This is my first entry to Literotica, so any critique is well appreciated.
*****
The First Session.
I'm used to naked people. Enough life drawing classes will do that to any artist, male or female. When one becomes accustomed to enough nude bodies, one always comes to a point where it seems no different to a clothed one. Very soon, the idea of drawing someone naked loses all of its eroticism. This is exactly what I have to tell myself when he walks into my studio.
My original model is both female and late; an hour and a half late, as a matter of fact. She should have been here at three and it is now four thirty. I'm not normally an impatient person, nor am I a violent one, but the amount of tea that I've had within the past hour is beginning to test that theory. Out of habit, I tug at my hair in frustration, nearly leaving a mess of long, dark threads between my pale fingers. No messages, no missed calls and not even a text.
"Fucking Natalie," I murmur, half to myself and half to my model.
I down my third or fourth cup of tea of the hour and desperately need another. I don't care if the caffeine will fire me up enough to kill Natalie on the spot once I see her. I'm almost certain that I'll have a perfectly good defence for the police when they catch me.
"Yes, officer," I recite, as I fill and boil the kettle for another cup. "I did kill her, but I have my reasons. You see, as starving artists like myself do, I have bills and rent to pay. Since the victim was meant to be the subject of this recent project, I simply had to use my palette knife to slice her throat for neglecting her duties as a model and therefore putting my job at risk."
"Wouldn't solvent be more effective?"
Startled, I turn to the open door, but standing by it is not Natalie. In her place is a man I've never met before; tall, tan, toned and almost bohemian in appearance. He looks like he could tower me in height and toss me back and forth if he wanted to. His dark hair is tied back and there is a certain twinkle in his equally dark eyes that makes my cheeks warm.
"Huh?" is all I can say.
"Solvent," he continues. "It's a toxic liquid, so it'd be more effective at killing someone if you spike it into their drink or something like that. A palette knife wouldn't really do much except maybe make a dent...and not on the victim."
There is a gorgeous stranger in my studio and the first thing he tells me is how to kill someone with arts supplies. This should be interesting.
"Who the hell are you and where's Natalie?"
"I'm Alex," he says with a wave, "and Nat says she's come down with a pretty nasty stomach bug, so she asked me if I could take her place. You're Helena, right?"
"Yeah and she couldn't tell me this earlier because...?"
Alex just shrugs. "She said you wouldn't mind."
Of course she did. Typical Natalie. That woman owes me a drink. That is, if I let her live until Friday.
"Fine," I sigh. "I'm sure my agent will forgive me for making a change in this project, so why don't we start with some quick poses and see what I can come up with?"
Alex nods. "Sounds good."
"You can leave your clothes and stuff over there, if you like," I tell him, pointing to the corner of the studio, where my own things lie. "I'll just grab my sketchbook."
"Okay," he nods. "I'll just..."
"There's a changing room to the left."
"I wasn't asking for one, but thanks." There is a smile playing at his lips and I'm not sure whether I like it or not.
Alex doesn't bother to use the changing room. I don't object and I'm not sure if I want to. As I gather my sketchbook and pencils, I watch him undress because I can't help myself. He's even more toned underneath all that denim and old leather and I count seven tattoos on his body: the bird behind his ear, the wings on his back, the cross on his shoulder, the writing on his forearm, the Claddagh symbol on his wrist, the string bow on his rib and the snake on his ankle. Soon, I'm not only observing his tattoos, but what lies beneath them. His olive skin, his toned muscles, his...
I have to look away once he notices me staring.
"Like what you see?" he asks and there's that smile again.
I don't answer him. I'm not supposed to like what I see, at least not here and now. I might like what I see outside of the studio when I'm clean of charcoal and paint, but for now this is just for work. I can look, but not touch.
We start with one-minute poses and the first thing that I learn about Alex is that he is neither subtle nor shy. His poses become progressively more suggestive, erotic even, but he moves with a certain grace that makes even the most explicit poses look like works of art. I think if he made a homemade porn video he'd probably manage to make it look like an art house film. If he talked dirty, I wonder, would it sound like poetry too?
Where the hell did Natalie get this guy? I have to ask. Even as I'm facing his (admittedly very nice) arse instead of his face, I have to ask.
"So, how do you know Natalie?"
"We met through friends," he answers. "I was looking for work at the time and she mentioned her job as a life model, so we got to talking and...well, here we are."
"Did you think about getting into it before?"
"I considered it, yeah, but I never knew where to look until she told me where she worked and who she worked for."
