Candice dropped Camilla off a few blocks away from
Luvlee's
. Camilla put her clothes on
after
she got out of the car: wanting to stay publicly nude for as long as possible, she first put on her socks and shoes, then her panties, and finally her dress; a few passersby appreciated what they saw, and clapped for her. Candice said good-bye and drove off--she would come by
Luvlee's
later to ask for a job after shopping for some sexy clothing.
As Camilla was walking toward
Luvlee's
, she went by an artist's shop and studio--
Carl's Erotic Art
. She looked in the window and admired the paintings she saw; she decided to go in and look around.
Inside, she marvelled at the tight, precise technique of the artist, and the pictures' almost photographic realism, the flawless use of light and shading. There were paintings in oil, and drawings in pencil and charcoal; their sophistication made her own quite promising efforts in Langella's art class seem like a kindergarten student's crayon drawings in comparison. Best of all, true to the store's name, the pictures were all erotic art: nude studies of a beautiful brunette, boldly posed in many ways to display her vulva and anus in the most frank and blunt manner possible. In Camilla's estimation, the artist was a genius--her very definition of sexy. Judging by the name of the shop--she naturally assumed the artist was a man; for all of the pictures were clearly done in the same style; Carl didn't seem to be merely a collector of many artists' work. She began to imagine how exciting it would be to pose nude for him--she hoped he was good-looking, and of her preferred age range.
Nobody was in the front of the store, but she could hear sounds from a room in the back. She went to a door leading there, and saw a sign on it: PLEASE KNOCK AND ASK PERMISSION BEFORE ENTERING. She knocked.
"Open the door a little so I can see you," a man from inside the room said. She opened the door and saw a seated painter at his easel: a big, strong man with scruffy dark brown hair that went down no further than the bottom of his neck. He had piercing brown eyes, and rugged good looks. He must have been at least six foot five in height, probably taller, to Camilla's eyes--he was a giant. In his late thirties, he wore a light brown T-shirt and blue jeans, both stained somewhat with paint. Awed by his size and talent, she knew she wanted him. "What can I help you with?" he asked.
"Are you Carl, sir--the artist?" she timidly asked.
"Yes, of course," he said. "Do you want to come in?"
"Who is it?" an unseen woman in the room asked Carl, her voice coming from the right side of the room, from Camilla's perspective.
"Some girl," he said. "A teenager, by the looks of her. Are you alone? No boys with you?"
"Yes--I mean no--I mean, yes, I'm alone; and no, no boys with me," she stammered.
"OK, you can come in," the woman said. "But close the door behind you."
Camilla came in and saw a nude woman posing for Carl with her legs spread wide open to display her chocolaty vulva and caramel anus. "Oh, excuse me, Miss," Camilla said, reluctantly covering her eyes. It was obvious that the model was the lovely brunette in all the pictures at the front of the shop. Thin, her breasts were average-sized, but firm and well-proportioned; her pubic hair was trimmed, and her whole body was tanned. She looked like one of those ravishing beauties one sees on websites like
The Met Art
.
"Oh, I think it's OK if you look," the model said with a smile. Camilla was gratified to hear that, because both the man and the woman were getting Camilla wet with excitement. She timidly walked over to Carl, her breathing getting heavier and heavier with each passing second. His painting was half finished, but clearly already showing his brilliant talent.
"Wow, sir," Camilla sighed with amazement. "You are such a great artist. A real master."
"Thank you, sweetie," he said as he daubed some darker paint on the canvas. "I don't know if 'master' is the apt word--"
"Oh, it
is
," Camilla insisted, panting. "You're incredible. I'm not just flattering you. I'm really impressed." She touched herself between the legs, but from behind, hoping (in vain) that Carl and his model wouldn't notice how aroused she was. Then she got up close to his ear and whispered, "Are you gay?"
"No, of course not," he said, taken aback by such an abrupt question. "What makes you think I'm gay?"
"Well, your model has such a beautiful body, with her pussy showing like that," she explained in whispers. "Only a gay man wouldn't be turned on by her nakedness. You must be really excited."
"No, not at all," he said, annoyed with her brusque comments.
