If you know who photographer Terry Richardson is then you pretty much already know he’s a proud perverted pervert who whips his peen out like a party favor. Oh, shit. That was a new tongue twister! A tongue twister that will make you want to cry in a hot shower after saying it. Anyway, Terry’s gross ways aren’t exactly new news, but lately it seems that ladies are coming forward to call him out on it.
Last week, supermodel Rie Rasmussen told the New York Post that she believes Terry manipulates young naive models into taking off their clothes for his camera. Rie thinks that the girls don’t say shit, because they are afraid it might piss off their agency or mess up their careers. And today, The Gloss published a piece by lady named Jamie Peck who posed for Terry twice when she was 19.
Jamie writes that her first session with Terry was fine. Although, Terry did ask her to call him Uncle Terry. Note: You probably should be concerned if someone seriously asks you to call them uncle and a quick search on Ancestry.com shows that you are not related to them in any way.
The second time Jamie posed for Terry is when things got interesting. In Jamie’s own words:
Uncle Terry was feeling frisky that day! I told him I had my period so I wanted to keep my underwear on, and he asked me to take my tampon out for him to play with. “I love tampons!” he said, in that psychotically upbeat way that temporarily convinces so many girls that what’s fun for Uncle Terry is fun for them. (I can just imagine him chirping, “Why don’t you wear these fairy wings while I fuck you in the ass? Wouldn’t that be like, so fun?” to some attenuated girl fresh off the boat from Eastern Europe. Either the man’s totally delusional, or he gets off on the fact that many of these things are not, in fact, very much fun for the girls.) I politely declined his offer to make tea out of my bloody cunt plug. It was then that he decided to just get naked.
Before I could say “whoa, whoa, whoa!” dude was wearing only his tattoos and waggling the biggest dick I’d ever seen dangerously close to my unclothed person (granted, I hadn’t seen very many yet). “Why don’t you take some pictures of me?” he asked. Um, sure.
I’m not sure how he maneuvered me over to the couch, but at some point he strongly suggested I touch his terrifying penis. Who the heck specifically requests a handjob, that most unpopular of sex acts which, were we casting a sex act version of The Breakfast Club, would undoubtedly play the part intended for Anthony Michael Hall? I’ll tell you: high school boys and Terry Richardson. Not that I would’ve preferred him to request anything else, I’m just sayin’: if you ask for an H.J., you are aiming low with complete knowledge that the girl is not into it.
This is where I zoom out on the situation. I can remember doing this stuff, but even at the time, it was sort of like watching someone else do it, someone who couldn’t possibly be me because I would never touch a creepy photographer’s penis. The only explanation I can come up with is that he was so darn friendly and happy about it all, and his assistants were so stoked on it as well, that I didn’t want to be the killjoy in the room. My new fake friends would’ve been bummed if I’d said no.
I must have said something about finals, because he told me, “if you make me come, you get an A.” So I did! Pretty fast, I might add. All over my left hand. His assistant handed me a towel.
There’s not much for me to say, but I will thank Jamie for giving me today’s phrase that pays (you with images only a therapist can erase from your mind): CUNT PLUG!