Art Project
6
Police Artist
“LOOK AT THEM,” Kendra whispered. I was aware of her sitting with Morgan. We’d had an exhausting day. I couldn’t believe Kendra was still awake after posing so long. But after dinner, she’d grabbed her lump of clay and followed us upstairs. Annette grabbed a book and curled up on the sofa. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I was too tired to paint. I sat next to Annette and leaned on her. She petted my hair while she read and I just listened to Kendra and Morgan. “What do you see?” Kendra asked.
“My lovers,” Morgan answered.
“Look deeper,” Kendra said. “What is the dominant thing? Do they glow?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Describe it for me, Morgan. I can’t see it. I need to use your eyes.”
“Oh. Wow. I’ve never done this. We don’t even talk about it except I sometimes talk to Mom. Let’s see,” Morgan said. So, she did see the auras. Sometimes I thought I did, but it was fleeting. She went on. “It changes when they are in different positions. Right now, it’s really bright where Annette is petting Arthur’s head. I mean, they are touching in lots of places, but that is where the aura is focused,” Morgan said. Kendra looked at us and then turned her chair around to face away. She focused on what Morgan was saying. That was good, because neither Annette nor I could hold a pose like Kendra could. We constantly shifted a little to get more comfortable. I kissed her shoulder. She moved to kiss the top of my head. She turned a page.
“When you look at it, how is the hand on his hair shaped? Do you see her distinct fingers?” Kendra asked.
“Um… not exactly. If I focus on them I can, but what I really see is the hand and the hair kind of becoming one. It’s almost like the hair grows from her fingers and then into his head. Or the other way around. It flows both ways. Like they merge together at that point, but not grossly. Her hand isn’t in his head or something.”
“You said they glow. Is it the same kind of glow that a lightbulb gives?”
“No. If we turned the light off, I think I’d still see them glowing there, but it wouldn’t light up the room. It’s more like little tendrils of phosphorescence continue the hair out away from his head and between her fingers.”
“You mean the glow isn’t uniform in size and shape?”
“Oh no. It shifts. Auras aren’t static. They move and respond to each other independent of how the physical body is moving. When she kissed his head, there was a bright flash where her lips touched, but it faded quickly. Where her fingers continue to stroke his hair, though, it’s almost like sparks are shooting off, only they are still connected.”
“Wow. Lean over my shoulder and point out things that should be different.”
I understood some of what Morgan was saying. I didn’t really see an aura around people, but I knew there were times when I couldn’t paint things… flat. Before I actually saw Annette’s breasts or especially her sex, I just saw an explosion of color there when I painted. I still see that, but now I can see the physical shape and I know the texture and the taste and the scent. Paintings that include their sex, though, still tend to be brightly colored in those areas. And I don’t even see auras like Morgan and Mom do.
“Mmm. Yeah. It’s not like a single row of fibers. It’s more like a little forest. It goes all the way back to… about here.”
“What about forward?”
“Just to the shape of her hand and her thumb.” Morgan continued to guide Kendra while Annette held me and read. Somewhere along the line, I fell asleep.
“I think I need to go back to campus today,” Kendra said at breakfast on Sunday. “I need more clay to keep working this. I think I have the general idea.” She brought out the little model she’d made the day before based on Morgan’s descriptions.
“Oh, isn’t that nice,” Mom said. “Annette petting Arthur’s hair. It’s a favorite position of theirs.” We all put our spoons down and stared at Mom. I looked at the lump of clay Kendra had worked on and it looked like some kind of hedgehog perched on a head.
“Mom?” Annette said. “Really?”
“What? I’ve seen you often enough in that position. I should know. This area always glows yellow, but I suppose you can’t show the color when you are working with gray clay.”
“But…”
“So, that’s what you see?” Dad said. “I always wished I could experience it.”
“Well, the color and brightness aren’t there. It’s nice to see a portrait, though, that shows what they really…” Mom said. Her face suddenly looked stricken. “Like they really… look.” She started hyperventilating. “Oh, dear.” Dad caught her as she fainted.
“I don’t think Mom has ever seen anything she recognized before,” Morgan whispered. “Can you imagine how hard it must be to live in her world?”
“But you live there, Fay,” Lady said. After the episode in the morning, Mom had gone back to bed and Annette had taken a very shaken Kendra back to campus by way of the art supply store. “Do you only recognize us by our auras?”
“Oh no, love. I see every luscious curve of your body in living 3D,” Fay laughed. “I thought Mom saw like I do. See this… spectacular fourth dimension that adds light, not only around you, but in you.”
“But poor Mom!” Annette said. “That’s why she needs dark glasses so often. You mean her eyes only record the fourth dimension?”
“We talked while you took Kendra back to campus,” Fay said. She looked puzzled as she sorted out the words. “Looking at Kendra’s clay model was like suddenly not being alone. She sees inanimate objects like the model. And photos. I think it’s why we have so many albums. It’s how she has learned to see us as other people see us. It’s how she learned what we look like. I mean to the rest of the world. She just doesn’t see us like we see us. We need to talk to Gramma.”
“That’s why you’ve never needed dark glasses,” I ventured, having spent some time putting together the words. “The aura doesn’t overwhelm everything else. You see both worlds.”
“I certainly got a super helping of aura sensitivity,” Fay said. “But I think you’re right. I can focus on an aura like I was doing when I described it to Kendra, but I see through it and as a result, the brightness is muted. Like when Pen drew your nipple.”
“What do you mean?”
“Among the three of us, and between Mom and Dad, there is an interaction of our auras. Do you remember what it felt like when Pen was drawing the first time?”
“At first, I was just a little embarrassed,” Lady said. “Believe me sweetheart, I love showing you my breasts,” she giggled kissing me. “But I’ve never been… um… examined so thoroughly. It was like you weren’t just looking at my breast and drawing my nipple, but you were looking right inside it. The longer you looked at me, the more sensitive my nipple became. I thought I was just fantasizing. I could feel you kiss and caress it. It started tingling and I could feel you touching me, even though you never got closer than a few inches.”
“What I saw was your auras reaching out to each other,” Fay said. “Little tendrils were touching and kissing. It’s hard to see my own, but I could feel it when Pen did my sketches.”
“Wow. Um…” I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask the next question. “Kendra?”
“Yeah. Her, too. It was no accident that she needed to go put her hands in her clay. Or something.” We all laughed about that. If it was anything like my experience, being talked through a wet dream by Annette and Morgan, then I knew Kendra’s hands had been in the ‘or something’ part of that sentence.
“You need to work with Kendra more,” Annette said to Fay. “She’s the only one who’s ever modeled an aura like you see, as far as I know.”
“I’ll help her, but I need to get a bigger vocabulary to describe things. It seemed like saying ‘thinner’ or ‘longer’ just didn’t give her enough hints.”
“I’ll work with you on that,” Annette said. “I’ve got ideas for some other experiments, too, but right now, I’ve got a real itch that I’d like one or more of my lovers to soothe.”
Final exams in art school are a little different than in liberal arts. Which meant that I had a final for my Liberal Arts Seminar and one for Art History. There was no tricky final in Freshman Studio, and in Drawing Studio we just had to turn in our sketchbooks. For Writing Roundtable, we had a final essay that was to encapsulate our key learning experiences over the first semester. I worked hard on it and Annette edited it for me. I was sure I did well. Annette thought so.
It was Drawing Studio I was worried about. It’s not that I was worried about the quality of my drawings or having fulfilled the assignment; it was the subject matter. We’d been assigned to make at least one drawing each day of a single subject. I had plenty of drawings. But they were all of nipples. Annette’s, Morgan’s, Kendra’s, and I’d even drawn mine a few times trying to get the difference between how my chest looked and theirs.
Aside from the fact that theirs sat on lovely soft mounds, the nipples and areolae were different. Mine were smaller and maybe darker. There was certainly more contrast between the dark area and my skin. It seemed I had fewer sulci than the girls and my nipples never shrank down to nothing. At different times, I’d seen all three girls when their nipples were almost completely flat against the areolae. And in spite of the fact that my nipples were sensitive and I liked having them tongued as much as Annette liked hers, they never got significantly bigger.
After Thanksgiving, Kendra invited me to her room after class and immediately stripped off her shirt so I could draw her again from a different angle. It would only take about fifteen minutes and she’d pull her shirt on again and if we had any assignments we could work on together, we did. If we didn’t, I’d rush over to the cafeteria where Annette and I would work on our writing assignments until she had to go to her late class and Morgan arrived from her last class so we could go home.
The upshot was that I had four sketchbooks filled with nipples.
“Very interesting, Arthur,” Dr. Robinson said when she reviewed my portfolio. “These are, of course, four different subjects and you were to draw the same one daily.”
“This one was the first day and there is at least one for every day after. I started this one the second day and there is one every day,” I said pointing to the sketchbooks of Annette and then Morgan. “Um… I only started this one at Thanksgiving and can’t do her every day.”
“And the fourth?”
“Uh… that’s me. I didn’t think to start that until a week or two later.”
“I know you have a little difficulty verbalizing your thoughts. You’re doing well, Arthur. This is a critique and evaluation from a classroom perspective, but feel free to offer comments if you feel I have missed something. Fair enough?” I nodded. Dr. Robinson was a good teacher and I felt like I learned things in her drawing class. Technically, it wasn’t figure drawing, but I thought I had done the assignment. “Let’s look at a comparison between the first drawing of subject one and the last. Your first drawing was good. You are very accomplished at the basics of drawing. It is technical and shows your power of observation. It could almost be a medical textbook drawing. You captured things here that casual observers—and dare I say even passionate observers—miss. You focused on drawing every detail in great magnification. I hope it was magnified. If not, I don’t want to meet your model! But look where you are now. The detailed lines of the texture began to disappear as you took in the overall effect of that texture. I would have to say that, by comparison, the later drawings are less technically accurate than the early ones, but you have begun to capture something more. You have started to draw with emotional impact, not just technical accuracy. Do you see the difference?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said. I could see the difference and found myself struggling to get the intense detail that I had in the first few drawings. I was afraid I was failing.
“This is where a technical drawing changes into an artistic drawing. From a technical perspective, I dare say we could compare your early drawings favorably to a photograph. But where this one has greater accuracy, the latter one has greater emotional impact,” she said. “You can see the same progress in the second subject. In a similar timeframe. I’ll skip to the fourth, your self-portrait. Notice that it continues to be highly technical through all the drawings. It never progresses to emotional involvement. But the third—your part time subject that you acquired at Thanksgiving—the change from extremely technical to highly artistic took place over less than two weeks. In fact, I can see it in the progress after just one week.”
“Is that good?” I asked. I wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but I could see the difference in the progression of the drawings of Kendra compared to Annette and Morgan.
“Yes. It is the essence of what this exercise has been about. You acquired the skill to see and capture the technical details rapidly and then moved on to the essence of the subject. There is no question that the four latest drawings are of different subjects, but three of them are works of art that capture more than the texture or details of the subject. Don’t despair about the fourth. We have over fifty self-portraits of Rembrandt and none of them approach the artistry of his other subjects, though all are technical masterpieces.”
“Thank you?”
“I hear the doubt in your voice, Arthur. You are welcome. And I encourage you to continue this exercise. If you can get more models, do the same and discover how your artistry progresses. I will even suggest that a couple contact you. Next term, you will capture them in paint, but you must continue to practice the basics with pencil and paper, even as you apply color and texture.”
I guess my project was okay. I got an A for the class.
“All I’m suggesting is that, since you live in town and will be available all through the semester break, you pose for Arthur and let him do a daily drawing of your right nipple,” Kendra said. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Susan was in our Lib Arts class and was seriously cute. She also often wore… provocative clothing. She liked to show off her body, but in a different way than what Kendra did. It was really nice to look at, and I’d sketched her in class a number of times.
“Yeah, sure,” Susan laughed. “I don’t mind showing. If it gets his rocks off, I’m good with that.”
“But… no… I don’t…” What did she mean?
“Susan, you have to understand that Arthur is serious about this. He doesn’t do it to get his jollies.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to diss you, Art. It’s just such a bizarre subject. What inspired you to draw girl’s nipples?” Susan asked.
“Girlfriends.”
“Oh, yeah. Two of them, right? And Kendra?”
“My friend.”
“Do I get to meet these women?”
“That’s what we’re doing now,” Kendra answered. “It’s why I asked you to walk to lunch with us. Here they are.” By the time Kendra finished speaking, Annette and Morgan had both spotted us and I ran off to get a hug and kiss from each of them.
“Damn! He really does have two girlfriends,” Susan said.
“And they’ll both be present when you take your shirt off for him to draw, so don’t be imagining it will be anything but art,” Kendra said. “Annette and Morgan, I’d like you to meet Susan. She’s in our Lib Arts class and I think I’ve talked her into being a nipple model for Arthur over the break. I knew you’d want to meet her.”
“Hi, Susan. Aren’t you in my poetry survey class?” Annette said. I noticed she often took the lead when we were in a group setting. Morgan was right there to back her up, but Annette controlled the conversation.
“I thought I recognized you,” Susan said.
“Grab your lunch and sit with us so we can get to know you.”
“So, um… you’re really Art’s girlfriends and live together?” Susan asked as we got seated with our lunches.
“Yes. I’m still not certain if I should be proud of him for that paper or upset that he wrote about us,” Morgan said. She leaned over and kissed me to take the sting out of her words. I was really worried that I’d betrayed our trust when Professor Denham started reading that paper to other classes. Most people still didn’t know it was me. And most who did, thought that was the lie, though many couldn’t believe I’d been on detention for most of a year, and those I had class with couldn’t imagine me presenting a seminar at Idyllwild.
“I’ve been working on Susan to do a modeling stream for Arthur’s project over the holiday break,” Kendra said.
“Why Susan, Kendra?” Annette asked. “She’s a lit major.”
“Ye-es. That’s part of why. She doesn’t have to see all the art geeks every day.” Kendra glanced at Susan and our guest rolled her eyes. “And Susan’s kind of an exhibitionist. I thought this would give her an opportunity to do it intentionally to see how she liked it. And I’d like to do a couple clay molds with Morgan’s assistance to see if we can tell the difference the drawing instructor saw in the drawings. What do you say?”
“Is it safe? I mean, Kendra said I’d need to come to your house,” Susan said. We all chuckled at that, but it was obvious she was serious.
“Let me ask a question of you,” Annette said. “What do you think of Professor Étrange?”
“That’s kind of off the wall. I’m not really into the dead poetry thing, but I like him. He always seems to have a way of putting the poems we’re studying into a context that is relevant. Besides, he’s pretty dreamy, isn’t he?”
“He’s our dad,” Morgan said. Susan dropped her fork. She turned and looked at me.
“Nobody ever says your last name, do they?” she asked. I shook my head. “That’s why. So, you all live with the professor?”
“We have a suite that includes our bedroom, a bath across the hall, and a studio/study room where we do our projects,” Annette said. “We share meals with Mom and Dad and, of course, have run of the whole house. We aren’t confined to our little suite. You’ll meet them and probably have at least one meal with us if you agree.”
“Will… um… Prof see me? Um… you know…” It was hard to tell if she was worried or hopeful.
“There’s always the possibility of running into someone, like if you run across the hall to the bathroom without dressing. But no one in our household is a voyeur and if you intentionally expose yourself to Professor Étrange, his wife might have words with you. And she will know,” Morgan said.
“Okay.”
We decided to have the first modeling session on Friday evening after the last class of the day. For Annette and Susan, that was Dad’s poetry survey class. Dad laughed at the idea that there would be a class at 4:00 p.m. on Friday before break and canceled it, so we were all at the house by two. Kendra was staying the night and flying back East on Saturday morning.
Susan often wore blouses with plunging necklines to class, jeans with a tear across her butt cheek, short skirts, bare midriffs, and sometimes loose clothes that just gapped intriguingly. I was pretty sure I’d seen the nipple I was going to draw in Lib Arts and even had a classroom sketch of her shirt gapping open. She was an exhibitionist.
We’d set up the studio so that both Kendra and I could work with a single model. After Kendra, we’d agreed that there would be no more models in our bed. Kendra had been an exception and we decided we didn’t want to invite a string of models to sit on our bed. Instead we went to Goodwill and found a pair of comfortable bar stools. A model could sit on one and Annette or Morgan could occupy the other to talk to her so she didn’t get bored. I was only drawing her breast, so she could carry on a conversation with no problem. I had a rolling stool that I used to move around. For this exercise, Morgan had cleared her desk so Kendra could work on a lump of clay as Morgan described what she saw. They were far enough away that the model wouldn’t be caught in their conversation.
Susan walked into the room after the requisite introductions and quickly glanced around.
“I sit here?” she asked. I nodded. She whipped her shirt off and spread it on the stool, then peeled out of her jeans before we could grasp the fact that she was nude. She hopped up on the stool and settled herself.
“Um… just um… topless,” I stammered.
“You really are an exhibitionist,” Kendra howled. Annette was laughing and almost lost her perch on the other stool.
“I’m going to put ‘nude model’ on my resume,” Susan said. “I want the full experience.”
“I’m not sure what you think the full experience is going to be,” Annette laughed, “but if you’re comfortable just sit up straight. Try not to move your torso around much and keep your right arm back a little so you don’t obstruct Art’s view of the subject. Aside from that, ignore the artists, relax and let’s talk about what you plan to do with your degree. Why do you hate poetry?”
“Oh, I don’t hate it. I want to be a poet,” Susan began. “But I don’t like the approach of a unified interpretation. If you take any string of words…”
The girls were off and talking and I tuned them out as I focused on Susan’s right nipple. It was nice. I mean… All breasts are nice, aren’t they? Getting to really study the breast of a girl who has been teasing with it for a few months, though, was more interesting. The areola was a bit bigger than those of my other models and the nipple spread out farther, but wasn’t as tall. I shifted a little to start a new drawing more directly head on and she raised her hand to brush her breast and stroke her nipple with her thumb.
As the girls continued to talk about poetry and Morgan and Kendra worked on a clay model, I noticed that Susan periodically stroked her breast and even pinched her nipple once or twice. It was almost like an unconscious move on her part and I tried to remember if I’d seen her do it in class. I was certain I had.
“Um… Susan? Why do you keep stroking your breast?” I asked. Annette almost choked and I could hear Morgan and Kendra giggling behind me.
“Oh… well… I mean…” Susan took a deep breath. “You invited me to be a nipple model. And… um… my nipples tend to go flat… you know… if I don’t stimulate them a little. I know boys like hard nipples. You know?”
“Um… I’m not a boy. I’m an artist. You don’t have to make it hard.”
“Really?” She turned to look at me. I liked the new position of her breast and started drawing immediately. I saw the nipple gradually deflate, but from this angle, you couldn’t really tell. She started talking again, this time directly to me. “I know the difference between modeling and sex. I didn’t come here to have sex or to become sexually aroused. But it’s hard to think that a boy staring at my naked breast isn’t even interested in it as a breast. You know? I was interested in you near the beginning of the term, but you’ve got plenty of girlfriends and I don’t compete well. Besides, I’ve got a girlfriend now. But that’s not the point. I just figured that you would be both things at once. You’d be an artist and all professional and all, but I figured you’d get a kick out of seeing me naked, too, and that I’d enjoy that. I mean, I do enjoy that. But it’s disconcerting to think that seeing my nipple doesn’t do anything for you. I know you’ve caught a glimpse or two in class. Nothing?”
“That’s different,” I said. I sighed. I shifted so I could get a profile of her soft nipple. It was almost flush with the rest of her breast. It was really interesting. She shifted to face me again. “Um…” I lowered my sketchbook. “Yeah. I like pretty girls. I like breasts. I like nipples. Somehow the little glimpses in class when you are wearing clothes are more… um… sexy? Exciting? More than having you pose nude. Now that we’re talking about it rather than me drawing it, I’m thinking more about the sex than the art. It’s… um… stimulating.”
Susan looked down at the bulge in my pants. It hadn’t been there a few seconds ago, but having her shift around and talk about her breasts was having an effect. She looked at her own nipples and I followed her glance. They were bigger and harder than they’d been during all the posing so far. Annette laughed.
“It looks like there is a difference between you stimulating your nipples to keep them hard and having them get hard because you’re getting turned on,” my Lady said.
“It changed the shape of her aura, too,” Fay said. Kendra shifted the clay around so we could see the big bulge that seemed to grow from Susan’s breast. “As you talked about your breasts and about getting turned on, the aura around your nipple seemed to swell.”
“It’s different, though,” Kendra said. “I mean, when Fay and I modeled Annette’s and Arthur’s aura, they stretched into each other, like there was a magnet drawing them together. You got turned on and the sensitive points of your aura expanded, but they weren’t necessarily drawn toward Arthur. Like he wasn’t really important to your physical response.”
“You guys are all pretty weird, you know?” Susan said. “But it’s a good weird. I’ll be happy to get naked with you every day during break. I’m sorry I interrupted the flow of your drawing today, but I’ll try to be calmer tomorrow. My girlfriend would probably be willing to model for you if I promise her some kind of reward. She’s a professional.”
“A professional model?” I asked. “Can’t pay her.”
“Like I said, I’ll provide her reward. If you give her a drawing or two, she’ll probably be fine with it. She might even want you to do it live with her.”
“Live?” Annette said.
“She’s a webcam model. She broadcasts for a few hours almost every day. She’s good at it, too.”
“Wow!” What else could I say.
After Susan left, with the promise to come back the next day, we talked about Kendra’s model.
“Mom, can you see people’s arousal when you look at them?” Annette asked Mom as we examined the model.
“I suppose. I try to ignore most people unless they are right here. I certainly see Dad’s. I gave up on you three because you always seemed to be aroused, but my mother warned me about that,” Mom said. “I see a lot of different things. If I look at a photo, I see what I suppose you see. I can recognize people by physical features from one photo to another like I can tell our car from others, but when I look at the person, I see something completely different.”
We’d lived with Mom’s gift all our lives, but had never understood it or talked about it. After her experience at Thanksgiving, she’d begun to talk a little more and especially, to help Kendra and Morgan. She looked at Kendra’s clay model.
“I never thought I would see a physical—inanimate—object that looked like what I see,” Mom continued. “Of course, there is much more, but this is very close. Will you be able to paint it?”
“Paint? I didn’t think of that,” Kendra said. “There are some techniques. Of course, if I fire it as a ceramic, I could bake the color into it. That would be pretty cool. Arthur, if I sat with you and modeled a piece with Morgan, could we try displaying it with your painting and drawing? I don’t have the whole concept yet, but can we think about it? A sort of joint project?”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just nodded my head.
Kendra left the next day and Susan came to sit and model in the afternoon. I was concerned that when I had a model, it tied up both Morgan and Annette to chaperone. They didn’t seem to mind and unless Kendra was there working with clay, Annette and Morgan could take turns sitting with the model or even just studying in the same room.
Susan continued her practice of entering the room and stripping bare before she posed. She said she was hoping I’d get inspired and do a full nude of her. We talked and I had an idea, so I said that when we had a full afternoon, I’d do the drawing and later I’d paint it. We agreed on the day after New Year’s. We were still a week away from second semester starting. I’d seen a couple flashes of the scene while she was stripping to pose. I mean, not like she was flashing me. I mean… fuck! Words! Glimpses? That’s it. She’d walked in front of the window and I saw the silhouette and the way the shadows played across her skin.
That’s what we’d paint.
“How’s it been having Arthur focused on your right nipple for over a week?” Annette asked when Susan got to the house.
“Intense. I mean, like you and I talk and I forget that I’m even naked. Zen, my girlfriend, wants me to start camming, but I haven’t decided yet. She makes good money, but based on what she does, I know it’s a lot of work. You don’t just take your clothes off on camera and get paid for it. But, anyway, like I don’t even know he’s there most of the time. Then I glance down and he’s like three inches from my nipple examining some minute detail and all of a sudden, I’m juicing. Sometimes, I want to just grab his head and pull him to me and yell ‘suck!’ Then I look at you again and feel all guilty about it.”
“I had to beg him to make love to me the first time he drew my nipple. It was like I could feel him touching it as he drew,” Annette laughed.
“Yeah. Only… don’t be offended, please… it’s not like it’s even Art. In class at the beginning of the year, I thought he was cute and really shy. I thought I could help him get through that and have fun, too. Then I found out he had two girlfriends and Kendra wasn’t even one of them! I didn’t want to start off my college career trying to compete for a guy’s attention. And that’s when Zen started getting interested and I’m bi, so I got interested back. But what I mean is that I think that if you were the one who was three inches from my boob when I looked down, I’d get just as turned on. It’s not about Art, but about being looked at so carefully. I can close my eyes and just imagine about anyone being that close to me and caressing me with his eyes and it turns me on.”
“Wow!” I said. “Um… could we get started?” I was surprised Susan hadn’t stripped yet. She was usually naked by the time she was a foot inside the door.
“Oh! Yeah! What do you have in mind?” It didn’t take long for her to be naked and standing straight in front of me. It took me a second to collect my thoughts with her right there and… sort of available.
“I got this piece of fabric,” I said pointing to the window. It was tied to the curtain rod and hung down in two legs. I’d thought a lot about it when I went to the fabric store. I wanted something shiny to reflect a lot of light, but I didn’t want too much contrast. Fabric or drapery is a great thing to start a painting with. As long as painting has been around—I guess sculpture, too—artists have included vast folds of drapery, whether it was in Hellenistic statues, Christian iconographers, or Renaissance nudes.
“Wow! There’s a lot of it. You aren’t going to cover this beautiful body up, are you?” Susan laughed.
“Um… no. I uh… Stand here facing the window with your arms up and around the drape. Then it will flow between your legs and wrap around your ankle.”
“Oooh. Kinky. How’s this?” She got into position and I started working the drapery. She was facing the window, slightly to her left. I let the fabric fall with one panel mostly straight down in front of her. The other panel that her arms were wrapped around fell to her waist and then I brought it around her right hip and passed it down through her legs. I kept it loose so it didn’t emphasize her shape, but revealed it. I continued the wrap around her left ankle and let it drape across the floor.
“Nice,” Annette breathed. “I can see what you’re accomplishing. I love how the drape flows over her right hip and butt cheek.”
I stepped back and looked. It was close but not quite there. I stepped up to her.
“Um… May I touch you, Susan?”
“Oh God, yes! I won’t move. Just touch,” she gasped out. Then she jumped and looked at Annette with her eyes popped open. “I mean… Annette? Is it okay if he touches me? I don’t mind… I mean, I’d like it… but I don’t want… you know?” Annette laughed at her.
“Yeah. I know. It’s okay.” Annette nodded at me and I gently pushed at Susan’s waist to get her a little farther into profile.
“You can touch anywhere. Just move me around like a doll,” Susan said. She was almost panting. Annette crooked her finger at me and I stepped back.
“If you don’t at least touch her boobs and her butt, she’ll be devastated,” Annette whispered in my ear.
“But…”
“She invited you to touch her anywhere. Think of it as research. When you paint, you’ll know not only what it looks like but what it feels like.”
Annette gave me a little shove back toward my model. Well, it was easier to touch her and get her into position than for me to say the words.
I started with Susan’s right arm and pushed it up a little higher on the drape, not quite stretching. Her left arm I pulled down a little so it was bent at the elbow. I slid my hand down her arm to the pit and she sighed. I glanced at Annette and she smiled at me and nodded. Susan had her hair down and I pulled the blonde locks back and let them fall on her back to just below her shoulder blades. I softly caressed her jaw and tilted her face toward me a little. Her eyes drifted closed and her lips parted like she was going to kiss me.
“Yes,” I whispered in her ear. “Like that.” I traced the curve of her shoulders with my fingers and heard her moan slightly. I glanced over at Annette and she was smiling and nodding, so I reached around Susan and cupped her left breast. I tugged slightly to turn her so the breast was fully visible in profile. “I’ve only drawn the other one. I hope I can do justice to this one.” I felt the nipple harden and extend beneath my palm. It was no longer flat against her breast. I worked my way down her body adjusting the drape, but never letting my hand stray from her soft skin.
Kneeling behind her, I placed my hands on her buns to turn them back toward the window. Her torso moved, too, so I put my left hand back on her breast and pulled it back in profile while my right hand kept her from turning her hips. She got the message and turned from the waist. I draped the fabric over her right cheek and arranged it between her legs as I ran my hand up the inside of her left thigh. Her moan was almost more of a whine as I stopped short of her pussy. I could feel the heat and realized that I’d never smelled the scent of a girl other than Morgan or Annette. It was heady. I pushed her left knee forward so it was bent and accented her butt. I stepped back a little, stroking her back from shoulder to butt as I looked at the composition.
“That is perfect,” I said as I stood behind her. “Can you hold that pose and get back into it when we take a break?”
“Yes, sir,” she breathed, still with her lips raised as if she expected me to kiss her.
“Good. I’m going to draw now.”
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