[This is a story about the experience of Samantha, in her voice, one of the contestants in the Best Body contest, already chronicled here, when she posed for the art instructor at our high school the summer after the contest in our school's art studio. She's eighteen and the art instructor, Mr. Vento, is like thirty-two.]
So one day I was downtown and I ran into Mr. Vento, the art instructor. I was slightly embarrassed because I had seen him at the Best Body contest and knew that he therefore had seen me naked. I was dressed up, in a short white lace dress with a low cut neckline that displayed my boyfriend's ring on a gold chain.
"Ah, Samantha, how nice to see you," he laid his hand on my bare shoulder, unusual for a teacher because they were not supposed to touch us. "I saw you last weekend in the Best Body contest, you did an excellent job." Of course he had seen me posing in the nude there and wanted me to know about it.
"Thank you. I was surprised to see you there since you're not into sports so much." It had been a contest for cheerleaders.
"Correct, but I'm always looking for girls to model for me and that's a good place to find them." He meant a good place to size up their naked bodies.
"Fine, thank you, I have to go." I tried to remove his hand from me but it slid down my back over the bare skin revealed by my summer dress and wound up on the upper part of my ass.
"OK, but first let me make you a proposition. I have a contract over the summer to sketch and eventually make sculptures of female models and I want you to be one of them. I already have several girls but none of them is exactly what I'm looking for, so I want you. Of course you'll be paid well for your time."
"But why me, why do you think I'll be better than the girls you already have? I'm not a model. There were plenty of girls my age around."
"Such modesty. I have seen you, as I said, and think you are the prettiest girl with the nicest body among all the girls at this school. I don't need a professional model, I will instruct you in what to do, how to pose, how to stand, don't worry about those details."
"I don't think so." I tried to move on from him.
"I'll pay you double the normal fee!" The money did sound good.
"I don't know, what does it mean to me?"
"It means you'll be a model, Samantha. Why are you being so stubborn? A model, an artist's model. Come on, just try it."
"But don't artists models usually pose in the nude?" I figured he'd want to see me naked again. He just laughed.
"Of course they do. It's art. It doesn't mean anything."
"So where would we do this?"
"In the studio, in the art studio at school. You've seen it." I had seen it, a room on the forth floor, crowded with sculpture and drawings and all the materials artists used. I swallowed hard. I'd have to stand in a room on the top floor of my high school naked while Mr. Vento painted a picture of me, that he was going to exhibit, that anyone could see and did a sculpture.
"But what if somebody walks in and sees me?"
"They won't, we'll do it on Sundays when no one is there and I'll lock the door and pull down the shade. No one will see you but me."
"No, thank you."
"OK, I'll pay you a hundred dollars an hour, for as long as it takes, and it will take quite a few sessions so you'll make plenty of money, in cash, tax-free. How about it. This is my last offer." He was getting impatient.
"I'll ask my Mum." And so I did. I was sure she'd say no, but she didn't.
"It's not like he's a complete stranger, he's the school art teacher."
"But he wants me naked!"
"Of course an artist's model is naked. Why are you acting so silly. I'll bet your boyfriend sees you naked."
"What if he does and what if he doesn't, he's my boyfriend and I love him, not some dumb teacher."
"Mr. Vento is not some dumb teacher. If you're going to pose nude I wouldn't want anyone else to be there except him. I'm sure he'll do it in a very professional manner."
"No one else WILL be there, if they are I won't do it."
"I'll call him, and we'll meet with him and talk it over."
"Don't tell Dad, he'll kill Mr. Vento if he finds out." So my mother called him, and we sat outside the school in his car, rather than have him come to the house so Dad wouldn't know.
"Let me explain the process," he told us, or mostly Mum. "First I'll draw a picture of her, then I'll paint it in. That we can exhibit up in the gallery in Newburyport." I froze, a nude painting of me was going to hang in a gallery in Newburyport, like only ten miles away from my high school where all the boys I knew, plus a bunch of strangers, could see it. After that, I'll work in clay, making the sculpture which will be cast and duplicated." Mummy was sold.
"All right, Sam, what do you say?" Mummy asked me. Her tone indicated I should say "Yes".
"I don't think so. I don't want a nude picture of me hanging in a gallery in Newburyport. All the boys I know will see it. My boyfriend will dump me knowing all his friends have seen his girlfriend bare ass naked."
"I'm surprised and disappointed in you, Sam. This is an opportunity, that start of something. You can make something of your good looks and you're not even grateful."
"Mummy, I'll be naked."
"What of it, it's art. When you go to the beach you're practically naked in those little suits you wear. Mr. Vento wants you to do those, out of all the other girls in the school. I would think you'd be excited and flattered that you're the girl he wants. If only I were your age I'd do it in a second, a man like Mr. Vento offering you such an opportunity. Be sensible. You don't have to go anywhere to have it done, you just come here to the high school."
"All right. But don't tell Dad!"
"Excellent," said Mr. Vento.
"Good, you should be excited."
Later at home I ran to my room, took off my clothes, showered and dried my hair. I felt dazed and confused, filled with contradictions. My boyfriend called but I couldn't tell him, I felt like a traitor. That night we went out to McDonald's and then parked in the car at The Willows. We started kissing but I told him I wasn't in the mood. After a polite wait he ran his arm behind my back, pinning my left arm against the seat and holding my right arm with his hand so I couldn't stop him from stripping me. That was how he forced me to give him something the very first time we went out.
I protested but he opened my dress in the back and pulled it down over my breasts and kissed me more passionately. I didn't want to but I felt myself get wet as he did what he pleased. He slipped the straps of my brassière down and started squeezing my titties, hard, to hurt me. Then he forcibly started feeling me up, kissing my neck and then easing his mouth down until he found my nipples, hard as rocks and biting them to hurt me more.
Then his hand was up my skirt, further and further up my bare thighs and there was nothing I could do with my arms pinned behind me. I just laid my head back and moaned softly and by now I was soaking wet and my hips moved slightly up and down so he knew he had me. In another minute his hand was busy at my crotch, feeling the wet of me through the cotton and then he was pulling my panties down over my ass and then down over my thighs and below my knees and then completely off me.
Then his hand was back up under my skirt and on my pussy and then he had two fingers in me and he found my clit and I just gasped with pleasure and then he started stroking me more inside me like that, harder and harder, and in about thirty seconds I had started to cum and he kept at it until five minutes later I was spent. He unzipped his pants, took out his cock, pulled his foreskin down and then pushed my head down to blow him but he couldn't make me put his dick in my mouth.
He started stroking himself, slowly at first and then faster and faster until he came and I got it all over my bare thighs. I made him take me home but that little episode told me I didn't have to feel loyalty to this guy who just forced himself on me. I felt better about posing nude for Mr. Vento, but still not good. In my own room I stripped off all my clothes before my full length mirror and studied my body.
I had a good tan, my tits and my ass and the triangle centered on my girlhood still snow-white. My tits were not large but firm and high, my tummy flat, crotch smoothly shaved, my bum small but firm, nice legs. Why shouldn't I pose nude. I wondered what Mr. Vento's work would show, every detail, my tits, a mole here or there by which I could be recognized by the boys who had seen my body close up, my belly button, the fold skin about the entrance to my pussy. I didn't know what he would show of me but now I wanted to find out.
A few nights later Mr. Vento called me. He wanted to start Sunday morning at 8AM. I told him OK. The night before I couldn't sleep. I wondered what it would be like, posing in the nude for one of my teachers. But there was no doubt I wanted to do it. I got up next morning, showered, washed and dried my hair, put on a brassière and panties and a summer dress and drove to the high school. It was a beautiful day. He was waiting for me at the rear door of the school, otherwise I had no way to get inside. He unlocked the door and we walked up three flights to the fourth floor and headed for the art studio. We were the only ones there and the silence I found eerie, so used I was to the place filled with students. We entered the studio and he closed the door, pulled down the shade, turned the key in the lock and placed the key in his pocket. For an instance I was frightened.
"It's a wonderful day to begin your new adventure!" He was so fulled of energy that I felt foolish having butterflies in my tummy. He could tell, I guess, I was nervous.
"Relax. This will be easy once we get into it. You'll enjoy it. I've worked with many girls up here. He went to a drawer and came back with some eight by ten photos.
"Look at these, you'll know some of these girls." I did. Emily Cardin, who had graduated last year, Kristie Stratton, who was in my class, Ellen Hirsberg, whom my oldest brother took to prom, Sonya Champion, who had captained lacrosse the previous year, a few more. They were all stark naked. At least everybody was over eighteen.
"See, they posed and survived. You will to. I've worked with many models, here and other places. I've taken many art classes and taught at different schools." He had set up his easel and a table with all his sketching pencils and pens and brushes for painting. On a table nearby were all his sculpting stuff, about which I knew little. There were two large pole lamps directed toward a bar stool. That was where I was to sit.
I was wearing a cotton blouse that buttoned down the front, a brassière, skirt and panties and my clogs. My hair was below my shoulders. I wore almost no make-up. He had me sit on the stool fully dressed, except for the clogs.
"OK, I'm going to begin with some head shots, just look natural, like you were gazing out at the ocean. I want to capture your soft, lovely expression. I watched him work and began to feel I was a part of an artistic production. At least he hadn't asked me to get naked just so he could sketch my face, though I knew soon enough I would have to start stripping. I could see the clock behind me. It was 8:15AM. He worked until nine and we took a break.
