And now, at last, we return to poor Mr. Marcus Censorinus. He'd had a long career, many successes - "Vestals on Fire" in '48, had been a particularly fine publication, as had the once annual, "Roman Patricians after Dark" (though whether any of the models actually had been patricians was still a point of great debate. Due to some very clever photography no faces could actually be seen…), and its sequel, "Wolf Mothers of Rome", had almost outstripped its predecessor in sales - but never, in all the 30 years he'd been at work, had he met a model as entirely unwilling as Marcus Junius Brutus.

Strawberry daiquiris were the only solution.

And Beyonce. Apparently.

The Korean Pop music was, perhaps, a bit more of a surprise.

Well, who was he to judge, his studio was a safe space - what happened there stayed there. Sort of. Not really. Not at all, actually. Much like Vegas, in fact…

In his professional opinion, this might turn out to be one of his finest works. A magnum opus if you will. "A Liberator Liberated - A New Angle on Marcus Brutus." Yes. That did sound awfully good. In ten years he might even do a retrospective… "Like Mother like Son - Men and Women of the Junii" - he did have some awfully good unused pictures of Servilia back in her rebellious phase (who are we kidding, she's always been in her 'rebellious phase'), if only her father hadn't insisted on suppressing those…

"Can I please put some clothes on now?" Brutus raised his hand hesitantly, further completing the image of nervous, uncomfortable, school boy. All that was missing was the uniform. Actually, any clothing at all probably would have done just fine. Brutus was still on set, pondering how he'd never really understood how cold marble was until he had to spend half the morning in varying states of nakedness on a mock up set of the Roman senate.

Mr. Censorinus nodded absentmindedly, shifting his camera slightly, "Yeah, sure doll, just one sec… Turn just a little to the right- yeah... And then look over here- yes, just like that- now imagine…" Mr. Censorinus hesitated, "Usually I tell my models to imagine Antony just walked in from the Lupercal race and is looking right at you with that look, the one in the calendar from '56… But I'm guessing that probably won't do anything for…" There was a long pause, Mr. Censorinus looked at Brutus, then glanced at his aid, shrugged, and turned back to the camera, "Never mind - That's perfect."

A couple clicks of the shutter, a few readjustments, and then -

"That's a wrap everyone!"

Brutus pulled a robe around himself and, still a little tipsy, sat down at the edge of the set.

"Are you going to need a ride home?" Mr. Censorinus asked. He really did not need another citation for someone driving home drunk from his studio. It wasn't his fault that vodka and pornographic photography went so well together.

"No, no I'm good… I think I've got a ride"

Mr. Censorinus followed Brutus' gaze and nodded, "Ah, yes. I see. Excellent, excellent…" He bagged up his camera and headed to his office.

"Well, what did you think?" Trying very hard to look cool, and nonchalant, and totally comfortable standing around in a bathrobe, Brutus looked up at Antony, who, of course, had been there the entire time eating grapes. Regular models get privileges.

"You know, I think you're one of those people who gets better with age. Not that you weren't a very sexy 16 year old, but I'm kind of over the whole "pederasty" thing."

"Does that mean you'll be selling your house in Athens, then?"

"Oh no. Too much nostalgia. So many memories. Much history."

Brutus looked down at the floor, he nervously tugged at the fraying edge of his robe, "Um. Do you think… I mean- Portia…"

"Do you think your lady's going to have the hots for you and she'll finally let you see what's going on under that pencil skirt? Duh."

Brutus flushed beet red, "You didn't have to say it like that! And I already know what's... going on… I mean-"

"Come on. We both know you've never done it with the lights on. But seriously though," Antony put two very firm hands on Brutus' shoulders, looked him square in the eye with something approaching a paternal air (and by approaching I mean it was more than a couple miles off), and said: "Go forth my son! Be a man! Get the girl! Make babies!"

"Shut up." Brutus hissed, punched Antony's shoulder, and turned to go as Antony shouted-

"IF IT DOESN'T WORK OUT, CALL ME!"