"Just a minute more; I'm nearly done now, that's good, the light's just perfect, okay, beautiful, I think that's it Nick, you've been great, relax a minute while I put this stuff away. I'm just going to check that we've got all the poses covered before you get dressed."
I watched as he relaxed out of the difficult position, slumping face forward slightly into my mattress. Reluctantly I packed the sketchbook and pencils away onto my cluttered workbench thinking about how much I was going to miss him. It was little consolation that at least I would have the drawings and a few photographs to enjoy at my leisure.
Finding suitable and experienced life models had become harder for me over the last year or so. To the point of being nearly impossible. A man with a truly beautiful physique who could actually take direction and hold still for any length of time was a rare find indeed. Call me picky, but I was an artist in search of a very particular look, you know the finely honed, well-muscled flexible man, a man with a body that had definition and strength. I know that it all sounds very clinical but that's how it started. Nick was just a very beautiful body, the real life embodiment of the kind of man I'd imagined populating my paintings. My ideal fantasy man if you like.
The enthusiastic recommendation of a trusted author friend had led Nick to me. Nick worked as a freelance writer and enjoyably filled his down time between projects with a little life modeling. He'd surprised and delighted me with his knowledge of art and his passion and enthusiasm for life when we'd talked about his writing at our first meeting.
To be completely honest though, the clincher for me had been when I'd spotted a particular photograph in his portfolio. A sexy, warm shot of him laying naked, facedown on a bed, a classic "waiting" pose and my favourite view of a man. In the photograph his leg was a little bent, his knee drawn up, raising his ass slightly. I liked to think that maybe his erection had necessitated the position. I envied the person who took that shot and wanted to ask him about it. I kept my curiosity in check and my questions to myself.
I generally sketched quickly, but this time I'd needed four, one and a half-hour sessions with him before I was satisfied. Well that's not entirely true; in fact, it's a downright lie. While I was more than happy with the two big sketchbooks I'd filled with drawings, detailed sensitive sketches that captured his grace and strength, I was far from personally satisfied. In fact, I'd never felt more unsatisfied in my whole life. To be frank, my whole body ached with the want of him. A delicious heavy kind of ache that centred itself way down low in my pussy.
This last evening session was the most difficult for me, technically and emotionally. I had asked him to lay face down, much as he had been in the photograph, on the big bed that had become the centrepiece of my studio a year ago when I had started my Men in Love Series painting series. I loved that bed. The antique headboard was a decadent, ornate piece, a weathered nickel plate affair that provided a beautifully decorative background for my model. It had been an irresistible junk shop find that had taken two men to carry up to my studio. Occasionally when I couldn't sleep, I'd grasp the cool metal of that headboard; my arms outstretched above my head and let my imagination take me all sorts of wild places. I'd think up delicious scenes that only served to keep me awake...
At this moment, Nick was the only person I could think about. He lay with the delicious firm curve of his buttocks central to the pose, the low light casting deep shadows, creating sharp contrasts against the warmth of his skin. The bedding was delightfully rumpled into a thousand complex creases adding texture and contrast around his beautiful smooth body. Oh those suggestively rumpled sheets had me hot every time I looked at them, even if they were going to be hell to paint when the time came. They spoke in no uncertain terms of sex; vital, vigorous, physical sex.
Ironically I had created a clever illusion for the only sex those sheets had seen recently was of the solo kind. After the last time Nick had been here in my studio home, posing on that very bed, driving me crazy with that beautiful body, I'd had to take things in to my own hands literally. With the image of his handsome sweet face and that dangerous body firmly in my head, I'd pulled my skirt up and thrust my fingers into my wetness, desperate to relieve the delicious ache that had distracted me all afternoon. I lay exactly where his body had been; turning over I had nuzzled my face down into the sheets, my lips and nose seeking some tiny trace of him.
I lay on my belly, hand trapped in my panties picturing myself under his body, his thick cock thrusting deep inside me from behind. Moans and lewd, wet sounds would fill the room. It would be one of those long slow fucks, a maddening "keep me on the edge" kind of fucks that would have me arching back begging for more, grinding my ass against his body. He'd be crazy with desire for me, breathing hard, holding my hips very tightly, pushing hard into my wet pussy until he too would be overwhelmed by the pleasure of it.
Over and over, my fingers had rubbed at my swollen clit, imagining that they were his. I'd slicked the creamy juice over that tiny hard bump of flesh, pushing my ass up, offering myself up to my pretend lover, rubbing faster and faster until there had been no stopping, no going back, just a rush of pure exquisite pleasure.
Now as I stood a little way away from the bed, drinking in the beauty of him, I absentmindedly wondered if he could perhaps smell the scent of me on those sheets.
"I'll have a look at the book in case we've missed any poses, I like to have more than I need, it's a bit hard to know at this stage which ones I'll use for sure."
"I'm fine here Ell. More than fine. In fact I think I'm getting quite used to this bed. Do what you have to do."
I couldn't help but think that if I did what I truly "had" to do, he'd be spending a lot more time in my bed and not just face down on it either!
"Not much longer now, then we'll finish up Nick."
I hated those words. I felt sad and disappointed that our time together was at an end. Our sessions had been completed in just a two-week timeframe. Two weeks, that's as long as I'd known him, but somehow he'd become part of my life. As unprofessional as it is sounds, you don't inhabit a room for six hours with a divinely naked man and just walk away unaffected, it's just not possible. We had a relationship for God's sake! An unusual one I'll admit, but a relationship nevertheless. I didn't usually feel this way about my models. There was something about Nick that drew me to him like a magnet. It was a heady combination of pure animal lust and a genuine fondness for him. Oh, I was fond of him, very, very fond...
I'd spent six very pleasurable hours becoming intimately acquainted with every muscle, sinew, crevice, and curve of this man. I'd studied every wrinkle, curl, crease, and dimple of him. The very nature of his flesh had been indelibly drawn in my brain. I knew his body so well that I felt that I could have confidently described the exact position of each of his vital organs. It sounds ridiculous but a trained artist doesn't just see the surface, we're taught to look deeper, and of course I'd observed him as an artist first and foremost and as a woman second... well, most of the time anyway.
We'd enjoyed our talks when silence hadn't been critical, laughed and chatted as if it were the most natural thing - a fully clothed woman - a stranger really, and her naked muse. In the end we'd had to avoid topics of conversation that made us laugh too much, I needed him to be still. Now I just needed him. The time I was dreading was inevitably drawing nearer, the time when Nick would get up from my bed, casually slip into his clothes and leave my studio again, probably forever.
Perhaps I could convince my agent to engage him to attend the exhibition opening planned for sometime early in the New Year. It'd be fun to watch the surprised reactions of the female patrons at my exhibition, as they realised they were standing next to the beautiful man who inhabited my paintings. My publicist and the media folk would love it. "The Artist and Her Muse" would caption the newspaper society photos. I'd put Nick and his gorgeous face and irresistible body to good use, assigning him to champagne and flattery duties with the toughest female critics in the room. They wouldn't stand a chance against his charm. The only problem with all of that was the fact that we were talking about an event scheduled for five months away. I wasn't going survive until then. I wanted him now, urgently.
I flicked through my painting notebook, carefully pretending to check that we'd literally covered all angles. He lay a little awkwardly not moving, awaiting the next direction. He was so good, so still and patient, the perfect model in every way.
"Relax sweetie, we don't want you getting stiff, do we?"
Fuck! I couldn't believe that I'd said that, my face burned with embarrassment. The words just escaped out of my mouth via my pussy, kind of bypassing my brain.
Nick chuckled, muffling the sound into the bedclothes. I could see his shoulders shaking with mirth as he tried to contain his amusement. To complete my embarrassment, he lifted his head, turning to look at me, eyebrows raised and a broad smile playing on his face.
"Sorry Ella, what was that, I didn't quite catch it?"
Turning away from him under the pretence of picking up a fallen pencil, I mumbled to cover my gaffe, "Um...j-just make yourself comfortable."
For all of our sessions I'd struggled to remain the consummate professional, the detached artist only interested in his anatomy in its purest sense. I'd been careful not to touch him unnecessarily in setting up the poses. I'd directed him carefully with my voice and the clever man seemed to know or sense the look I was after. Just once or twice I found myself thinking, please misunderstand my instruction, let me touch you, let me need to touch you, let me have to touch you.
There'd been the occasional contact of course to refine a precise pose or whenever a subtle readjustment was required. A finger laid on the sweet curve of a shoulder, a divine moment when I had shifted his heavy leg and nudged it up in to a tighter, more pleasing bend. One time, I think it was in our second session, I'd tilted his lovely face with my finger, barely brushing his chin, touching his cheek longer than strictly necessary. Letting someone touch your face has always seemed to me to be such an intimate gesture. Something reserved for people you trust. I felt close to him that day, I remember now that it was the day I'd started to want him.
