bloody thing doesn’t slip up my arse. What with all this oil and everything.’ He managed the pose, thrusting his groin forward, which was the desired effect.

‘Now, how about kneeling.’

‘Ay ay, what’s that all about?’

‘You know, like a fallen gladiator, all that malarkey.’

‘Oh, right. I know the drill.’ He dropped to his knees and raised his arms in supplication. ‘This sort of thing?’

‘Don’t overact. Relax your arms. There.’

He moved into a reclining pose, propped up on one elbow. ‘Come on, let’s get some sexy ones while I’m down here. Come on, baby, see what Daddy’s got for you …’

I snapped away, my finger slipping on the shutter release, sweat and grease mixing on my skin.

‘Time to change the film.’

‘Okay. Just as well. I’m starting to get a bit … you know.’ And he was: the fabric was noticeably stretched. I reloaded, while he did fifty press-ups on the floor.

‘Ready when you are.’

‘I’m ready, boss.’ His muscles were pumped and gleaming, his hair falling into his eyes, damp with sweat. ‘What now?’

‘Let’s just get a few natural poses.’

‘Okay. Snap away.’

He moved like a dancer, raising his limbs, letting them fall, bouncing around in little boxing steps, feinting punches at the camera, getting into the rhythm of the shutter. Film flew past the lens.

‘One more to go.’

‘Come on then. One for nan. Are you ready? One …’

‘Wright!’

‘Two …’

‘You can’t …’

‘Three, ready or not!’ He whipped the fabric to one side, and out sprang his cock, well on the way to being hard. I released the shutter just in time.