"Marcy! Please hold the pose!"
Laura was getting tired of saying that, and was getting a bit grumpy. Marcy was her main model, and usually she was excellent: today she just seemed fidgety. Really good models were SO DAMNED hard to find! In the brightly-lit teaching studio, a baker's dozen of drawing students clustered around Marcy, working intently. Today's exercise was life drawing, nudes, in charcoal on newsprint, and FAST. No time to think. "Just DRAW!" was the game.
"OKAY, folks, here we go!" said Laura. "Ten minute drill, ten drawings, just like speed-reading. Ten poses, one minute each. Nobody makes a mark until I say 'GO': first, you get 30 seconds before starting each sketch to study the pose, then one minute to get the essence onto paper. No fudging: stop when I tell Marcy "Change pose!" Ready?"
She looked about expectantly. At least this exercise would suit Marcy's attitude today, she thought! "GO!"
Marcy struck a pose, held it. Twenty-eight eyes stared, studied. The whole group was reflected in the big wall mirrors, a study within itself, if only the proper artist had been there to sketch it. Fred's eyes took in Marcy's outline: he always found it difficult to avoid letting his imagination run too freely during these sessions. Now, he caught himself daydreaming momentarily as he looked at the nude, seated model, thinking briefly that she had reasonably nice breasts, friendly-looking, well-used nipples. Overall, her body was way too plump, really, for his taste. Not that it mattered: he doubted he'd recognize her on the street fully clothed. He studied her crinkled nipples, wondered if they were erect, or just stood up that pertly all the time? He liked the texture of her skin, too. As he felt tiny stirrings in his crotch, he shut off the thoughts and let his eye graze over her outline. It didn't help that he'd worn his short-shorts again today, but it was HOT outside.
"GO!" said Laura. Thirteen dominant hands scrabbled across thirteen sheets of newsprint. Thirteen students felt surges of panic as nothing went down onto the paper properly.
"Pose change! All stop!" Marcy shifted legs and torso, raised her arms, tilted her head, held the new pose. Study, study, plan, plan... then "Go!" from Laura. More scrabbling, less panic this time. Gentle whooshes of charcoal rubbing on rough paper. Familiar, satisfying noises.
Laura toured slowly through the class, alert eyes on her students, watching. Occasionally she would make a comment, guide a hand, change a stroke slightly.
"GO!" Then again, "GO!" Sketchpads filled rapidly. Ten poses, over and done.
"Short break, Marcy!" called Laura: "...then ten more!"
Fred leaned back on his stool, flexed the fingers of his drawing hand. His eyes sought out Laura, across the group, where she was talking intently to another student. He studied her briefly, watched her as she moved from person to person. He'd been doing this over the last several weeks of classes. He liked the view. She leaned over one sketch, and he watched her gently-hanging breast shift within her smudged, thin cotton blouse, his eyes catching the outline and curve of its underside. He could see her nipples, too, outlined against the fabric: no bra today!
For a moment he was seized with one of his long-time questions and fantasies, wondering what it would feel like to carry a woman's breasts, to feel their gravity-induced tug, feel them sway freely beneath a whispering fabric, feel nipples erect and sensitive. He knew it must be highly erotic, decided it might well be akin to the sensations from his balls and cock when they swung free and unencumbered, but also knew -alas!- that he'd never, ever really know. A fascinating speculation, nonetheless.
Ten more one-minute sketches. "GO!" "GO!" Fred was getting frustrated: things just weren't working this time. He increased his concentration, and things got worse. Eight down. Two to go. Suddenly, Laura was at his elbow: they were both right handed, and she stood behind him, close. He could feel the warmth of her body through his tee-shirt. Her hand covered his, and she said "Let me guide you this time: RELAX! Just let the view flow from eye to charcoal without letting your brain get in the way. Be Zen!"
Then to the whole class, "OK, GO!"
Fred relaxed his hand, and sagged ever so slightly backwards. As Laura guided his hand through the swift strokes, her nipples touched him, moved slightly against his back, and his cock responded immediately, making itself known within the confines of his shorts. The pose ended, and Laura released his hand, but didn't move away. She seemed oblivious to their gentle body-contact. Fred knew that was bullshit: that if there was something every woman in the world was totally aware of at all times, it was her breasts. She had to know, but she didn't move. Interesting.
Together they examined the resulting sketch: "See? Much better! Just relax! You're worrying too much. It'll take a long time, but there's ability in the old hand yet, Fred!" He grunted a non-committal agreement, and Laura said to Marcy and the class, "OK, last one, now GO!"
As she stood up, her breast pressed firmly against the back of Fred's biceps and brushed across it. It felt gloriously nice: Fred's final drawing was pure gibberish.
"OKAY, class, time's up for today. Here's the homework: take all your one-minute studies, and review them. Then plan a composite, charcoal, on good paper, 24 by 36. Give yourself exactly 45 minutes to do the comp... No fudging, and no re-takes. You'll have to plan and be disciplined, not to mention being satisfied with less than perfection! See you next Monday!"
Amid the clatter of students packing their equipment and discussing their efforts with one another, Laura crossed through the crowd, seeking out Fred. She'd been thinking about him for some time, as a possible candidate for a project she was working up. She'd watched him arrive on his bicycle each week for her class, in shorts and tee-shirt most of the time, like tonight. Clearly in shape, but not bicycle-racer lean: that was good. He was at least consistently present, and always did the homework. Not very talented, but he tried hard and was definitely learning. Occasionally made an insightful comment, or asked a good question. Didn't overtly ogle the models, although she'd seen him give more than a second glance at a nice tit or buttock on occasion. Definitely favored female models with more attention than the occasional male.
As she approached him from behind, he leaned over to put his gear together, stretching his hamstrings right at her. She grinned, looked him over one more time, found her opinion confirmed: good legs, probably a good butt under the shorts. Some fat beneath the skin, just enough to look seriously "mature male". Back and arms and shoulders decently muscled but not over-developed. Great hands, Michelangelo hands, with heavy veins.
