took up a job nude modeling at the local art college. exhilerating it was. the first few times i unveiled, my fleshy creavaces slid against each other, lubricated with nerves.
extra cash was needed, times were hard, christmas was coming. and i liked it.
a few meak words of encouragement after the session from foundation students who saw my shaking. excitement and freedom, a little fear of opinion, but i am an artist and i know of the unspoken respect and appreciation shared throughout the artists alike. no worries.
a few sessions passed with the figure drawing class, dylan approached me, confident. dylan was a girl who wanted to talk business, beautiful long charcoal hair, olive skin, and jade eyes.
her offer was fifty bones to let her paint on my body and take pictures, three hours work tops.
i loved her old school methods and vintage rings. my gay-dar was poorly developped, but when she bit her bottom lip, i knew.
i unraveled the restricting wrap nesting my torso, and took her direction, lifted arms tilted head closed eyes. then she dipped her fingers in some gouache and touched me. i was her raw canvas. i was her muse. i was hers.