The Sissinghurst Gardens Club

During my final year at college I realized my talents, and therefore my enthusiasm, lay more in the direction of my art studies than in my study of English Literature. I had thought I would study English at university. My art work had been praised by my teacher, Mr. Bunt, and I was pleased with the progress I had made in developing my drawing skills.

We had moved on to drawing people, using photos from magazines as a reference tool. Some figure work had been completed whilst we took turns to pose. Some of the lads dressed up quite stupidly for this: I just wore a simple blouse and jeans. I don't know why but at the last moment, just before I got on to the stool where I was to sit for an hour I kicked my trainers off and went barefoot. I enjoyed the experience and found I could sit still and let my mind wander freely exploring all sorts of fancies and ideas. It was surprisingly relaxing for me. And they all made a mess of drawing my feet!

'Okay, let's take a break, folks,' said Mr. Bunt.

I remained on the stool.

'Come on Katryn: break for you too you know. You really deserve it, you sat really well today.'

'I'm afraid I won't be able to get back in the same pose, Mr. Bunt,' I told him.

'Oh, don't worry, Katryn, I'll remember and help you. Done it before you know!' he tittered. He was small, grey and elderly. I suspected he wasn't far from retirement.

During the second hour that afternoon there was much discussion amongst the group, and not for the first time I can tell you, about drawing nudes and about having nude models. Mr. Bunt admitted that they used to have nude models for the drawing course but they had become very hard to get and quite expensive. The lads made all sorts of suggestive remarks, daring each other and us girls to strip off and pose. But they were all hot air and none of them was going to 'show my kit to you lot!!'

Mr. Bunt said he couldn't allow that anyway as we were under age and it had to be done with college approval and there'd be a form to fill in and so on and so on. Interest faded. No-one was that desperate that they would tackle the North Face of some bureaucratic mountain to gain the right to pose naked in front of the rest of us lot! We'd have to stick to fully clothed models, photos and some awful old bronze figures 'Billy' Bunt had in his untidy, nicotine-scented storeroom.

After college ended that day and everyone was drifting away, Mr. Bunt told me again how well I had posed. 'You could model clothes and things really well, Katryn if you ever wished to go that way.'

I smiled and thanked him. I said I had enjoyed doing it and would be glad to pose again.

'We'll see, we'll see,' he said but with Mr. Bunt you knew that would be the last you'd ever hear of it!

That evening at home I told my mum how well the session had gone and she seemed genuinely interested in how I felt. I said I'd like to do it again. Mum had obviously been thinking about this as she looked up from her crossword later and said:

'You might not always be asked to pose like you did today, Katryn,' she said.

'How do you mean?' I asked. I had an idea what she might be hinting at but I wanted her to come out with it more clearly.

'Well, they might want you in a swimming costume or to pose topless or something,' she continued.

'I'm certain they will,' I said. 'I enjoyed being looked at by everybody, mum, and Jennie said afterwards she almost wanted me to undress so she could work out my body shape so as to get the clothes to lie right!'

'So you would pose naked, then, Katryn?'

'Yes, I think I'd like to try it. I think I've got a nice body and I am not ashamed of people seeing me. You know, with my art group. Mr. Bunt says you have to be over 18, and I am just, and there'll be a form to sign.'

'Well you're old enough to decide for yourself now.' She was silent for a few minutes as if she hadn't said no because she couldn't but she didn't approve either. Eventually she spoke again:

'I think you are very beautiful, Katryn. If you want people to share that and you're not embarrassed, then go ahead.' She smiled at me: 'I wish I'd had that kind of determination when I was your age.'

oooo0000oooo

Next day I took Mr. Bunt on one side at lunchtime and I told him that I wanted to pose nude for the group. I told him I was over 18 and that I had discussed it anyway with my mother. He said he would have to send a memo to his Head of Section, whoever that was. Again I thought Mr. Bunt would soon lose track of wherever he had sent his little memo.

Imagine my surprise then when I got home and mum told me she had had a telephone call from the vice-principal of the college.

'At first I thought something awful had happened or that you were in trouble for something but he soon reassured me,' she said. 'He was just checking,' he said,' and he hoped I didn't mind but had I discussed working for the college as an artist's model? I told him we had discussed it and that I supported your wish to pose for your class but I said I didn't think you were doing it for money, just to pose for your own art group.'

'So, then what, mum?' I butted in.

'He said it probably was just for your group but the college would have to pay you their normal fee. You've to tell Mr. What'shisname? tomorrow if you still want to go ahead.'

'Bunt, mum, Mr. Bunt.'

'Oh, yes, that's right.'

'Did he say how much money?' I asked.

'No, I didn't think that was the point,' mum snapped.

'No, it isn't,' I admitted. 'Just curious.'

I might as well get paid if they want to pay me, I thought.

oooo0000oooo

Mr. Bunt told me I would be paid £25.00 per 2-hour session which was probably a pittance knowing how my college works but it seemed a nice sum to me.

'Fine,' I said. 'When do you want me to pose, then?'

Mr. Bunt seemed to be getting a little flustered as if things were happening faster than he liked and he was no longer in control. There was an element of truth in that. Eventually he recovered himself and said: 'How about next Wednesday afternoon, Katryn?'

'Excellent,' I said and shook his hand. To my great surprise he said: 'Well done,' and smiled at me.

That same afternoon he spoke to the whole class with a severity which was wholly uncharacteristic. He announced that he had found someone to model nude for us. There were comments like 'Some old hag, no doubt!' and even 'Bet it's his wife.' He turned on us and told us we would respect any model and treat her with respect and dignity. He told us we could not call ourselves artists unless we respected our models. Someone said 'Sorry, Mr. Bunt.'

'If someone is prepared to pose for you lot she deserves your applause for her courage and you will show your thanks by producing your finest work. And that won't stretch some of you,' he added.

He was angry with the group and I wondered if he was going to tell them I was to be the model. He kept quiet however. The following day he snatched a moment to say that he thought there wouldn't be any silly behavior next Wednesday. I said I was sure things would go fine.

In fact Mr. Bunt had impressed the group with his outburst and they treated him with more respect in future.

oooo0000oooo

Wednesday soon came and the night before I spent some time doing my hair and checking my nails! But I knew I looked well; my complexion is generally good - I'm not a 'nutbrown' girl but I retain a shadow of a tan easily and my dark brown hair sits just down below my shoulders, and swings. My emerald eyes are bright and I have a pretty face, slightly narrow but not too narrow or long, with a small turned up nose which makes me look attractive rather than beautiful. I like what I see anyway: quite tall with longish legs and a short upper body; flat stomach and breasts that don't always need a bra. They lie nicely shaped against my chest, their darkened areoles enticing and suggesting future pleasures. As I said I like what I see - and I've realized I like to be seen. I think!!

I set off for college, not feeling nervous but feeling good, sexy even and, unknown to me, there was probably some naiveté mixed in there too. I look good, as all the lads tell me. Trouble is they are mostly far too childish for me and I haven't really found a boy whom I like for more than what he might do to me. I want a partner who will share what really matters to me or more to the point what matters to both of us.

Rambling on again! I'm at college now and I've made my way up to the art studios. Mr. Bunt is checking the room over, making sure all the easels have been set up and so forth. He's looking smarter than usual.

'Hello, Mr. Bunt,' I greet him.

'Oh, yes, oh, hello Kat, err.. Katryn. I've cleared up the storeroom for you, so you can change and things err.. umm.. all right?' he asked.

I went to look. I was amazed. It was not only tidy but all the junk had gone. A mirror, not a very good one admittedly, hung just above a clean plastic-covered table. There were new hooks screwed onto a board for my clothes plus a curtain to draw across so that I would have an extra 'layer' of privacy if the storeroom door was opened. The main thing was how clean it looked and smelled. I went back out to Mr. Bunt.

'It's brilliant,' I said. 'That's really nice Mr. Bunt. It must have kept you busy.'

'I had a bit of help,' he said and paused. 'I wanted it to be nice for you,' he added simply.

'Will you be drawing me today, Mr. Bunt?' I asked.

'Oh no, no. I'll be helping the other students you know. And checking they're behaving. Ha, ha, 'he laughed, 'they'd better,' he said, 'or I'll kick them down the stairs!!'

A few minutes later he asked me: 'Did you want me to draw you, Katryn?'

'If you want to, I'd like that very much,' I replied and smiled at him so that he blushed as he looked into my eyes. Time was moving on and I would soon need to be ready for my artists. I sat on the stool Mr. Bunt had left for me and assumed the kind of pose I had planned in my head. It was a bit tall for me to be able to rest one foot comfortably on the ground so I got up and carried the stool around with me comparing it with others until I found one of a slightly different style that was about 3 inches lower. It seemed fine and I carried it back to my place.

Mr. Bunt enquired: 'Everything ok, Katryn?'

'Oh, yes,' I answered, 'I was just looking for a slightly lower stool. I'll be off to get changed now,' I said, picking up my hold-all. Mr. Bunt looked at it quizzically. 'My robe,' I said.

'Oh, of course,' he smiled and I went into my room to undress. When I was naked I brushed my hair and looked at myself in the mirror. 'Fine,' I thought. I pulled the new black candlewick robe from my bag and put it on. I had bought it specially - it is thick, heavy and warm and cost £24.99 so I would make one penny profit on my first session as a nude model. I grinned to myself. 'It's an investment!' Somehow I knew or didn't want this to be the only time I would be doing this.

Mr. Bunt knocked on the door and half-opened it, assuming I would have drawn his special curtain across, which I had.

'Shall I give you a call when we are all ready, Katryn?'

'Yes, please, Mr. Bunt. I'm ready when you are!'

He disappeared and I heard the door close. I hoped they wouldn't be long as I felt vaguely silly waiting in the storeroom. I could hear a buzz of conversation in the background along with Mr. Bunt's voice cajoling everyone to get ready. I sensed a quietness descend and then a knock on my door.

'Ready, Katryn,' he called.

Silence descended instantly as everyone realized for the first time that I was to be their model. I didn't want them to think I was nervous, and to tell the truth I wasn't particularly. I wanted to get on with it so I opened the door, walked the two or three paces to my stool, removed my gown and draped it carefully over the stool. I thought my skin tones would look well with the dark background of my draped gown.

Total silence. It was eerie and I felt forty eyes watching me. I sat down, placing one foot on a bar of the stool about six inches off the ground. The other foot I put on the ground, moving my legs somewhat apart so my crutch was more clearly visible. I wanted to be fully naked to them. I wanted to be drawn, all of me.

'Hey, guys,' I said trying to sound relaxed, 'talk about hearing a pin drop, I can hear the dust settling!' In the cool air I felt my nipples stiffen and my skin seemed to tense.

'You look wonderful' said Jennie quietly.

I heard a 'fabulous' from somewhere but sensed they were still mesmerized, caught like rabbits in my headlights. 'You're supposed to be drawing me as well as looking, you know!' I said to them all. I stared at Mr. Bunt who was as stunned as the others.

Blushing he shouted, not in anger but to seem in charge, 'come on then, let's get cracking! Best work, remember or you'll answer to Katryn!' They laughed; I held my pose and work got under way at last. I relaxed fully and felt pleased with myself so I was surprised when Mr. Bunt said 'Break for fifteen minutes!'

I stood away from the stool a moment to stretch my legs. I didn't reach for my robe straightaway , but Simon came over, picked it up and put it round me. I glanced at him and he looked down, a little embarrassed maybe. We always smiled and said hello but little else. I knew he was probably the most talented artist in terms of technique in the group but he was distant with me: I assumed he had a girl-friend or I wasn't his type. Or he was just a bit shy with me, if not with some of the others. I had never wondered before if it was because he secretly liked me.

'Thanks, Simon,' I said.

I wandered round looking at what everyone had done. Mr. Bunt showed off his talents and had done a very skilful drawing of me; textures and the overall line were good although I felt he made me seem rather more tall and waif-like than I am. Jennie was struggling with my overall shape and had made plentiful use of her eraser. Others showed great skill or in contrast, very little ability: but they had all done a lot and had clearly tried hard. I thought Mr. Bunt would be well-pleased with the group.

I was interested to see what Simon had done, so I made for his easel. He was some way from my stool, near the windows. Simon was standing there but he turned to peer down onto the streets below as I came over.

I looked in awe. He had only sketched my breasts and my crutch, I mean the top of my thighs and my mound and you know. Two separate little drawings. It was so well done. His work was better than anyone else's, including Mr. B's. Simon knew how to shade and develop skin textures with just a pencil. The two miniatures were like greyscale photos, they were so perfect. I looked nearer at the detail and detected tiny words written next to the drawing of my sex:

'Very,very beautiful c'

Turning to look at Simon I realized he was now watching me. He had turned beetroot red, not just in embarrassment, I felt, but in shamed humiliation. I presumed it was what he had written and what I would understand the slightly cryptic words to mean that was worrying him. Actually I was flattered.

'It's all right, Simon,' I said. 'They're beautiful. Are you going to do more of me?'

He stammered: 'I'm sorry, Katryn, really..'

'Simon, it's fine. The drawings are beautiful, really wonderful. And the words are very sexy, I don't mind.' I walked away to spare any further blushes. I never got an answer to my question. I'd have to wait to see what he would draw next. I hoped he would try to draw my face.

I was about to strike my pose and had draped my robe back over the stool when I thought I had better just run a brush through my hair. Without thinking I stood and walked, naked, to the storeroom, went inside, brushed my hair and returned to the stool. Everyone was waiting, in silence. It felt fabulous to have that effect on them all. Once more I held my pose until Mr. Bunt announced: 'Right everyone, time's up for today.

Suddenly everyone began to clap. The applause continued for what seemed ages. I sat there, smiling at them as I looked around the room. Eventually Mr. Bunt said:

'I think we would all like to thank Katryn tremendously for today. I'm sure you all agree that we would be delighted if you could come back- well you're always here, I know'- he was getting flustered, 'I mean, well pose again on Friday, do you think, Katryn?'

I smiled. 'Of course I'll pose again on Friday but on one condition.'

'What's that?' someone called.

'I want Simon to draw a portrait, but of all of me this time, for me to keep.'

Simon was lost for words and seemed to be having difficulty swallowing. I challenged him: 'Deal?'

He managed to nod.

'Excellent,' I said. 'See you all same time Friday.' I picked up my robe and put it round my shoulders.

'You're fantastic, Katryn,' said Mr. Bunt. I think he was nursing a crush on me.

ooo000ooo

On Friday I posed again, sitting this time in an old battered upholstered armchair, with one leg up on one of the arms. The stuffing was coming out of it and I felt it was a much more erotic pose than the previous time. I knew that the dilapidated state of the chair made the beauty of my body, disclosed so openly for all to see, so much more perfect. I felt good but although it was more comfortable than the stool, I did feel the rough moquette of the upholstery made me feel slightly itchy after a while! However, posing seems to be something that comes easily to me: I enjoy it and I can sit motionless for extended periods. My mind goes walkabout and I day-dreamed on this occasion of going on holiday somewhere exotic. I was not alone on this holiday and in my reverie I realized my partner was Simon. He was at my side as I walked along a white sand beach beneath kitschily swaying palm trees. None of it was real: it was a fantasy stolen from some cheap advertisement.

The studio seemed warmer that day and at the interval I wandered round looking at everyone's work, remaining naked. Nobody commented and Mr. Bunt didn't tell me off. Nor did Simon come and put my robe around me so I felt quite comfortable as I was. Just before we restarted I checked my hair and resumed my pose.

The afternoon was soon over and Mr. Bunt announced that time was up. He disappeared for a moment and came back with an enormous bunch of flowers for me.

'It's to thank you, Katryn, from all of us,' he said, beaming at me. 'You've transformed our class this week.'

Again the class applauded me and, a little embarrassed, I was glad to retreat with my flowers to my changing room for a minute. I was sitting on the chair and hadn't started to dress when there was a knock at the door. It was Simon.

'Katryn,' he began,' I haven't quite finished your picture. Could you pose for a little longer, please?'

I wandered outside in my black robe and found most of the students had left. A few were chatting by the door and called across: 'Bye, Katryn. See you Monday.'

I waved and wandered towards Simon's easel. He blocked my way wit a smile, saying:

'Please can you wait until it's finished, Katryn. I don't want your first impressions until then.'

'Of course,' I said and teased him with a darting kiss on his chin as I went quickly back to my armchair. [I suppose now that that broke his 'ice'] I took up my pose as best I could and checked with Simon that it was right.

'Your leg's not at the same angle,' he said.

'Well come and put it how you want it then,' I answered with a slightly naughty, challenging tone to my voice. I wanted to entice him.

He adjusted the angle of the leg that was up on the arm of the chair and couldn't help but look closely into my crutch as he did so. I felt his nervousness and smiled at him with encouragement.