Julie let her clothes fall into a puddle around her bare feet. Feigning nonchalance, she wandered onto the dull black sheet that covered the art department's graveyard of neglected cameras, burnt-out bulbs, and moth-eaten drapes.
"Is this where you want me?" she asked.
"Just a min-..." The photographer looked up from his camera, but the sight of Julie's naked body made the words catch in his throat. The lights, which he had yet to adjust, bathed her long, pale limbs in a honey glow that radiated from her feet to her tousled, strawberry hair. He couldn't believe this bronzed angel of a girl had agreed to pose for him. It seemed unreal.
"I can put this up, if it'll help," she added, gripping her russet mane and twisting it behind her ears. As she did, her perfect, white breasts lifted and tightened, causing her small, pink nipples to poke out provocatively.
"No! I mean, it's good. Your hair. It'll be good in the pictures."
Julie released her hair and shrugged. "Whatever. Sometimes they don't want the shadows."
The photographer smiled and went back to adjusting his equipment. Julie wandered around the familiar, cramped studio. In her four years at the university, she had become the art department's most popular model. Not that the money was great - it wasn't. In fact, most of the time she worked for free. And it wasn't that she couldn't find other excuses to get publicly naked. Julie chuckled to herself at the memory of last night's impromptu table dance at the Trough, the campus bar.
No, Julie didn't need to model for the department, but she also didn't want to stop. There was something in the way the students examined her that excited her more than anything else she'd ever experienced. The focused detachment. The measured sexuality. The incredible control. It turned her on so much that she'd often have to stash Kleenex nearby and sneak off to wipe away the evidence. Not that it helped much. By the time she got back to her dorm, her panties were always dripping wet. The artists never seemed to notice. She always noticed them, though. Brooding intellectual men with calculating eyes, and bold, unrestrained women with amazing passion and vision. Julie loved them all. Each one ended up in her fantasies, fueling her orgasms as her wet fingers raced around her clit. And this new one - this tall, dark boy with the floppy curls and the shaking hands - well, he was going to make a fine addition to her cast of imaginary artist lovers.
"Okay, I think I'm ready now." His low voice interrupted Julie's naughty thoughts. "If you could just stand in the middle there, I'll adjust the lights around you."
"I know the ropes...oh, I'm sorry. What's your name again?"
"Josh."
"I know the ropes, Josh," she said with a warm smile.
