I was the first in my family to go to college. I grew up on my family farm; it was hard, but rewarding work. I played football for our small high school team. I wasn't a 'huge' guy, but my lean body was built for speed. Additionally, having a brother who was three years older than me and always beating me up, I had a higher than normal threshold for pain. Consequently, I was the star running back and cornerback on the hometown team. But, going away to college in a big city, I was a nobody. I was just your average 18 year old guy next door.
The university gave me a decent financial package - a combination of loans, grants, and work study. But, my family still had to pay half the tuition. I returned each weekend during the growing season to help with our farm market. I didn't get 'paid' directly, but considering that my parents were chipping in half of my tuition money, it was the least I could do for them. Through the university work study, I was also given a job tutoring inner city high school students in Chemistry. It paid minimum wage, but was relatively easy work. Fortunately, I was paired with kids who really wanted to learn.
During the first week of college, I noticed a flyer posted on the bulletin board in the student center. It was a simple poster, with the words, "Looking for live models to pose for Art class." But, what really caught my attention was the final line, which read, "Pays $25/hour." That was more than 4 times what I was being paid for work study!
I wrote down the phone number on the ad; then called the number when I got back from my morning Biology class. I spoke with a professor who seemed really nice. He briefly described the timing of the class to make sure that I didn't have any conflicts; fortunately, I did not. Then, he asked if I could come to his office immediately, as the first class of the semester was this evening, and he had still been unable to find a willing art model.
As I walked to his office, I debated with myself "do you think they require the models to be nude, or can I just pose in underwear?" I had a suspicion that Professor was indeed seeking nude models. On the way to his office, each side of my brain lobbed arguments back and forth, and I wrestled with the decision. The more I thought about it, the more arguments "for" I could come up with. I noted that I had showered naked in front of my high school football team and gym classes, so it wasn't like people had never seen me nude before. I reckoned that taking off one's clothing and standing in place for an hour was a considerably easier way to make $25/hour than farming, and considerably better than having to tutor kids for four times as long.
Professor Griffiths seemed to be a nice man. He was very calming and reassuring, and told me that this was a class for juniors and seniors, so it was students that were truly devoted to art, and I need not be afraid that any "creeps" might be in the class. He confirmed that it was indeed a requirement that the models be nude. I was re-assured by the fact that it was a 300-level class, meaning that none of my classmates (freshman) would be in the class. I figured this would be a little something I could do on the side, and no one would be the wiser.
Professor Griffiths asked me to report to Loyola Hall, Room 235 at 6:45pm - 15 minutes before the start of class. He told me that some models preferred to get naked before the students arrived, so that they did not feel they were being watched as they undressed. However, he said other models preferred to change into a robe and only get naked once everyone was seated at their easels. I hadn't given any thought to which scenario might be 'easier'. As I walked to the class, I decided on the "get naked first" approach, thinking that I would be less likely to chicken out if I were already naked.
When I arrived in the classroom, Mr. Griffiths and young man were already present. Professor Griffiths introduced me to Matt, a graduate student and Teaching Assistant (TA). Matt showed me the platform on which I would be standing, and pointed out the "Chinese screen" behind which I could undress. I thought it was odd that they would have a screen for me to undress behind, considering that everyone would be seeing me completely exposed for an hour. Thus, I passed on the screen, and just started peeling off my clothes while Matt was explaining the various logistics of the class.
Matt seemed a little shocked or distracted as I undressed. I noticed his eyes had dropped to my waist. "That's the darkest tan line I've ever seen," he commented. I blushed and said, "Well, I work on a farm, so I'm outdoors all summer."
Students started arriving, carrying various sketch pads and little pouches of pencils. Slowly, easels were set up in a full circle around the center platform. Most of the students had taken up seats, as I stood in the corner of the room with Professor Griffiths. He was giving me some last minute instructions. He told me that he typically has the models stand, leaning with their elbow on a Greek-like column. At that moment, Matt walked over. "Professor Griffiths, I was thinking we should have James stand with his arms raised, hands behind his head. We haven't had a model with such muscular definition in some time. We should take advantage of it."
Matt gently grabbed my arms and raised them above my head. "See...see how his ribs emerge from the sides of his pectorals when his arms are raised? It will make for great contouring".
I was a bit embarrassed. It was strange to be discussed in the third person, when I was standing right there.
Professor Griffiths replied, "Matt, that's a splendid vision". Then he turned and looked at me, "James, do you think you have the stamina to hold that pose for 25 minutes at a time? We'll only have one break."
I said, "Well, I've never tried standing in one place for that long, but it's not like I have to hold weights or anything. Yeah, I think I can do it".
The time actually flew by rather quickly. It wasn't all that difficult to hold the pose for that long. However, at the break, I did realize that it seemed like the blood had drained from my arms. My fingers were tingly, and I had to shake my arms to get the blood flowing again. After a short break, class resumed, and students continued with their drawings.
This became my routine every Tuesday and Thursday night for three weeks. It was interesting - none of the students ever spoke to me. The only one who ever talked with me during the breaks was Matt. Sometimes we would make small talk. Another time he invited me to walk around the classroom and take a look at the student's sketches. I was impressed at how good these students were. Unlike the drawings I made as a kid for Mother's Day or the like, these sketches were very realistic renderings.
The following Tuesday, Professor Griffiths did not show up. Matt informed the class that the professor's sister had been in a serious car accident, and the professor had flown out to California to be at her side. Matt took charge of the class, but by this time, the class generally ran itself. Matt seemed distracted. I presumed he was worried about the professor's sister. Matt stood at the back of the room, texting most of the class, as opposed to wandering around the room offering tips, as he typically did when Professor Griffiths was around. Matt seemed to have forgotten about the break, and 35 minutes into class, I did have to break my pose and request a pause. Matt was very apologetic, commenting that "I didn't mean to torture you; I'm sorry."
At the end of class, just as I was getting dressed, Matt asked if I could stay behind for a few minutes so he could talk to me. Then, Matt explained that he had been chatting with Professor Griffiths, and the professor was very concerned that some of the students were progressing too slowly with their drawings. "We need to move on to other forms in a couple weeks, and Professor Griffiths is afraid the students will not have finished their drawings of you." He continued, "I was wondering if you might be able to do a Saturday class - an extra session for the students who are behind on their work."
"I can't," I replied. "I have to work on the farm on weekends."
"Yes, Yes. I know that," Matt responded. "But, I had to ask."
"I'm sorry," I said.
There was a pause for a few moments. Matt then looked up at me (which was a bit unusual, as Matt had developed quite a habit of dropping his eyes to my chest - or lower - when he spoke with me), and said, "What Professor Griffiths sometimes has done in circumstances like this is - he has the students finish their drawing on their own time from a photograph."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"He has the students bring a camera, and take a photo of the still life. Then the students can complete the drawing on their own time."
"Oh," I replied.
"Would you be ok with that?" Matt asked me.
"Umm. I dunno. I guess. If that's what Professor Griffiths normally does."
Matt responded, "Yes, it's quite routine. We do it all the time".
I said, "Ok. Yeah, that's fine with me".
"I'll send an email to the students, letting them know," Matt said. "Thanks so much, James."
Matt then apologized, and told me he was running late for a date. "See you Thursday!" he shouted over his shoulder and he hurried out the door.
On Thursday, Matt greeted me in the hallway outside of class. "Hey James, how are you?"
"Not too bad; how are you?" I gave. It's my standard response.
Matt then said, "I wanted to give you a heads up. There's going to be a few more students in class today."
"Oh?" I said.
"Yes." Matt continued, "Today's the last day of drop/add. There are a few students that dropped other classes and are looking to pick this one up. So, we're going to have a full room today."
I was indeed surprised. Instead of the typical class of 30, it was nearly twice that. Perhaps 50 students. The easels and chairs were packed in close together. Otherwise, the class was relatively the same - just more faces looking back at me. What did strike me as odd, however, was one guy who was sitting at the back of the classroom on top of the radiator. He didn't have an easel, a sketchpad - nothing with him. What was he doing here?
Twenty-five minutes into class, Matt announces the break. I was so relieved. It doesn't make sense, but the room being more cramped had made me feel more cramped. I was really fighting it for the last 10 minutes. My arms felt dead. Even my legs, which normally didn't bother me when standing in one position, felt stiff. I shook my arms out, as I had become accustomed to doing during the break.
Matt walked up to me. "Are you uncomfortable?" he asked.
"No. Just stiff," I replied.
"You should run in place - or do some jumping jacks to limber up," Matt suggested.
"Are you sure?" I asked, looking at him quizzically.
"Yes, it will get the blood flowing again. Do 50 jumping jacks, then we'll resume," Matt said.
I took his advice. I started doing jumping jacks. After about 25 or 30, I became aware that my penis was flopping a bit too much as I jumped. As my legs would part, it would swing up and slap against my lower abdomen. And, as my legs joined, it would swing down and slap against my thigh. With each slap, I could feel my penis getting longer. I was about to stop. "Fifteen more!" Matt called out to me.
I finished the jumping jacks. Fortunately, I wasn't hard. But the flopping had elongated my flaccid penis to twice its normal length. I became self-conscious. I waved Matt over. "I. umm. I think we should wait," I stammered.
"What's the matter?" Matt asked.
"My...umm...penis. It's not the same size as when they were drawing before," I muttered, realizing that my cheeks were surely flushed.
