London 1980s
Ian
Ian Collins had done the prescribed amount of life-drawing on foundation, less at art-school and then later, more regularly in evening classes: mainly because his girlfriend at the time had been the tutor. They had modelled for each other, and he had learned to keep still for extended periods of time, He had crucially also learnt what positions not to try!
Combined with a bottle or three of cheap wine, a joint, and then adventurous sex, it had made for an exciting evening. They had occasionally even produced reasonable drawings.
The idea of modelling on a more professional basis had intrigued him but he lacked the self-confidence for it to be any more than a titillating fantasy. He remembered all too well the day when on foundation the model hadn't turned up. The tutor had asked for volunteers from the class, and he had come so close to stepping forward. Butterflies had done aerobatics in his stomach; some hidden exhibitionist deep in the dark corners of his libido had risen to the challenge. It hadn't happened though. A geeky girl with glasses who he'd quite fancied from the first week of the course obviously had a more decisive hidden exhibitionist, and had jumped up and volunteered immediately. She had disappeared behind a screen, and appeared a few minutes later, completely naked, and nervously excited, had embarked on a series of awkward poses with a twitchy intensity. This unfortunately had made drawing her a nightmare. The awkward sex they'd had later had also not been a complete success.
He'd visited strip clubs and like the life-drawing classes, could always spot the nervous new girl, on stage for the first time. Something about that hesitant initial reveal always set his heart racing and he just knew he'd get an even greater adrenaline fix if it were him getting naked instead.
Now, several years later, He was twenty-six. He was single, living in a squat and on the dole. He was always short of money. He was, however in the best physical shape of his life. The benefit system gave him concessionary rates at the local council swimming pool and at various evening classes around London. He swam every day and attended several life-drawing classes in the evenings. He often considered modelling but invariably chickened out, despite the attraction of the money and his nagging desire. He certainly had the opportunity, although his motives he realised were a bit suspect.
Various people who did do modelling work tried to convince him; London was full of Art-schools they cajoled, he lived within walking distance of all the big art colleges, there was any number of evening classes and small art groups constantly looking for models and it was all 'cash in hand,' unseen by the benefits office. Generous breaks made it not exactly hard work; in many cases, colleges provided showers and separate rooms for their models to change, and the money was good.
His past girlfriend had been almost fanatically opposed to any idea of sexual overtones polluting her life drawing classes and had watched very carefully any student who she suspected of being there just for titillation, it was, as far as she was concerned a purely artistic pursuit of line and form, that just happened to involve naked human bodies. She would have been appalled and outraged by his secret unfulfilled, exhibitionist fetish. Ian felt thrillingly guilty that he found the idea of being naked in front of a bunch of strangers so exciting and had almost convinced himself that he must be some sort of frustrated flasher. He'd even toyed briefly with the idea of stripping, but to be honest he had nowhere near the self-confidence or indeed the equipment to carry that off. Life modelling, if not quite within his comfort zone, was at least comfortably in his skill set.
It was time, he concluded, to at least give it a go. So finally, he took the plunge and got himself a booking as a life model for one of the big London art schools.
On the day, he showered and dressed in his favourite 1930s suit: complete with waistcoat and braces. He'd got it for next to nothing from a charity shop and knew he looked good in it. He continued the theme with a cotton collarless shirt, and black brogues. Over his shoulder he slung an old army bag. He'd wanted to dress stylishly in an attempt to bolster his confidence, even though he realised with mixed feelings, that he wouldn't be dressed at all for most of the day!
His carefully constructed confidence quickly evaporated however as he found himself, with pounding heart and churning stomach, walking through the imposing entrance of the art-school, and walking up to the reception,
"Hi! I'm here to model for the art class. Ian Collins." He announced timidly to the young woman behind the desk.
"Portrait, fashion or... nude?" Her eyes bored into him, and he could sense her assessing him for each in turn.
"Er, nude." Ian gulped, hoping he hadn't blushed.
"First time?" She asked, smiling with a look that let him know she'd already guessed his last answer.
"Er, yeah, I'm a bit nervous..." Ian stuttered, this time definitely feeling the heat on his cheeks.
"No, I meant here, it's easy to get lost. The life studio is on the top floor and in the far corner of the building. We can't have people just wandering into the wrong room naked!"
"Oh, I see. Of course, thanks." He tried to compose himself as she leafed through lists on a clipboard, found his name and handed him a nametag.
"Just pin that somewhere it can be easily seen. You'll need it to access the rest of the building. The canteen etc." She smiled again. Then adding just in case, it hadn't occurred to him.
"When you get dressed again at the lunch break, obviously"
Ian suspected she was enjoying his discomfort.
"I might have to pop up later just to check you found the right room!" She gave him a little wink and Ian wriggled with embarrassment.
He nervously negotiated the staircases and corridors, entering eventually a large life drawing studio with a tutor and a handful of students. He identified himself to the tutor, painfully aware of the appraisal of the students, who looked frighteningly young, and predominantly female. The tutor indicated a small door to the left, where Ian found a compact shower cubicle and a small changing area, with a table and full-length mirror.
Still totally at a loss to rationalise why exactly this was stirring up such a mix of sensations, he pulled off his black brogues, took off his jacket, waist coat, unhooked the braces and lowered his trousers, shirt and underwear and stood trembling and naked in front of the mirror. He'd seen so many models awash with self-confidence and with genitalia that drew whispered comments of admiration. One male model had been referred to as the fireman, naively Ian had initially believed the reference was to his regular job.
What he saw in the mirror now was a confused, terrified little waif.
The mirror crushed any self-confidence he had tried to conjure up. He wasn't very tall and despite his slim physique, well defined muscles, and flat stomach he just didn't look, well, very masculine. He wasn't bad looking he supposed, but in a slightly androgenous way that made some people assume he was gay. His pale skin had only the faintest trace of the tan he had worked so hard on during the summer, his floppy fair hair needed a haircut, and he had only a few wispy pale strands of hair on his torso apart from the more slightly ginger patch between his legs. His flaccid penis hung straight down pathetically. It was, he told himself optimistically, at least average but, On the plus side, it did seem quite thick and was more impressive when erect. He had heard the turn 'show or grow' and was definitely a grower. Pity he thought, he wasn't going to be able to do any growing today! He toyed with the idea of sliding the foreskin back, giving his penis a little extra length and revealing its crowning glory, a well-defined and sculptural glans, (he wasn't too keen on what he thought were crude slang terms; helmet or bell end). He realised however how exposed it would make him feel and decided against it.
