Sarah found the class deathly boring from the start, pedestrian, gentrified, bougie in the extreme. The best of Chelsea's stay at home mothers came every Thursday to Hurst's studio for a life drawing class. Every week they would take it in turns to be the model, Shock, horror, nudity. They would all titter like schoolgirls as their spray on tans and Turkish made tits were on display. Sarah had wanted to quit, find another class, but she knew if she quit she'd soon sour on the idea of joining up again. Not joining up to a life drawing class would make it difficult to find any life drawing models again. Weeks passed into months of the same old leathery faces, the same inane tittering of the ignorant, bored and affluent. That Thursday she had assured herself it was the last time, she'd simply have to find the practice somewhere else, anywhere else. There had to be another class somewhere in London. Sarah swung open the heavy door to the studio, expecting the normal chirping of the ladies, ambling about before Hurst called them to the centre of the floor and told them which of them was to pose that week. There was, however, no chirping, Sarah scanned a face or two, did she spy unease? There were low whispers, quick whispers, even angry whispers.
"Ladies, to your places please," Came Hurst's familiar Teutonic accent, "We're about to begin."
Sarah began to turn and the reason for the unease became apparent immediately. A man stood, already in position, setting up his easel facing the point on which the model was to pose.
The Essex football mothers shifted forwards slowly, whispering amongst themselves the whole time. Their unease was delicious, their lack of understand was infuriating, pathetic.
The leader of the gaggle whispered to the Tutor, the old man shook his head, unkempt hair wagged, incredulous. He tried to explain, she whispered again, a look of worry mixed with credulity lined his face. She was trying to get out of it. Sarah had to suppress a laugh. There was a man there and she was suddenly too shy.
It came to her all at once, Sarah edged a little closer to the gaggle, entering herself into the conversation. "Excuse me, is there a problem?" She said.
The assertive middle class woman replied before the embattled tutor could make a peep, "Of course there is, do you see him there? I thought this was a women only class, I was led to believe-" Sarah cut her off.
"It doesn't say that anywhere, this is a life drawing class, it just didn't happen to have any men in it."
"Well, that wasn't made clear, I just, how do I explain to my husband that I took my clothes off in front of another man?"
The skin-crawling unease was too good, Sarah noticed the old Tutor was silent, looking at her expectantly, she knew what she had to do.
An idea sprang to mind, Sarah would have liked to suppress it, but the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
"I'll pose."
Every head turned, cocked, smirking, judging. "Ignorant wannabees", She thought, "I'll show them how easy it is."
The old German Tutor cleaned his glasses and, coughed to gain the room again, and said, "This would be perfectly fine, if ze others are happy wiz it."
A gentle bustle was underway, The Essex football mums had already begun towards their seats, some waddling, some strutting. Sarah let her backpack fall quietly to the ground and, with a practised nonchalance, removed her t shirt, trainers, and jeans. She cursed herself quietly for doing this because she'd actually wanted to draw, it wasn't her turn, and it did leave that old bat off the hook. She knew it was too late now, there was no backing out. She stepped out of her panties, eyes followed her as she did so, and un-clipped her bra in the same manner you'd slip off a seat belt, placing it on the small pile of discarded clothes on her chair.
Sarah was good at acting, creatives often are, but she couldn't quite get over the fact that she was feeling the need to act more unaffected by this than she was. Was the fact of a man being here actually making her feel this way? She assumed the position on the central chair, facing towards the easels, after a moment the air was filled with the quiet, calming noise of graphite dragged across drawing paper. The doors were quietly locked and the studio took on the quality of being it's own world, hermetically sealed from everything going on outside. It was a cool summer day, those in the room that were clothed requested that the fan was turned on. Sarah noticed that the fans breath gently kissing her pink nipples made them erect, she'd always had sensitive nipples.
Sarah let her mind wander and the breeze caressed her skin. The thoughts turned dirty, as they often will, recent conquests. She tried to tease a boy, putting his tip in and taking it out, grinding it along her softness. This boy grabbed her hips and forced her down, flipped the script, made her his. Not so much artistry in his delivery, but passion and force. She'd masturbated thinking about him many times in the weeks since they'd fucked...
A car horn woke her, reality rushed in. Sarah checked the room anxiously, as if what she was thinking about was written on her face or projected onto the wall for everyone to see. There was no discernible change in the room, people working at their pages, scratching away at the sketches of her nude body. It was then Sarah recalled why she was up there, because there was a new face in the room, a new male face. He was off to her right she knew, she wanted to look at him. Slowly, over the course of about half a minute, she moved her head little by little until she could perceive him in her peripheral vision.
The first thing that struck her was his eyes, piercing, intense, cobalt blue orbs that until now had been digging into her without her knowledge. He was tall and roughly handsome. Broad shoulders spread easily beyond the width of the chair, and the and the vest he was wearing showed them off well. He was a little older than her and his long hair, tied back, showed a smattering of grey. She guessed he was in his early forties.
He was intent and serious while the others were all smiles and giggles. Sarah looked into his eyes, trying to catch them, maybe vamp for him. The thought was delicious, he was dead set, adamant, his eyes stayed on her body as he worked.
Sarah burned beneath his stare, her cheeks turn red, she hoped her tan covered it. Her breathing shallowed and quickened slightly. Ever so slightly but no hiding that on her bare chest in front of twenty strangers. She felt like Salome, Isabella de Luna, maybe Madame du Barry, she felt like a great whore in his sight. The stifling film of professionalism curled and peeled around them as quickly summer snow in the mountains of Sierra de Guadarrama, melting as Maria and Robert fucked for their lives.
She wanted to get out from in front of these fools and fuck this man's brains out. Yes, nudity in the pursuit of art is not something to be sniggered at like schoolgirls, but art was life and my God, life is fucking horny. She imagined him in her cunt, the smell of him, him kissing her neck as he thrust inside her.
"Uh, my darling?" Came the old German's voice