Life Model

It was pure luck that I answered the phone. It could just as easily been for mum or Alison, or even dad, but no, it was for me. A friend of mine who I knew from school was at the other end and she didn’t hang around. “Anna, I’m in the shit. My feckin’ model’s cancelled. I’ve got eight students here an’ no one ter pose fer them….you wouldn’t help a friend out would ya?” Gilly  (hard ‘G’) has been running art classes for about six months. She is a brilliant teacher and already has a large following in pottery and sculpture, but has only recently branched out into teaching drawing and painting. 

Of course I agreed. What? An ego like mine? Being watched closely by eight people? What’s not to like?

It took me half an hour to drive to her studio and the moment I got there she flew at me and hugged me. “Thanks SO much!” Then she said, “Just pop your clothes in there. There’s a dressing gown you can borrow." Wait….what? Naked? Holy CRAP. 

Enter Miss Brain. “And what’s the problem, exactly? You will love being examined so closely.” And, as usual, Miss Brain was right. 

I was expecting to be placed in some, demure 18th century type pose, perhaps having a sheet draped over me, but no, Gilly had me sit on a very low stool with my legs crossed at the ankles, but my knees drawn up and wide apart. Then I was asked to put my arms on top of my knees and for one hand to grab the other wrist. This made me lean forward….and right into my own scent. 

The class looked intently at me, and since I couldn’t move, all I could do was look back. Two young girls about 19, a middle aged woman, two guys mid 20s, and three older men. All of whom were staring at my naked body…a body that was beginning to rather enjoy the attention…..that is to say, enjoy it too much. 

I felt the moment a welt of liquid escaped me. It came out in a rush and was accompanied by that scent I know so well….and Gilly, the bitch….didn’t miss it. “You’re not only drawing the model, you’re capturing how she is feeling…what is happening to her…..how her body is changing. She’s in a static, but subservient pose, subject to your looks…..she’s naked, you’re clothed.”

And I felt subservient. I felt what I love to feel during sex. And Miss Brain sat up in her chair and joined the party. “I wonder how many of these students will think about fucking you later? I wonder if any of the men are nursing semis? Maybe one of the girls is wetting her undies right now. It’s only a matter of time before they see that you, my dear, are oozing cunny fluid.”

As if there could be any doubt, Gilly said, “If you look between her legs, you will see she has become wet. See how her vulva is glistening? I wonder what she is thinking?" 

And so two hours passed. Sometimes a student would leave their station and walk up to me and peer really closely at me. Sometimes there would be a smile, sometimes not. Sometimes they would look deeply into my eyes, and sometimes, elsewhere. The oldest man there stared unashamedly between my legs. 

When I was allowed to move, I found I needed Gilly to help me. I was stuck where I was, and when I DID move, there was a large wet patch on he sheet upon which I had been sitting. 

Back in the dressing gown, I was allowed to see what the students had done. One was a very surreal effort. One of the young girls had drawn me as a series of interlocked geometrical shapes. Very strange. Most of the others were highly skilled renditions that I would certainly have paid money for, and then I came to the oldest man in the room. On a large A3 piece of paper, was a perfect, highly detailed rendition of JUST my vagina! Nothing more. My vulva complete with wetness. 

Dirty old bastard? No! I don’t consider my vagina dirty, in fact I consider it highly desirable. So he wanted to capture it. Why not? I’m proud of my vagina, my cunny, my cunt, my hole! It gives me tremendous pleasure. What’s not to like. As I looked at his drawing, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bulge in his pants and a wet spot. Not an ejaculation, I’m sure, but definitely pre-cum. Good for him! 

And good for me too! 

One of the teenage girls had drawn me so it looked as though the forefinger of my left hand was on my clit. A trick of perspective, perhaps, but as I stood over her, examining her work, I noticed she was wearing a very short skirt. Her knees were spread and I was certain I could smell her.

Back in my little dressing room, I wanked myself off leaning back against the wall. On a small table in there, I noticed a box of tissues, which was handy for drying my cunny off. 

I asked Gilly about them afterwards and she told me that models of both genders quite often feel the need to relieve themselves after sitting. To quote Gilly, “Sure, it’s better than cleaning spunk or squirt off me carpet!” 

So, an artist’s model then. Will I do it again? Maybe. I know Gilly teaches an “erotic art” class….

….now THAT has possibilities!