In the Name of Art

I’d taken a position at a private school to do some nude modeling for their sculpting and drawing classes. I’m an aspiring writer and thought I could handle it as I do with writing—by allowing myself to be taken away, to pretend I was someone confident and assured. I needed the money and, as it was an all-girl’s school, I didn’t think it would be so difficult.

So it was with slight trepidation I turned up for my first session. I’d been to some classes over the break and watched other models; I’d practiced by sitting naked in front of my mirror, even took to walking around the house nude to lose some of my inhibitions. I even had one of my girlfriends over, asked her to study me like a student would. I did find it slightly unnerving as she sketched me but knew this was something I’d have to overcome.

I was in awe of my surroundings, the school being in an exclusive area. Mothers dropping off their children did so by driving Jags, Porsches, and BMWs. You could almost smell money and the girls had an air of confidence about them.

I entered the room wearing a robe. I’d almost died earlier, before class, when I was introduced to the teacher only to discover he was male. I hadn’t been expecting him, as I’d been informed I’d be working for a Professor O’Connell and assumed she would be female as this school was not co-ed

Anyway, Brad the Professor introduced me by first name only to the class and, to be honest, I was surprised at how little interest they seemed to have in me. They glanced at me quickly, their focus back on everything Brad said. I was a bit put out by this but tried to keep my composure. He was supposed to be one of the best, and as they watched him, I studied them.

There was only one student who kept glancing at me. She was very attractive, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her shirt open slightly more than the others, exposing her uplifted cleavage, a pencil poised in her partly open mouth. She, I thought, would have made a better model than me, and as she scrutinized me further, I instinctively made to pull my robe tighter. But I remembered I’d be completely nude shortly, so instead I focused on a crack in the wall behind her.

“Are there any questions?” Brad asked the class.

None were forthcoming.

“Right, well, you’ll remember my instructions on how to begin and I’ll ask our model to remove her robe and take up her position.”

Finally, the time came for me to disrobe. Acting indifferently, as though I’d done this a thousand times before, I dropped my robe on a nearby chair and took up the position on the raised platform we’d discussed earlier.

I was to sit on a table, my knees up, one elbow resting on my knee with the palm of my hand on my cheek as though in deep thought. Getting up on the table was a bit daunting—I tried hard not to look clumsy and oafish—but a quick look about the room and I noticed most of the students were checking out their easels and paying no attention to me.

Except that one woman who watched my every move.

I must admit, having her eye me gave me a bit of a thrill. I hoped there would be others giving me their full attention, but for the moment, her acknowledgement was something. I could feel my pussy getting wet just thinking about her gaze on my naked flesh. Once in I was in position, Brad discussed points of concern on which the students should focus, and then it was all business.

To be honest, it was harder than I thought it would be. Once I got used to being stared at, I found it difficult not to move. In the end my butt hurt like hell and my neck was stiff. It was amazing how many times I wanted to scratch an itch and stifle a cough. Fortunately it was only an hour sitting and, before long, the students were making their way out the doors, the easels and equipment left in place for the next day’s session.

Brad helped me off the table, and as the last of the students closed the door, he asked, “How’d you handle it, being your first time and all?”

“Okay,” I said shyly, feeling uncomfortable being in such close proximity to him.

He made no move to hand me my robe and I wasn’t sure whether or not to make a grab for it—after all, I’d been naked for an hour already, so what did it matter that we were chatting and I was still naked?

“You’ve got a great body,” he said, eyeing me.