"Wanted: Men over 18 to pose for charcoal that will be used as potential novel cover art. Must be muscular but not overly so. Think Brad Pitt in Fight Club. Some body hair ok, but not to Robin Williams level. Must be willing to pose nude in the woods at night. Fee to be discussed based on time needed for completion of project. If interested, call R. L. at..."
The flyer caught Mark's eye as he was changing shoes. He read as he put his running shoes into his backpack. (Sounds interesting) he thought. He noticed that none of the little slips of paper had been torn off yet. Looking around the gym he surreptitiously tore a slip off and tucked it into his pocket.
He'd seen the person tacking the note to the bulletin board. The man had been furtive, as if he didn't want to be seen placing the ad. (Nude at night, I'd be fuckin' nervous too! These guys might kill him. They still might if they call and get Ryan...) Mark had seen the man's reflection in the mirrored wall as he had left and realized that the R. from the note was a familiar face.
Ryan was a regular, same as Mark. They were often at the gym at the same time, though they'd rarely spoken besides to ask if the other was off a machine, and once Ryan had offered to spot for him when he was working with the weights. (I didn't know Ryan was an artist. Wonder why the forest at night though? That's kinda creepy. The nude part _is_ creepy.) He tore the note down, crumpled it and threw it into the trash where the paper towels from cleaning the sweat off of machines were thrown. (Nobody will see it there. And he won't get the shit beat out of him.)
Mark was five-eight and a lithe 22 years old. He had muscular shoulders that tapered in to his trim waist, and developed arms and back muscles from swimming. Taut calves and strong thighs came from running miles each day. His abs were finely outlined and the small line of hair that pointed the way to his groin was stark against his pale skin. His hair was long on top, falling into his eyes, though the sides were short. Mark smiled as he imagined himself on a book cover, and wondered if Ryan would change his eye color from hazel to blue if he asked.
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Ryan had taken the phone call and set up the time. Friday night was nearing the full moon and he was anxious to get the basics of the lighting detail that he wanted. It didn't really matter who the subject was, as long as the basic body type worked so he could get the definition dictated by the description he was given.
He had given the man on the phone directions and the time to be there, but he was afraid his subject would cancel without telling him. There had been only one response to his notice, and when he went to check the board the paper was gone. He couldn't work up the courage to post another one, so he had waited and hoped.
The modeling session would be done in a clearing behind his camper. He had bought the land years ago but done nothing with it so had set up an RV and called it home and studio. The -work- would be done in the studio that was set up in the former kitchen area of the vehicle. He was hopeful; the man on the phone had been nervous, questioning, but willing once he found out the the nudity only went as far as what he had called 'the ridge' between hips and lower stomach.
Gravel crunched and he looked up to see that his guest had arrived. Ryan pulled his canvas, charcoal pencils, and digital camera off the table and went out to meet his subject.
"Hi, I'm Ryan." He extended his hand.
"Mark." The voice was soft, almost scared. Ryan looked down at Mark from his six-two height. (Can there possibly be musculature beneath the oversized sweats? This guy might be wasting our time.)
He realized he was probably intimidating his guest so he slouched just a bit and said, "So, we can talk for a little bit, get you up to speed on what I'm working on, who I am, what have you. Or we can head off and get started so as not to waste moonlight. Your call."
"I know who you are," came the soft voice. "You've spotted for me. We're at the gym a lot at the same time." He looked up and the light from Ryan's RV caught his face. Ryan grinned at the familiar features and a thrill ran through him when he realized that there really -was- a hard body under the clothes.
"Oh, hi! I didn't recognize you out of context. You know how it is." His voice was apologetic and he ran a hand through his short blonde spikes. "So, uh, should we go then?" At the nod, Ryan started off to the side of the RV. "I've got most of my stuff ready in the clearing up ahead here." He motioned with the camera and canvas. "We'll start with upper body... I need some pictures for later reference and I'd like to get those first."
Mark followed carefully, making affirmative noises when Ryan paused. He was getting more and more nervous.
"Hey, I uh..." He faltered when Ryan turned to look at him expectantly. Ryan's eyes were black in the moon light and his smile flashed bright. He was buff, built more solidly than Mark, and his arms in the black tank top rippled as he shifted his supplies. "I uh, brought some wine with me. I might need to be buzzed to do this..."
Ryan laughed. "Wine? What is this, a bacchanal?"
(A what?) "Uh, no, but it's all I had in the place and I didn't want to make a stop or I might have turned around and gone home." Mark was embarrassed and grateful that the shadows of the trees would hide his burning face as they walked.
"Whatever floats your boat I guess," Ryan shrugged. They walked in silence until the lights from the camper were lost in the trees. "Clearing's just ahead."
As they got nearer, Mark could see the set up. In the middle of a the treeless space stood a chair, small TV tray table, and an empty easel. There was a desk lamp attached to the easel and the cord stretched to a tiny power generator. Ryan got to it first and set up the canvas and spread his supplies and camera on the table.
