Two points for your consideration. First, there are indeed fairly firm expectations with respect to etiquette when models pose nude. Secondly, please be aware that this story doesn’t include hard-pounding boy-in-girl sex. If that’s what you’re looking for, there are so many other good stories around. This is just girls havin’ fun and playin’ around. Please enjoy!
+
“You OK, Ty?” Gale asked. “Do you need another break?”
Without turning my head, I took a look at the clock on the studio wall. I had another ten minutes or so before my hour was up. Gale had posed me sitting on a tall stool, leaning back with one leg stretched out to the floor and the other foot resting on a rung between the stool legs. There was a bit of tension, but no more than in many other poses. I could hold the stance for ten minutes, no trouble.
“No,” I replied. “I’m good, thanks.”
A few mimutes later, Gale gave the class a five-minute warning. She called it five minutes after that.
“That’s it, folks. Wrap it up. Thanks, Ty.”
I broke the pose, nodded in acknowledgement as the students gave me a light round of applause. Gale came forward with my housecoat, which I accepted thankfully. It hadn’t taken me many modelling sessions to learn to bring that and slippers. Gale was considerate and did her best to keep the room warm for my bare skin, but she couldn’t control everything.
“‘Kay, class,” she called. “Let’s all take a look at our work.”
The students gathered in her wake as she moved from easel to easel. I drifted with them, interested in seeing how I looked on paper.
Gale had fourteen students in this class, mostly young and evenly split between men and women. I was flattered at how well a couple of sketches had turned out and silently, sympathetically wished a couple of other would-be artists a speedy return to whatever reality their actual talent might lie in.
Gale made a couple of comments on each one, suggestions for improvement and such. I was impressed that she almost always found something positive to say.
“Right, please sit down, everybody. I have some final words.”
I took that as my cue and started towards the privacy screen placed at the back of the room as a changing space.
“Ty,” she called. “Stick around. I’d like to talk to you after.” I raised a hand in acknowledgement.
A few students had waited until I’d put my clothes on to say thank you, which was nice of them, I thought. They left while Gale was still cleaning up. I decided to help her and started stacking easels in their normal places against one wall.
“Thanks, Ty,” she said over her shoulder. “I do appreciate your help this past semester. You’re a good model.”
“No worries, Gale.”
“That’s it for this term, anyway.” she reminded me. “Have you any plans for the summer?”
“Not really. I mean, nothing all that special. I’ve got a McJob lined up and have been asked to do some tutoring. Spend some time at the beach, I guess. Maybe an expanded routine at the gym, more time with the weights.”
She looked me up and down, chuckled.
“Like you need more time with weights, Ty.”
She grinned and handed me an envelope, my money for the evening.
I thanked her sincerely. One thing I liked about Professor Gale Swanson, there was never any waiting around for payment paperwork to plod its way through the bureaucracy. Cash worked for both of us. I noticed the envelope was a bit thicker than normal.
“They did a whip-around as a tip for you. They liked you, Ty.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t expected that. “Um, thanks!”
She brushed her hands against each other, hung her purse over her shoulder and motioned me out the door.
“Would you be interested in some more modelling work?”
I was a little puzzled. “I thought the faculty was closing down for the summer.”
“Oh, it is. This would be a private thing.”
She locked the door to the studio behind us, dropped the keys into her purse.
“I’ve been asked to run an advanced sketching class for some of my friends and neighbours. I’ve got a studio at my house and the days are long enough now that there’s lots of light.”
She stopped, bent her head back to look up at me.
“You’re pretty impressive, Ty — good muscle definition, good ability to hold a pose. You’d be a great starter for the class.”
“How often would it be?”
“Just once or twice, I think. I’d certainly like you for the first session. After that, maybe another, but I do want to rotate through models.”
“May I think about it, Gale?”
“Of course. But let me sweeten the offer — twenty bucks more than you get here. Plus tips.”
Her eyes twinkled a little as she said that.
“I’ll let you know.”
“You do that.”
The air outside was balmy, sweet with spring promise. We parted with a wave.
+
Gale’s house turned out to be near the university, in a nice neighborhood. It was hardly new and didn’t seem all that big, but it had a settled charm I found impressive.
I was the first to arrive.
“This is very pretty.”
“Thank you.”
She showed me around inside. The studio wasn’t particularly large, but it was open and full of light from an entire wall of windows, extending up to the peak of the roof. Clean but ‘artistically cluttered’, an array of sketches and paintings were hung and thumb-tacked over the walls in no apparent order, a couple of half-finished stone sculptures stood flanking the door and what appeared to be a disassembled loom leaned against the wall in a corner. A knee-high wooden posing platform stood in the middle. The place smelled slightly of oil paint and turpentine.
The windows faced west and the late afternoon sun was warm on my face; I could see I’d have no worries about being chilly.
Her studio opened into her back yard. Outside the windows, through a pair of French doors, a well-mown lawn was surrounded by a tall hedge and half-filled with flowers. I could see an artist’s touch in the garden, too.
Gale showed me a spare bedroom in which I could change when it was time, then led me back into her living room. A bottle of wine — a nice Merlot, I saw — and five glasses had been set out on a table, along with some plates and cutlery. Gale handed me a corkscrew.
“Do the honours, will you please?”
I was removing the cork from the corkscrew when she came back, a bottle of white wine in one hand and a stack of napkins in the other. I reached out, took the bottle and began opening it without being asked. She returned with a tray of snacks. I was pleased to see she’d included a fair bit of protein — ham cubes, nuts, turkey rolls. Protein is important.
I looked at the glasses. “Just four students, Gale? Or do some of your students not drink?”
She laughed. “Just three of them. One of the glasses is for you, silly. You will join us, won’t you? You might as well get to know them.”
“Ah. Sure.”
That’s not a normal part of the job, but why not? I was actually rather complimented by the invitation.
“I’ve told them about their first model, you see, Ty. The idea of sketching a tall, muscular poet has them intrigued.”
There was a knock at the door. I could hear it open and a woman’s voice calling.
“Gale? May I come in?”
“Come on in!” Gale called over her shoulder. To me she said, “Tammy’s my next-door neighbour. She’s really nice.”
She was, I thought to myself, really cute, too. Not much older than me, she was very tall for a woman and slender in a exceedingly good way, Tammy had long, dark hair flowing loose over her shoulders, blue eyes and a sinuous walk that contrasted oddly with her apparent shyness when Gale introduced us. When we shook hands, her long fingers were soft, her grip very gentle, as if afraid I would squeeze too hard. I tried not to, let go the instant her grasp loosened.
“I know I’m early,” she said, “but I thought you might need some help setting up.”
“We’re good,” Gale replied, “but find a chair. Ty, might I ask you to pour for us? I’ll have white, please.”
“Red for me, please. It’s ‘Ty’?”
I smiled. It was a common question. “Yes — short for ‘Tyson’.”
“And you’re a… poet?” I could see she was trying to make conversation. She had a sweet voice, high without being girlish.
“Aspiring,” I smiled. “Not particularly good, yet. There’s more to it than I’d thought originally.”
I asked an obvious question.
“May I ask what you do, Tammy?”
She gave me a half-smile.
“I’m a stay-at-home mom.”
“The most important job I can think of,” I replied, quite honestly.
That got me the other half of the smile.
“Sometimes, but it’s also nice to get out of the house for a bit.”
“How old are your kids?”
“Danny is four and Ariel just turned three.”
“Enough to keep you busy. Is your husband sitting tonight?”
Her face fell.
“I’m sorry if I…” I started.
Gale stepped in. “Tammy’s a widow, Ty. Charlie died in a climbing accident two years ago.”
“Oh. I am so sorry.”
She dabbed a corner of one eye with a forefinger.
“It’s OK. Really.”
“You still miss him. I can see that.”
“Oh, yes. I do.”
I felt as awkward as I’d ever been.
Way to start out the evening on a relaxed note, fathead!
She looked up at me, smiled ruefully.
“It’s OK. Truly. You couldn’t know.”
I was saved by the doorbell. I rose when two other women entered with Gale.
“Heather, Quinn, I’d like to introduce Ty, our model for the evening,” Gale said.
Heather, a very cute woman in her late 20s, stepped forward, offering me her hand. Curvaceous, just short of voluptuous, Heather had curly red hair, a brilliant smile and soft brown eyes. Her handshake was firmer than Tammy’s.
“Hello, Ty,” she said. Her voice resonated all through me, smoke and old cognac.
The third woman, Quinn, was by far the shortest, barely five feet tall. In her early 30s, she had a nice figure, a spunky, devil-take-you-all attitude and a gutsy swagger in her walk. Stopping just in front of me, hands on her hips, her eyes started at my feet and ran up to my head, her own head bent back in an exaggerated gesture. She turned to Gale.
“Wow! You weren’t kidding!”
Looking back at me, she grinned.
“How’s the weather up there, Slick?”
I’d heard the joke before, but could see there was no malice or mockery, just friendly jesting.