‘Hey, look at this guy’s stuff.’ Jaswinda handed Claudia her phone. On display on her Instagram feed was the work of an artist. Claudia scrolled through a collection of energetic, free-flowing paintings in ink and watercolour. Plenty of boats and animals and plants and… women. Rather a lot of naked women. Obviously drawn from life but not the stiff poses that seemed common from figure-drawing classes.
The women in the Artist’s work were vibrant and alive. Celebrating their bodies and feminity in active dancing, stretching or natural poses. And, in contrast to the usual ballet-figured models, they were all sizes and ages. Ordinary women elevated to art. ‘What do you think?’ Jas prompted. Claudia nodded, ‘They’re great. I love the way he represents women.’ Jaswinda winked, ‘You think you could do it?’ Claudia stared at her, ‘What do you mean?’ Jas pointed out the text on his biog, ‘Read his blurb, he draws first-timers, he only lives across town. You should do it. Remember you said you’d like to try it.’
Claudia was twenty-five, full-figured with wavey, dark hair that betrayed her Italian heritage. Like Jaswinda, but different, she had been brought up in a strict religious family. The pair had bonded at college over dominating mothers and rubbish boyfriends that lead to similar confidence issues. The comment about posing for an artist had happened after several glasses of wine with other girlfriends three years ago at college. At the end of a another bottle of prosecco, the conversation had turned to body confidence. Their social feeds were filled with perfect bodies but they lamented their own terror of ever being on public view in a bikini.
Yet, Claudia had drunkenly confessed, she had a fantasy of posing for an artist. It sounded exciting and romantic. A long way removed from her dull science degree. And why not? Classical art celebrated her curvy sort of figure.
‘That must have been three years ago! How do you even remember that?’ Claudia said to Jaswinda, handing the phone back. Jas grinned, ‘I’ve never forgotten it. I was so shocked but impressed. I could never do it in a million years. But you are so beautiful. You know you are. Seriously, I think you should do it. What an amazing thing to say you have done! Go on, I dare you!’
It was a warm August day and fluffy white clouds drifted in a pale blue sky as Claudia stepped off the train and began the short walk to the Artists house. He had explained that his studio was actually his large living room in his home. She was rather surprised to find the Artist’s house in a lovely tree-lined street filled with good-sized Edwardian houses. The sort of place where middle class doctors and solicitors raised families. Birds twittered in the neat front gardens and the sound of a school playground filtered across from not far distant. Not the Bohemian surroundings she associated with an artist that specialised in drawing naked women.
She was nervous and felt self-conscious — Convinced that she was broadcasting ‘I’m about to take all my clothes off’ to anyone who looked at her. Did the neighbours know what the Artist did? She imagined a procession of women going to his front door observed through twitching plantation blinds. At the top of the street, an old woman weeding her pots on her front patio gave her a cheery smile as she passed. Was she just friendly or did the woman know why she was here?
There was nothing about Claudia’s appearance to suggest she was doing anything risqué. She wore boots, jeans, a light shirt and a chunky jacket. Underneath, she had thrown on the first pair of clean knickers she found. They were not very sexy and the bra didn’t match. The only clue that anything was unusual about her visit was in her tote bag, where she had a thin silk dressing gown and some slippers, as instructed. Apparently she would need something to wear between poses.
Claudia hesitantly rang the doorbell and waited on the doorstep. The front garden was neat, with modern planting. Energetic butterflies flitted around next door’s buddleia, mirroring the feelings in her stomach. Music played from a window a few doors down. Claudia almost jumped as the Artist opened the door. She recognised him from his website. Grey hair, actually pretty much white, kept short and neat. He was tall, fit, clean-shaven and he had an infectious grin. As a younger man he was probably rather handsome. Now in his late fifties, he was still very presentable. He gave out the natural confidence of someone at ease with himself. He was dressed casual, but neat, in a tee-shirt and loose-fitting shorts and flip flops.
The Artist greeted her warmly shook her hand and led her inside. The house smelled nice, possibly of breakfast of coffee and toast. They went through a hall and into the kitchen where he offered her a hot drink. She gratefully accepted a coffee. While he busied with the kettle and apologised for his lack of coffee-making skills, they made small talk about her journey and the weather. She relaxed a little but, inside, her stomach was still doing backflips as she realised she was really about to do this. In a short time, she going to be entirely naked in front of this complete stranger. She was surprised as the nerves became that an excited thrill that went through her.
“Okay, shall I show you where we are going to work?’ She nodded and followed the Artist through into a large room at the back of the house. It was obviously a living room, but today the furniture was pushed to the sides and various cloths were spread across the floor to protect the carpet. Expansive French windows looked out on to a lovely garden and, in front of them, was a solid stage about thirty centimetres high and the size of a bed. Arranged either side of this were a photographic light and a reflector (‘otherwise all the light comes from behind’, he explained).
In front of the stage was stood an easel. There was no mistaking where she was going to be and where he was going to be.
The room was very warm (‘better I sweat a little than you get cold, he said) and Claudia took off her jacket. He indicated a chair for her clothes, ‘I’ll let you get your robe on and then we can get started.’ and he left. Claudia was relieved. She had not been sure how this bit would work but it was clear he had no interest in seeing her tug off her boots, jeans and mismatched underwear. She did this in haste, unsure how long he would be, and put on her silk robe. It suddenly felt very flimsy and revealing. Her nerves returned in a wave that flushed her from head to foot.
A few minutes went by and she used them to adjust to the thrill of being almost naked in a stranger’s home. Then she remembered with a jolt that she was meant to text Jaswinda to say everything was fine.
Just as she finished that, he knocked on the door and asked if she was ready. He waited for her to say yes and came back in. Like he was a medical professional, he took no notice of her state of undress and just went about preparing some paper on the easel.
He put some music on, some quite modern but gentle R&B, and got behind the easel. ‘Let’s start with some short, simple standing poses. It takes a while for us both warm up. Please don’t be alarmed if my drawings are a bit feeble to start with. I usually need to get my eye in.’
He told her to keep the robe on and stand on the stage with her back to him, then twist from the waist and put her hands on her hips. She did as she was told. It was a relief that she just had to follow instructions, because she had no idea what was expected of her. ‘That’s it, hold it.’ And from behind her she could hear the scratch of compressed charcoal on paper and then the splosh of a brush and wet ink. She held the pose. Rocking with her weight not correct on one leg. She’d get that right next time. ‘Done!’ She was shocked. It could hardly have been five minutes.
The Artist tossed the drawing on the floor so, still standing on the stage, she could see it. Incredibly, in that short time, he had captured her pose perfectly. The drawing was filled with life and energy. She loved it and didn’t know what to say. He clearly took her silence as disappointment, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get better. You look absolutely fantastic by the way. Are you feeling okay?’ She nodded.
‘Listen, anytime it starts to hurt or you don’t feel comfortable, just yell at me. Okay, towards me now, similar twist from the hips, but loosen the robe a little and let one boob out.’ She blinked, there was no going back now.
In any case, she already knew she enjoying this. She found a position. ‘Hmm. Bit more breast on show please. There, you look incredible. That’s wonderful. Bring that foot forward and point your toes. There you go. Hold it there!’ And again the energetic charcoal scratching started.
This time she was facing him and could see him at work. His concentration was total. His eyes would flick towards her then back at the paper then towards his table of inks, holding a brush and a charcoal pencil in his mouth as he sketched out the forms with incredible haste. In no time, another picture was thrown on the floor in front of her. ‘Done! What do you think?’
She studied the picture with delight. The woman in the picture was confident, tall and feminine. Nothing like the gawky girl with the big hips and imperfect breasts she saw in the mirror that morning. And yet… It was clearly her. He hadn’t changed anything, he had just concentrated on different things to the imperfections she obsessed with. ‘That’s what you see?’ ‘Uh-huh. You look amazing, don’t you? I can’t believe you haven’t done this before. You okay with it?’ She nodded. ‘I love it.’ He grinned, ‘Great. I’ve got a good feeling about this.’
The Artist clipped another piece of paper to the easel and sharpened a pencil. ‘Okay, slide the robe down off your shoulders and turn away from me.’ His voice was gentle but assured. It was easy to do as she was told. As he guided her into the poses, she already trusted him to know what would look good and what would be comfortable to hold. For the next pose she was already totally naked. Facing him with her hands on her hips. It felt wonderful. Although he was instructing her, she felt so powerful.
She wasn’t looking directly at him, ‘Fix your eyes on that bookshelf, it will keep the head steady.’, but she could see him out of the corner of her eye. And she could feel when he was concentrating on her legs, her hands, her breasts, her stomach. Another thrill, he when was studying her pussy.
‘Are you going to shave?’ Had been Jaswinda’s first thought after getting over the shock and delight that Claudia was going through with it. ‘Of course!’ Claudia had broken up with her boyfriend a couple of months ago and her pubes were growing back towards their usual thick dark bush, but she had decided it would look more professional and hygenic for the Artist.
Today, standing freshly shaved in front of him as he cast glances to her loins, she realised it left nothing to the imagination. She was grateful her labia didn’t protrude much unless she was highly aroused. When she saw the drawing from this pose, she was relieved to see he only put the faintest of detail in that area.
The time flew by. In between poses, the Artist was good at conversation. He was entertaining with stories from his life, previous careers and other models he had worked with. Some of the stories were very funny and she found herself laughing a lot. He was very easy to talk to and she found herself talking at length about failed relationships, her most recent boyfriend when questioned. She also told him about how Jaswinda had suggested she do this. ‘Good for her,’ He said, ‘And good for me. I’m so glad you took the plunge, you are a natural. It’s a bit strange to start with but fun isn’t it?’ She agreed.
He suggested a break. And it was clear that although he said it was for her, the process of drawing and standing for two hours had been hard work and he needed a rest himself. She put her robe back on and, since it was now well after noon, he offered her a glass of wine. She was happy to take it. It felt wonderfully decadent and yet sophisticated to be sharing a glass of wine with an artist while being naked in his home. Like a scene from a movie or a romantic novel.
While they sipped their wine, she marvelled at how many sketches they had already done. They counted — ten already. He rearranged them on the floor so they could dry and they discussed which ones they like and which ones, his words, were ‘terrible’. They all looked good to her, but he was clearly a harsh critic of his own work.
Claudia took advantage of the break to visit the bathroom upstairs. She put on her dressing gown and slippers and padded out of the room. He had assured her the house was empty, yet it still felt illicit to be wandering around in just her thin silk gown, in a stranger’s house. It was a lovely home. She saw now that the walls in the hall and up the stairs were filled with framed artwork done by the Artist himself. He had explained it wasn’t just to fuel his ego. He invited buyers to view the art and it made a good way to present them. She paused and gazed at a delicate frontal nude in blue wash and pencil. She wondered how it would feel to have one of her own pictures here on the wall for anyone to see and decided it would be wonderful. The style of the pictures was such that even her own mother would probably not recognise her. Thank goodness!
It was cooler upstairs and as she returned from the bathroom, she felt the thin silk of her dressing gown catching on her stiffened nipples. It was a pleasant tingle but she flushed with embarrassment. Would the Artist notice? But, if he did, he made no comment. In fact he hardly glanced at her as she came back in. He just signaled that she should disrobe and they should recommence the work, this time with some lying down poses. She realised she was disappointed. Had she actually wanted him to notice her nipples?
In fact, did she want him to know she was a little aroused? And, a little jolt of shock, did she want to see if he got aroused? Did he ever get turned on by his models? How daring did some of them become after a glass of wine and easy conversation?
As he guided her with his confident voice into new positions, she wondered how far he might ask her to go. And at what point would she say she would stop? The wine and the music and whole situation was combining to make her feel decidedly sexy. Could he he tell? Certainly the next few poses were more revealing. They started with one with her kneeling curled over with her bum towards him. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel his gaze on her ass, and hear the scratches of the charcoal as he sketched out the form of her behind. Pose over, he showed her the pic and she blushed to see her pussy lips just visible in the soft watercolour.
The next pose he instructed her to lie comfortably on her back on a pile of cushions. ‘Close your eyes, just be casual, and natural.’ She lay back and spread her knees apart and gave him an unobstructed to her pussy. It brought a murmour of appreciation from him. ‘Beautiful. Hold that.’ The feeling of abandonment was intoxicating. She loved the lewdness of this pose and the sheer unashamed wantonness of exposing herself so totally to his expert gaze. She knew if he had told her to put a hand between her legs and touch herself while he drew, she would comply. She half-hoped he would demand it, but he didn’t. He used more colours in this piece and the final picture was delicate and beautiful. Sensual, but not lewd.
‘One final one, then we have to stop.’ She was sad to realise the four hours had flown by. ‘Shall we do something more provocative to shock Jaswinda?’ Her eyes were wide. ‘Such as?’ ‘I think it should be something with your incomparable ass.’ She laughed. ‘Okay…’ He instructed her, ‘Turn away from me, kneeling, now weight on one hand, the other hand on your hip. No, more sexy than that, push your ass towards me and spread your knees wider.’ She did as told, aware that as she spread her knees her pussy was again in full view. Her lips felt swollen — could he see that? ‘That’s great, one second, can I adjust your hair?’ She said of course and he stepped forward and gently moved her hair across from one side of her back to the other. He was gentle as he tugged it from behind her ear and kept it away from her neck. She was aware of the sweat on her back from the tension of the pose and the heat of the room. The touch of his fingers was like electricity.
He went back to the easel, but there was no sound of drawing yet from behind her. ‘Hmm. Could you make it more sexy? More provocative?’ She leaned forward on her arm, dipped her spine down more, pushed her hips up and spread her knees as wide as she could. She was now presenting her sex to him as graphically as possible. It generated a gasp of delight from him. She felt incredibly powerful. She could feel the moistness growing in her pussy. She resisted a desire to frig herself in front of him. It would be so very wrong. And she would probably cum in seconds.
‘Hold it there!’ The sounds of energetic scribbling resumed. This pose seemed to be taking longer. She could feel his eyes studying every detail of the curves of her bum and the folds of her shaved pussy. Was he turned on? She couldn’t see behind her. For all she knew, he was stroking his cock looking at her. The thought made her even more excited.
She let out a gasp as the weight on her hand started to hurt. ‘Don’t you dare move, just hold on a few moments more!’ He shouted. ‘I’m nearly done!’ Was he deliberately extending this pose? She did as she was told. There was an exquisite pain to maintaining the pose. Her wrist hurt, the muscles in her thighs began to twitch and ache. She was breathing rapidly. Just at the point where she felt she could hold it no longer, he threw down his pencil. ‘Finished!’
With a thankful gasp, she relaxed. She sat up, massaging the blood back into her wrist. He put the picture down in front of her. ‘I really like this one. What do you think?’ Claudia gazed at the watercolour and charcoal rendering of her rear view. It was an incredibly sexy and provocative pose. It was beautiful but undeniably erotic. ‘I love it.’ She said. She stole a glance at his shorts. Surely there was a bulge there? She couldn’t be sure and he gave her no time to look.
