Life Model

Part 3 The First Time

It was early in the fall and I had just started back to school to work on a Master's degree. I had been working at a local convenience store but wasn't really making enough to cover rent. I was looking through the help wanted ads in the school newspaper and one of them caught my eye, "Figure Drawing Model".

The job was working as a nude life model for the art department. I was intrigued when I saw it. Some friends of mine had been art majors, and they had modeled for the figure drawing class when they were undergrads. Back then I never could have done it. I was so horny I gave new meaning to the term "stiff breeze". The thought of modeling nude was terrifying. Exciting, yes, but terrifying. Now the idea didn't seem so bad.

These days I was probably in the best shape of my life. Years of hard work, extensive outdoor activities, and yoga had combined to add some muscle tone and trim the fat. I felt pretty good about myself. I had also gotten pretty comfortable that skinny-dipping in Hot Springs with girlfriends, or friends, or complete strangers. Lots of people had seen me naked, and I didn't really think too much about it.

The modeling job paid pretty well, far better than any of the other jobs on campus. I suppose they had to pay a little bit better to try to get people crazy enough to stand naked in front of a room full of people. I responded to the email address listed in the ad, and had a very quick response. I went to the Art Department office, filled out some paperwork, and went to go check out a class to see what this modeling thing was all about.

The class was interesting. Being there as an observer, not an artist or model, standing there watching a naked man jump from pose to pose without a care in the world was both encouraging and a little intimidating. He was absolutely fearless. The model was shaved smooth, barely a hair on his body. He would strike some pretty crazy poses, acting out emotions, really giving the artists a good show. He told us that he had been doing this for a long time, 15 years or more, and as beginners we would not be expected to do anything like what he was doing. As a guy of course I was making comparisons. This guy was not hung like a horse, or like a small pony. He was probably pretty average or a little below average. He didn't care. Without a trace of pubic hair anywhere, he was letting it all hang out, literally, bouncing to and fro as he jumped from pose to pose.

I met with the director of the art department, and told her I didn't have any problem getting naked in front of a room full of people. I was completely honest with her, explaining that in my early twenties there was no way I could of done it, but now in my mid-thirties? It was no problem. I'd been around the block a few times, and lots of people had seen me naked on the way.

I got an email after a week or two telling me that I was on the schedule. I had pretty mixed emotions when I read it. On the one hand, it was pretty exciting. I was going to stand naked in front of a room full of people, for hours on end. The realization that this was actually going to happen was kind of intimidating.

I did some searches on the Internet to check out what life modeling was really all about. There were a few stories people had written. Some of them were informative, most of them were exhibitionist fantasies about standing on display with a hard on. There were lots of questions people had posted, "What if I get an erection?" It was a subject that came up often, no pun intended.

The truth is, I have a penis. That penis is subject to a number of things in the environment that determine how it will react. It could be hanging low and soft, pulled up tight and tiny, sticking out like a diving board, or one of countless variations. In order to try to control how my penis would behave, this was going to take some mental preparation.

I bought a mirror and stood in front of it in the evenings, looking at myself naked, experimenting with different poses, feeling utterly ridiculous. I practiced holding a pose as long as I could. I'd stand there trying to remain perfectly still, looking at details of my naked body in the mirror. I don't want to sound narcissistic, but I probably was. I was pretty satisfied with how I looked. As I said before, I was probably in the best shape of my life. I looked at myself as an adult male, a hairy man. I was no Greek Adonis, but I wasn't all bad.

In the hairless, androgynous, hipster culture, I didn't quite fit in. I was quite certain that some of the teens and twenty-somethings who would inevitably be in the class would be offended at my body hair, but there wasn't much I could do about it. I couldn't shave it off, so I decided that I was going to be an ambassador for hairy men everywhere. I'm here, I'm hairy, get over it.

Standing in front of that mirror I spent a lot of time focused on my penis and my testicles. As I held my poses I watched as things shrank or grew, moving back and forth, having a mind of their own. For the most part it wasn't bad. I would try to think of something sexy, closing my eyes and thinking about some of my favorite pussies I'd buried my face in, remembering how they tasted and smelled. Thinking about teasing women with my cock, stroking it on their pussy lips, feeling them squirm, wanting me to plunge into them. Remembering the feeling of their tight pussies stretching as I pushed in. I'd get myself worked up and then focus on keeping myself soft.

I know I'm not a big man down there. I do not have a big penis, but I have had complements at certain times from various women, but I was pretty sure I would not be replicating those circumstances in front of a room full of students. Just as I was going to be an ambassador for hairy men, I would also represent men with average to small penises. I bought a robe, swallowed my pride, and checked the schedule.

The first class was in the middle of the afternoon. I took a long hot shower and shaved. I decided to give my pubic hairs a trim. I wanted to clean things up, and admittedly I wanted to try to emphasize the package. As hairy as I am shaving bald or going too short would have looked ridiculous, like an earthworm poking its head out of a patch in the lawn where the mower had cut all the grass off. I trimmed the hedge, hopped on my bicycle, and rode across town to the campus, listening to some tunes to get into the right head space. I was more nervous than I wanted to admit, but the time had come and there was no backing out now.

I found the changing room, and disrobed. I took a few minutes taking some deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves and loosen up. I tugged on my cock a few times, trying to convince myself it wasn't that small. I walked out into a hallway full of students all getting ready for class. Wearing a robe in the art department everyone knew what I was doing. Some of the students would barely look at me, giving me a sheepish grin, then hurriedly turn their attention to the floor and walk past. Others avoided making eye contact at all, acting like there was not a naked man walking down the hallway. Some were very friendly, giving me a knowing smile, taking quick glances down at my robe. I feigned confidence, striding down the hall like it was no big deal. You could tell by the way I walk my walk, I'm a woman's man, no time to talk.

Walking into the room my confidence was shaken. The art teacher for this particular section of figure drawing, turned out to be a very attractive woman. She was stunning. I told myself that this was a good thing, once she saw me naked she would want me. Right? There were not going to be many secrets between us after today.

Further complicating matters was the fact that this was a room full of young women. Beautiful young women, late teens or early twenty's, fresh faces getting out and experiencing life. Even that wouldn't have been so bad, but low cut, skintight, black tights were in fashion. I loved them. The stretchy, thin, black fabric formed itself to every little curve, tightly hugging beautiful long legs, bunching up a little where thighs melded into crotch, with no sign of panties underneath, forming soft little valleys on tight little pussies. Black tights were in fashion, and miniskirts. Miniskirts riding up high on smooth thighs; smooth, tanned, toned thighs exposed right up to the crotch line. Black tights, miniskirts, and thin gauzy sundresses, three of my worst enemies in a room full of temptation. My mouth was suddenly very dry. I was telling myself I had nothing to worry about. We were all friends here, right?

The class began with the instructor talking to the students about what today's class would be. They talked about their previous assignment, drawing nude self-portraits. I tried not to think about these beautiful young women standing naked in their bedrooms, carefully looking over every detail of their tight little bodies. Instead I focused on the time I had spent standing in front of the mirror preparing for this day. I was nervous. I had cottonmouth bad.

I looked around at the room taking in my audience one more time as the art teacher introduced me. I walked to the center of the room, took a second to focus, took in a deep breath, held it, exhaled, and dropped my robe at the side of the stage. That was it. I felt my cock exposed in the open air, and felt the eyes of the room looking at it bouncing around as I assumed my first pose.

Honestly, it wasn't that bad. I focused on a spot in the back of the room, and meditated for the next half an hour. I focused on my breathing. I tried to clear my head, and I stand still. Of course, I became painfully aware of my penis and my testicles doing their thing. I could feel my penis shrink and grow, moving about back-and-forth. My nerves had the better of me, and my testicles shriveled up, painfully tight. I focused on my breathing, focused on a distant point in the back of the room, held my pose and made it through. The instructor called a break after what seemed to be a minor eternity. I grabbed my robe and ran down the hall to find the restroom. I had to piss like a racehorse.

The break was over, and I positioned myself onstage for my next pose. I felt more comfortable with my junk hanging out this time. I stood there nonchalantly, confidently looking around the room now, listening to the instructor's directions. There was a small stool set my right foot on, and assumed a pose similar to the thinker. Right leg propped up on the stool, twisting around with my left elbow on my right thigh, my balls hanging out proudly between my legs.

In this pose my gaze was not directed outward at the back of the room, but rather at the first couple rows of students in front of me. I focused on my breathing, tried to clear my head of any thoughts. Staring blankly ahead, my eyes found their focus on an ass barely concealed behind the thin cotton veil of a sundress. She had a remarkable ass, round and perky. She was kind of mirroring my pose, standing with one leg propped up on a stool in front of her. The fabric of her dress, what there was of it, was pulled tight around the curves of her beautiful, firm ass. I tried to blur my focus, thinking about my pose. I tried to clear my head of all thoughts. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. In and out. In and out.

She stood up straight, which caused the hem of the sundress to ride up on her thigh. Human beings are predatory animals, and our eyes are naturally drawn to motion. She looked around her easel to get a better look at me, my eyes were drawn to her and to her thighs, the smooth skin of her thighs exposed just below the hem of her dress. The thin cotton pulled tight to her body, and I began to wonder if there was anything between that cotton and her ass. As if she felt my eyes on her, she pulled her dress back down her thigh, trying to conceal the wonders of her flesh. Focus. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. In and out.

I was becoming aware that all of my weight was supported on the ball of my left foot. A dull ache rose up and was a pleasant distraction. My mind turned to the teachings of the Buddha, and the four noble truths. All of life is suffering. The root of suffering his desire. Breathe in, breathe out. I focused on my mantra, kind of.

I heard the pencils scribbling on the pages of the drawing books, and hushed whispers. I was doing pretty good, when the art teacher walked in front of me. She was so very sexy. She was an Asian woman with the most beautiful eyes, and a sexy, disheveled artist look. Standing there with her face maybe 12 inches from me, she looked at my cock for a moment, and asked me how I was doing.

"Just fine," I lied. It could have been worse. I was surviving. Then she got the classes attention, and started to point out the musculature of my thighs.

"Now class, remember those anatomy drawings we were studying last week. Think about the muscles in his thighs." Her hand traced a line up my thigh as she described how the muscles were attached. Her touch was like electricity. My heart began to race, and I could feel my cock start to swell. "Look at how his torso is twisted." Her finger moved from my ass around to my abs, just barely touching my pubic hair. I felt my cock swell and lift, as if it was seeking her touch. I felt it bobbing with my heart beat. She didn't look at me, but I could tell there was a smile on her lips. She was getting exactly the response she was looking for.Breathe and, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in ...

My heart began to race, my breaths became rapid and short as I was well aware of my semi erect penis moving up and down like one of those glass birds dunking it's head into a cup of water. Focus. Focus. In a desperate attempt to stem the flow, I clenched down on that Kegel muscle right at the base of my cock. I'm no expert on anatomy, was probably not the best choice to make at that time. It seemed that by clenching down on that muscle I must have inadvertently been milking my prostate. Squeezing down on the muscle, concentrating, trying to keep from getting a raging hard on, I felt a little drop of precum begin to move down my urethra. I could feel it moving slowly, languidly, searching for light and the open air. Oh God, no. My concentration waned for but a brief moment, I relaxed my grip on the Kegel muscle, and I felt fluid ooze out of the tip of my cock. The sensation was disappointingly similar to a premature ejaculation. There was, my lube of love dripping slowly and plasticly from the tip of my penis, stretching slowly down to the floor beneath my feet.

Had it been a drop of dew about to fall from the tip of a blade of grass, it would have been a truly beautiful scene. That was not a drop of dew. I was aware of a sudden hush in the room. Pencils no longer scribbling on the drawing books, no erasers rubbing out minor mistakes, every breath, including mine, was being held as that shimmering drop stretched, and stretched until the surface tension was broken. One long strand separated, falling to the floor at my feet, as one short strand still clung to the tip of my cock. I was somewhat horrified.

A young girl in the back of the room started giggling. The art teacher was on her in an instant. "That's it, you're going for a walk come back in when you settle down." I saw the girl out the corner of my eye, a rosy flush on her cheeks as she walked out to get some fresh air. Gradually the soft sound of charcoal pencils on paper began to return. All I could do now was hold my pose and pray for it to all be over soon. The art teacher walked to the stage in front of me. She reached down, and dipped the tip of her index finger into my precum, and rubbed it between her fingers without giving me a second look. I was sure she was very pleased with herself.

I began to feel the pressure slowly start to drop in my penis, and it felt pleasantly heavy. Focus. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Time was passing now, and I started to feel confident that I would survive. It was foolish of me to get my hopes up. As soon as I began to feel optimistic, a motion out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was the girl in the sundress. She had lifted her leg onto the stool in front of her again. She was squinting one eye, had one arm extended in front of her, sticking out her thumb, for perspective I guess. My eyes briefly met hers, briefly, but long enough to see a seductive little grin. She lowered her arm to her thigh, where instead of pulling down on the hem of her sundress, she hitched it up. Trying not to look but looking all the same, I saw that she was not wearing any panties, and yes, she had recently shaved. Little Miss Sundress gently stroked her pussy lips behind her easel. Her finger slowly circled her clitoris. Then, she took her pencil and pressed it lengthwise between her lips, moving it slowly back and forth. With the other hand she sketched away. The girls around her didn't notice a thing, their attention seemed to be drawn to something else. I began to feel dizzy. I experienced a sudden decrease in the blood supply going to my brain. My circulation was now focused elsewhere. My cock swelled up, thick and hard. Little Miss Sundress smiled as she brought her hand up from her pussy, and clenched her pencil between her teeth. She reached down and pulled her dress back into place, giving her sweet little pussy a scratch.

I understood now why all of the stories I read about modeling on the Internet where about guys getting hard ons. "It happens. Just accept it and move on" advised one writer. Yup, nothing I could do now. Just accept it and move on. Just accept it and move on. I'm a naked man standing in front of a room full of women, and I've got a hard on. I've got a little bit of seminal fluid dripping down out of the tip of my cock glistening in the light. I'm a man. I have a penis, and this is what it looks like when I am turned on. As soon as I gave up and accepted the situation everything was okay. My cock relaxed again, and I had that pleasant full feeling; that awareness of my heavy penis hanging loosely in front of me, dangling there for everyone to see.

My mind again returned to the teachings of the Buddha. The way to end suffering, is to just accept your situation, and to cease to resist. I had accepted my situation, I accepted my hard on and no longer resisted. In doing so the release of nervous tension was liberating. Now I was just a naked man standing in for the room confidently. My heart rate slowed, my breathing was again under control. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. In and out. In and out. I owned my situation. I owned myself. I owned my feelings, and my masculinity.

The instructor told the class we only had five minutes left. Part of me really wanted to stand there a lot longer, but I could tell I had a pretty good bruise on the bottom of my left foot. Focusing on my penis I had been distracted from the pain. As the class was ending I began to look around as everyone was finishing up the drawings. My eyes again met with Little Miss Sundress. I focused on her eyes and smiled. No trying not to look now. Now I looked into her eyes with confidence, and saw a soft flush rise to her cheeks as she giggled softly.

The class was over, and reluctantly I stepped down and put on my robe. Behind me the art teacher took a seat on the low stage. I turned round to see her tracing a design on the platform with my precum. "You did a good job," she said. "Thank you. The first time is always a learning experience."

"No, thank you." I said sincerely. I had indeed learned a lesson, more than she could have known. Then again, she was probably speaking from experience. I pictured her standing naked on the stage, then I pictured her standing naked next to me on the stage, and like any good boy scout, I was pitching a tent. As I felt the terry cloth against the head of my cock I briefly considered opening my robe to see would be so kind as to give me a blow job. I could just imagine seeing her sexy mouth wrapped around me as I looked down into her eyes. I almost came just picturing it.