Somebody had made sangrias and I accepted a proffered glass happily. We spent some time socializing before Gale herded the women into the studio. I rejoined them a minute later in my housecoat. This time, their eyes lingered on my bare shins, on the bare chest showing above my robe.
Gale motioned me towards the platform. She wanted me standing, hands on my head and bending my body to the left. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable position, but I knew she would call frequent breaks.
It felt odd, too, odd in a new sense. Body hair doesn’t completely block air moving over the skin, but it does to some extent and I was feeling breezes I’d never felt before.
The four women tried to behave, but I could see their eyes appraising me, Gale included. To my surprise, it was Tammy, the shy one, who was last to pick up her pad and chalk. I looked at her from the corner of one eye, saw a pointed tongue tip sweep slowly between her lips. It wasn’t pervy or anything, but it was clear that the situation had changed somewhat.
Mental composition was difficult that night. I’d spent a lot of time nude in my life, both at home and while posing, but I’d never felt as naked as I felt then. It was completely irrational in one sense. Body hair provides no protection, scarcely even from view. Yet there was a decided difference in how it made me feel about myself. I wondered if women felt the same way after a Brazilian?
I’d read that some women removed their pubic hair because it made them feel more feminine. I could accept that, but, looking at myself in a mirror on the studio wall, I certainly didn’t feel ‘feminine’. Come to think of it, maybe, just maybe, I felt a bit more masculine. There was nothing to distract one’s view from me, from the body I’d worked so hard to sculpt. Muscle masses seemed to be more clearly defined. Come to think of it, no longer emerging now from a small grove of hair, my sex looked larger, my manhood longer, my sac lower.
My head was turned down and away from the women, but I could catch the odd lingering glance, ones which seemed to have little to do with gauging proportions or whatever. Tammy was the closest to me; her eyes lingered for a slow count of thirty seconds before she made the first mark on her paper.
My neck was a little stiff when Gale called a break. I walked around the garden, swinging my arms in big circles. As usual, four sets of eyes watched me surreptitiously from inside.
When I was back in position, I noticed that there was an intentness to their efforts which hadn’t been there during earlier sessions. There’d been hard work and focus, to be sure, but not nearly to this degree.
Gale pulled up a chair and sketch pad and positioned herself where she could see between Heather and Tammy. In a minute, she too was working away.
During my next break outside, I looked at the four of them in the studio. For once, they weren’t watching me. Instead, heads pressed close together, they were examining Gale’s sketch, giggling away to themselves. It stopped when Gale called ‘time’, but all eyes swung up towards me. All four of them blushed a little this time, their heads turning away quickly.
Gale wouldn’t show me her sketch.
We did a bit of socializing after the sketching session.
“I’ve seen online photos of body-builders,” Heather said. “I’m sorry, but so much of it… I mean, they just look grotesque. Why do people that to themselves? You’re not trying for that, are you?”
The others stopped talking. I could see them listen in, nod slightly. It’s a common challenge and I thought I had a ready answer.
“I guess it’s like plastic surgery,” I replied. “Hardly anybody considers it weird for a really flat-chested woman to have breast augmentation surgery and Botox wrinkle removal is common enough. But there are people who go overboard, like strippers getting hugely outsized breasts or that poor woman who turned herself into Barbie.”
The nods were a little more vigorous now. Barbie was pretty much a meme in her own right.
“To me,” I continued, “lots of things can be good in reasonable doses, but it’s easy to go too far. I can’t see my ever going hard-core like some guys do.”
I shook my head. “It’s not for me.”
I paused, waved a hand over my body, and could almost feel four pairs of eyes as they followed my gesture. “But I like looking like this. It suits my mental image of what I should look like. And it’s nice to see hard work and discipline paying off.”
“Um, forgive me for asking,” Gale asked, “but I’ve read about supplements and steroids…”
“Supplements, sure. I use lots of protein, for instance. There’s little harm in that and a fair bit of payoff. Steroids are another thing entirely, at least for me. They can be physically risky and they do sometimes affect behaviour. I haven’t used them and have no intention of trying.”
“Oh. That’s good, I guess.”
“I think so.”
+
U up for Thurs 14 Jul, 2PM?
Gale’s text wasn’t an entire surprise. The last session has gone well and she’d mentioned wanting to combine a class with a garden party for the girls. I knew I was free that afternoon.
Sure
Gale’s garb was a little more dressy than usual when I got there — a nice skirt and frilly blouse. She was also wearing makeup, which was unusual for her. Seeing my look, she giggled a little, raised her hands as if in surrender.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a class, Ty, but it’s also a party, so…”
I raised my hands to match hers.
“I get it, Gale. No need to explain. You look good.”
She smiled, gave me a friendly hug.
The others arrived minutes later, almost together.
Tammy was wearing shorts with a white t-shirt. I’ll confess to being a little disappointed when I saw the outline of a bra under it, but I was impressed by the endless, shapely legs so well displayed. Heather was dressed in a short brown skirt and a pale blouse with a scoop neck. The woman could wear a gunny sack and still look good. Quinn caught my eye instantly — skinny jeans, high black boots and a ribbed white knit blouse with spaghetti straps. She was clearly braless and it was an effort to keep my eyes above her shoulders. Each of them hugged me as they entered.
We made small talk for a little while before Gale made an announcement.
“We’re going to try something a little different today.”
The four of us looked at her.
“Up until now, it’s been careful poses lasting for an hour. This afternoon, I’d like to give you a bit of a challenge. Instead of working in the studio, we’re going to move to the garden. And, instead of posing, Ty is going to simply walk around, stretch from time to time — all the things we’ve watched him doing on his breaks. (‘We’, I thought. Now there’s a bit of honesty! ) I want at least three quick sketches of Ty from each of you. Don’t worry about total accuracy; what I want is for you to try to capture the impression of movement, the interplay between his muscles.”
She turned to me. “Is that OK by you, Ty?”
I thought about it. It wasn’t the norm, but it wasn’t weird, either.
“Why not?”
The three students set out lawn chairs in the back yard, adjusting them so as not to be facing into the sun. They retrieved their sketchpads and other supplies.