I took a breath, then scooted my butt forward on the seat, leaning back and letting my shoulders fall. She made a small noise of approval in her throat, then picked up her pencil and began to work.
She was quiet for a few minutes, her eyes flicking between me and the paper. She almost seemed like a different person while she worked, suddenly focused and serious.
I realized, slowly, that watching her work was calming me down significantly. She was so intent on the page, it was almost as if she didn’t even realize that I was wearing practically nothing. Without that assurance, I’m certain I would have been freaking out from beginning to end.
When her pencil stopped moving, the anxiety came back in full. Her drawing hand settled into her lap, and her eyes moved over me in a way that was significantly less academic. I felt a new tension grow deep in my gut, making me feel slightly light-headed and unfocused. Before it became too much, Mary flicked her eyes back to my face with a knowing little smile. “Sorry Yur, just thinking about what position I want you in next.” She wiggled her eyebrows, the double entendre bad enough to make me groan even as it made me blush. “Alright, let’s get you comfy. Lay down on the stage.”
I stood from the chair and slid it back before lowering myself to the smooth wood of the little platform. For the first time, I was glad that the stage lights were so warm. Mary pondered me for a moment, opening and closing her mouth a few times, her brow scrunching as she tried to find a way to concisely tell me what she wanted. Finally she huffed and stood up, leaning over me with her hands on her hips. “I’m a painter, not a writer. This would be easier if I just moved you myself. Is it alright if I touch you?”
I thought about it, my heart rate ticking up again. But when I opened my mouth to protest, I found that it really didn’t sound bad, per se, just… intimate. I closed my mouth hesitantly and just nodded.
Clearly pleased with my acquiescence, somehow Mary managed to keep her mouth shut as she knelt next to me. She used my ankle to move one of my legs, bending the knee until my foot was flat on the ground. Then she took my wrists, putting one hand on the thigh of my extended leg and the other on my chest just below my sternum. She tapped the hand on my thigh, “Spread your fingers.”
I did as I was told and she nodded before returning to her seat and retrieving her supplies. Again, we fell quiet as she sketched. I found myself watching her eyes, fascinated by the way the moved mechanically across my body, taking in details and distilling them onto the page.
This time, when she finished her drawing she didn’t ask me to move. Instead, she stood and stepped up onto the stage, sitting in the chair I had vacated so she could look at me from a different angle. “You know, that’s always the annoying thing about figure drawing in class. A good model can be so dynamic, but I only get to draw them from one angle for each pose. Since I have you all to myself tonight, I thought I’d have some fun with it.”
She drew while she talked, and I found it harder to watch her this time. Something about the angle made my spine tingle with restless energy. The way she was perched above me, looking down and capturing me onto her page. I had to resist the urge to squirm, not wanting to ruin her sketch.
“Alright-” she turned the page in her sketchbook before setting it on the chair and kneeling next to me again, “We’re going to start stripping you now.”
“O-okay.” I did squirm at that, the intensity in her eyes making me want to hide, or run, or… something.
“Sit up.” She helped pull me into a sitting position, then lifted my knees to my chest and pushing them to the side, so I was sitting half on my ass and half on my hip, body rotated slightly. I had to use one arm to keep my torso upright, which also had the effect of sticking out my chest a little. “Perfect, now put your other arm across your chest and I’ll unhook you.”
I did as I was told, holding the cups of my bra tightly against my chest as Mary moved behind me and carefully unhooked my bra. She slid her fingers across my back, and I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from gasping. Her fingers sent goosebumps up my spine that were completely unrelated to the temperature of her digits. She lingered there, her hands sliding up to my shoulders as she looked me over. I had to dismiss the idea that she was taking a moment just to feel my skin. She must have been checking to make sure she was happy with the composition.
“Your skin is so soft.” I’ve never been so conflicted about being complimented. “Are you alright? Not going to bail on me?”
“I’m alright.” My voice was significantly steadier that it had any right to be. “Do I look alright?”
She leaned in, lowering her voice to whisper in my ear. “You’re gorgeous, Yuri.”