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Posing

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“Marcy! Please hold the pose!”

Laura was getting tired of saying that, and was getting a bit grumpy. Marcy was her main model, and usually she was excellent: today she just seemed fidgety. Really good models were SO DAMNED hard to find! In the brightly-lit teaching studio, a baker’s dozen of drawing students clustered around Marcy, working intently. Today’s exercise was life drawing, nudes, in charcoal on newsprint, and FAST. No time to think. “Just DRAW!” was the game.

“OKAY, folks, here we go!” said Laura. “Ten minute drill, ten drawings, just like speed-reading. Ten poses, one minute each. Nobody makes a mark until I say ‘GO’: first, you get 30 seconds before starting each sketch to study the pose, then one minute to get the essence onto paper. No fudging: stop when I tell Marcy “Change pose!” Ready?”

She looked about expectantly. At least this exercise would suit Marcy’s attitude today, she thought! “GO!”

Marcy struck a pose, held it. Twenty-eight eyes stared, studied. The whole group was reflected in the big wall mirrors, a study within itself, if only the proper artist had been there to sketch it. Fred’s eyes took in Marcy’s outline: he always found it difficult to avoid letting his imagination run too freely during these sessions. Now, he caught himself daydreaming momentarily as he looked at the nude, seated model, thinking briefly that she had reasonably nice breasts, friendly-looking, well-used nipples. Overall, her body was way too plump, really, for his taste. Not that it mattered: he doubted he’d recognize her on the street fully clothed. He studied her crinkled nipples, wondered if they were erect, or just stood up that pertly all the time? He liked the texture of her skin, too. As he felt tiny stirrings in his crotch, he shut off the thoughts and let his eye graze over her outline. It didn’t help that he’d worn his short-shorts again today, but it was HOT outside.

“GO!” said Laura. Thirteen dominant hands scrabbled across thirteen sheets of newsprint. Thirteen students felt surges of panic as nothing went down onto the paper properly.

“Pose change! All stop!” Marcy shifted legs and torso, raised her arms, tilted her head, held the new pose. Study, study, plan, plan… then “Go!” from Laura. More scrabbling, less panic this time. Gentle whooshes of charcoal rubbing on rough paper. Familiar, satisfying noises.

Laura toured slowly through the class, alert eyes on her students, watching. Occasionally she would make a comment, guide a hand, change a stroke slightly.

“GO!” Then again, “GO!” Sketchpads filled rapidly. Ten poses, over and done.

“Short break, Marcy!” called Laura: “…then ten more!”

Fred leaned back on his stool, flexed the fingers of his drawing hand. His eyes sought out Laura, across the group, where she was talking intently to another student. He studied her briefly, watched her as she moved from person to person. He’d been doing this over the last several weeks of classes. He liked the view. She leaned over one sketch, and he watched her gently-hanging breast shift within her smudged, thin cotton blouse, his eyes catching the outline and curve of its underside. He could see her nipples, too, outlined against the fabric: no bra today!

For a moment he was seized with one of his long-time questions and fantasies, wondering what it would feel like to carry a woman’s breasts, to feel their gravity-induced tug, feel them sway freely beneath a whispering fabric, feel nipples erect and sensitive. He knew it must be highly erotic, decided it might well be akin to the sensations from his balls and cock when they swung free and unencumbered, but also knew -alas!- that he’d never, ever really know. A fascinating speculation, nonetheless.

Ten more one-minute sketches. “GO!” “GO!” Fred was getting frustrated: things just weren’t working this time. He increased his concentration, and things got worse. Eight down. Two to go. Suddenly, Laura was at his elbow: they were both right handed, and she stood behind him, close. He could feel the warmth of her body through his tee-shirt. Her hand covered his, and she said “Let me guide you this time: RELAX! Just let the view flow from eye to charcoal without letting your brain get in the way. Be Zen!”

Then to the whole class, “OK, GO!”

Fred relaxed his hand, and sagged ever so slightly backwards. As Laura guided his hand through the swift strokes, her nipples touched him, moved slightly against his back, and his cock responded immediately, making itself known within the confines of his shorts. The pose ended, and Laura released his hand, but didn’t move away. She seemed oblivious to their gentle body-contact. Fred knew that was bullshit: that if there was something every woman in the world was totally aware of at all times, it was her breasts. She had to know, but she didn’t move. Interesting.

Together they examined the resulting sketch: “See? Much better! Just relax! You’re worrying too much. It’ll eryaman bayan escort take a long time, but there’s ability in the old hand yet, Fred!” He grunted a non-committal agreement, and Laura said to Marcy and the class, “OK, last one, now GO!”

As she stood up, her breast pressed firmly against the back of Fred’s biceps and brushed across it. It felt gloriously nice: Fred’s final drawing was pure gibberish.

“OKAY, class, time’s up for today. Here’s the homework: take all your one-minute studies, and review them. Then plan a composite, charcoal, on good paper, 24 by 36. Give yourself exactly 45 minutes to do the comp… No fudging, and no re-takes. You’ll have to plan and be disciplined, not to mention being satisfied with less than perfection! See you next Monday!”

Amid the clatter of students packing their equipment and discussing their efforts with one another, Laura crossed through the crowd, seeking out Fred. She’d been thinking about him for some time, as a possible candidate for a project she was working up. She’d watched him arrive on his bicycle each week for her class, in shorts and tee-shirt most of the time, like tonight. Clearly in shape, but not bicycle-racer lean: that was good. He was at least consistently present, and always did the homework. Not very talented, but he tried hard and was definitely learning. Occasionally made an insightful comment, or asked a good question. Didn’t overtly ogle the models, although she’d seen him give more than a second glance at a nice tit or buttock on occasion. Definitely favored female models with more attention than the occasional male.

As she approached him from behind, he leaned over to put his gear together, stretching his hamstrings right at her. She grinned, looked him over one more time, found her opinion confirmed: good legs, probably a good butt under the shorts. Some fat beneath the skin, just enough to look seriously “mature male”. Back and arms and shoulders decently muscled but not over-developed. Great hands, Michelangelo hands, with heavy veins.

She hoped he would entertain her proposition seriously.

“Fred, do you have a minute? I’d like to talk to you after things quiet down.”

Fred straightened up, looked at her, obviously puzzled, apparently pleased, grinned and said “Sure!”

Laura touched him on the arm, said “I’ll be right back!” and supervised the departure of the rest of the students. When they were alone in the big studio, she looked at him, scanned him up and down, watched him squirm just a tiny bit. He waited, said nothing: her move. She liked that, somehow. “Fred, you’re getting better, you know, and that’s nice to see! Makes me feel successful, myself.”

He thanked her, but said nothing more. Finally Laura said “I’ve been studying you for some time now, thinking about a project I’m planning. I wonder… now that you’re busy being at least a part-time artist, have you ever done any modeling yourself?”

Fred shook his head, replied “No, I haven’t. I was asked if I would once, a long time ago, back before I was fifty, but never got around to it.”

“Fifty!” thought Laura. “I sure misjudged that by a good five or ten years!” She looked at him in a slightly different light… he was almost precisely her own age.

“Well,” said Laura, “you can take it from me that modeling is hard work. And anyone modeling for me has a rough time of it… I’m a stickler for some things, but especially for holding a pose without flinching or wiggling. That’s critical, and pretty difficult. You’ve seen how I deal with Marcy? Especially about holding a pose? Not many can do it well, even though it seems so simple. But for an artist, learning to model is a great idea. Resembles medical students working on one another so they know what it’s like to be a patient.”

Fred nodded: “Yeah, I suppose it really is a good idea to put one’s self in the other’s shoes on occasion! What’s your project?” A long pause. “Better still,” he continued, “What’s your proposition?”

Laura liked him more and more: it sounded like he might be the right subject.

“Fred, look around the studio, tell me what you see, and what it can tell you about me.”

Fred scanned the studio: large, well-lit, warm, the big cloth-draped posing stand in the center. Multiple easels scattered about the perimeter, each with a canvas or sketchbook on it, apparently works-in-progress.

But the dominant thing was clay sculpture. Big, small, all nudes, about evenly divided between the sexes: they were everywhere. There were also several obviously partly-done works standing draped in wet cloth, each atop its heavy work-tripod. He thought about the scene, finally replied “Well, it looks to me like you are an artistic generalist: you draw and paint, and teach both, but I gather clay sculpture must be your real passion?”

“Right!” said Laura. “It certainly is. I’m a touch-centered person, and clay is totally tactile. love it! Now, Fred, I’ve been escort sincan doing some mental planning for a long time, about doing a series of eight or ten small male nudes, a series – all of the same subject. I want to do each quickly, sort of like what we were doing today in the one-minute drill, but in clay it’ll be more like a one- or two-hour drill. I’ve been looking for the right model. Would you be interested?”

Fred looked at her and grinned again, replied “Well, exactly why ME? I’m not a pro: hell, I don’t even know if I could hold that still for that long – it sure doesn’t look easy!”

Laura scanned him up and down again. Fred returned the favor, letting his gaze stroke very overtly over her entire body from crown to toe, taking all the time he wanted to study the shapes of her arms, her chin, her breasts, hips, up and down her legs, finally back to her face. Altogether nice, very nice indeed, he thought.

It must have shown on his expression. When he looked back at Laura’s face, she was a shade pinker than when he’d started, but met his gaze with a twinkle, said “Fair enough!”

Fred’s grin widened, and he murmured “Sauce for the goose, I suppose. You look at me, I look at you.”

Suddenly, coquettishly, totally out of character, all her inner self-doubts welling up in a gush both unbidden and unwelcome, she asked “Well? Like what you see?”

Fred’s answering nod made her feel good, very good! He did like the view, and he meant the compliment: she could tell.

Then she continued. “Frankly, Fred, I’m looking for a man with a certain fully-adult masculine erotic quality. I don’t want a skinny youth, nor do I want a muscle-bound ape. And a model’s personality inevitably shows through in the work. I think you fit on all counts.” She paused. “IF you’re interested, and have the time, that is. It’s real work, and I’ll pay you full normal rates just to formalize things. What say you?”

Fred nodded at her and replied “Well, sure. Why not? I’ll give it a whirl, if we can do it on Saturdays, which would be best for me. I can be free all day if you like.” He paused. “That is, IF I can take the strain of holding still for so long!”

Laura sighed inwardly: he was in! Hooray! Then she told him “Saturday is great, plan on all day, be here at about nine. And don’t worry: you’ll have to do as I say and hold poses well, or I’ll get peeved just like I do at Marcy, but you’ll get plenty of breaks along the way. This should be fun. As well as work, that is. Thanks for agreeing.”

Fred grinned again, did his obligatory “See you!”, shouldered his pack, and exited.

Laura watched through the open door as he straddled the bike, then put it into motion with strong pushes from his thighs and calves. “Nice legs!” she thought again as he disappeared.

Fred’s mind was in a whirl as he pedaled away: what the HELL had he done? How could he pose in the nude? He liked his own body reasonably well, and god’s own plenty of women had seen it naked! But still. He just knew he’d wind up with an erection and spoil the whole scene. Either that or he’d not be able to hold poses, or his body would be all wrong somehow once she got to actually see it. After all, he had never in his life done anything that depended on his looks – on his body and its abilities, sure – he’d been good at throwing hay bales four-high when he was young. Maybe five-high on a dry day! But this was different. Selling the image, the externalities. Marlboro Man. Whoosh!

He pedaled even harder. Not to mention Laura’s own legs: she said she liked HIS (professionally of course, no doubt!) – well, she had nice legs, too. This was going to be seriously interesting.

On Saturday, Fred arrived on time. Laura greeted him at the door, dressed in a strange piece of clothing, made of shimmery, light-weight slightly clingy fabric, ending just above her knees – just a simple wrap-around, without sleeves, tied around the waist with a string. Fred thought it unusual, and, frankly, sexy. Obviously comfortable, too. Odd, but then, this was her home as well as her studio, so she could wear what she wanted. But a good choice! As she moved to let him in, three things were clear: she wore no bra, she probably had no panties on, because the clinginess of the top revealed no undie-edges, and finally, she’d worn the top for work before: it was be-spattered with gray modeling clay.

She invited him in, all business, and pointed to a Japanese screen at one end of the room. “I’m ready to start if you are. You can undress back there if you want some privacy.”

Fred looked at her, his mind whirling, debating the niceties of stripping down in front of her (the slower, tantalizing exposure) versus going behind the screen and simply re-appearing ”instantaneously naked’. He opted at once for slow, walked over to a chair nearby, set his pack down, and stripped off his sweaty tee-shirt. Laura nodded to herself, watched. Off came the shoes elvankent escort bayan and socks next, then the belt buckle was open and then followed quiet purr of his zipper.

He looked up at her, his thumbs hooked over his waistband. Some sort of moment of truth had arrived.

Laura said, into the pause, “Alright, Fred, off with them! Plenty of women have seen you butt-nekkid, I’m sure! Don’t be embarrassed, you have a good body!” As Fred’s arm muscles tightened, telegraphing the final movement, Laura felt a strong twist deep in her belly: Fred bent, slid the shorts down, stepped out of them, straightened up facing her, his face slightly pink above his full beard. His crotch was absolutely clean-shaven!

Laura felt the twist turn liquid and her pussylips flow with moisture. This was an unexpected treat: Fred’s circumcised cock, simply surrounded by naked skin, was far more blatant a sexual signal and provocation than if he had carried an ordinary crotch-bush! She thought to herself that he might just have exactly the right aroma, the right aura, of the erotic to make her series of sculptures really sing. Professional detachment be damned, she thought: the sight made the inside of her mouth itch! She shook herself mentally: back to reality. Employer-employee. Too bad.

She scanned him, motioned silently for him to turn around. He did so, butt muscles propelling him, working nicely under his tight skin. Only a mild swimsuit line: he was careful about the sun. He stopped facing her again. Laura raised an eyebrow, glanced blatantly at his crotch, and said “Unusual. Nice, but unusual. As a matter of fact, I kind of like it! Why?”

Fred was monumentally relieved: the silence was gone, he’d apparently passed initial inspection, and his cock hadn’t gone erect on him. Yet. He answered, “Remember, you said last time that you are a touch-oriented person? Well, so am I: I like touches on skin, rather than hair, because skin has nerves and hair doesn’t. Fair enough?”

Laura agreed, and asked Fred to take a few minutes and go through whatever stretches he normally did when he exercised, so that she could watch his muscles and skin work. He did so, going through a complete set, a good mini-workout in itself. Laura walked around him, studying, as he moved and flexed: after the first two minutes, she’d seen everything he owned in the way of epidermis, from armpits to bellybutton to anus and the soles of his feet.

He found he didn’t really object at all to being studied this way, and watched Laura’s face as she eyed him: she was pleased, and that made him feel very good indeed. The whole stretch took about ten minutes, and only about half way through did he finally begin to feel that maybe he wasn’t on erotic display, but rather really being objectified, the “woman-as-object-in-men’s-magazines” bit – reversed. That was both a relief and an annoyance: if he let it, it would rise to a form of self-doubt. The underlying question, he supposed, was “Why wasn’t she responding sexually?” Or was she? What man could ever tell about a woman, especially if she chose to keep her feelings secret? At least he understood his own thought and was able to squash it when it arose: this was a professional arrangement, nothing to do with sexual attraction. Right! Nonetheless, he had to keep his eyes off Laura’s body, for when he didn’t, he suffered immediate cock-stirrings.

She decided during her inspection that this was, in fact, the body she’d needed all along. With the exercising over, Laura had him step onto the posing platform, got him into a relaxed, semi-reclining, comfortable pose. She felt she should start with something not too demanding, and explained that to him: he agreed – a good idea. Laura tired almost immediately of trying to verbally direct him into the pose she wanted: he just didn’t know enough yet to follow the instructions. A rank, although willing, amateur. Frustrating: she really wanted to get going. Finally, she said to him “Permission to touch? I’m going to have to manipulate you into the position I want, until you get the hang of this! Okay?”

Fred said “Sure! Any touching you need to do, just go ahead.”

Laura adjusted his body, moving one leg, then an arm, tilting his head. She always enjoyed touching her models whenever it was necessary: this one seemed to need a lot of adjusting. How odd! At one point, she said something complimentary to him, and Fred had moved his head to reply. She almost, not quite, barked at him “Hold the pose! You can watch in the big wall mirrors. That’s what they’re for, but you shouldn’t talk while holding a pose because that actually moves everything on the whole body. Just watch our models in class some time! And you certainly can’t go waggling your head about like that! Now…” here, she moved his head back again, “HOLD!” Then “Very good. Nice. You’re actually doing quite well indeed. And you DO have a very nice body: just about exactly what I was hoping for. Your shaved crotch adds something I wasn’t expecting, but it’s really a nice fillip, just in line with what I want in my series.”

Fred started to reply, then stopped.

Laura grinned at him in the mirror, and said “Good! Very good. You learn fast. Now I’ll start.”

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