The Art Teacher

"So," asked John, the spokesperson for the four boys, "now it's our turn to select the pose, right?" "Yes." I replied softly while standing before them completely naked, my left hand covering my private area and my right arm across my breasts. "Yes, now you get to pick the pose."

How, you might ask, did I come to find myself in this most embarrassing situation? Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

My name is Amy Parker, and I'm a high school teacher in a small town in the Midwest. I grew up in the south with a loving family, one younger brother. I decided I needed to leave the south to expand my horizons and applied to a big university in a big city in the Midwest. It was perfect for me, and I really loved the wholesome, casual nature of Midwesterners.

I'm a slender blond about 5'4" tall. I had been a pretty good gymnast in high school and it had left me with a nice body. I elected not to pursue gymnastics in college.

A favorite Uncle had jokingly told me when he learned I was going off to college, "Don't let your studies interfere with your education!" I guess I felt the same way about continuing my sport - in high school it had required almost total dedication, and I was looking to broaden my experiences. Not long after I stopped the strenuous training, I noticed two things: my period became regular, and my breasts started to grow.

This story I'm about to tell you happened in 2011, my second year as a teacher, but it really began four years earlier when I was a sophomore. It was 2007 and I was majoring in art appreciation with a minor in French. The world was my oyster. Walking through the Student Union one morning I overheard two upperclassmen talking. One was telling the other a joke, "... then the architect asks, 'How will this building function?', and the engineers asks, 'What materials are needed to construct it?', and the banker asks, 'How will we fund this project?', and the Liberal Arts major asks, 'Do you want fries with that?'" I thought the joke was funny, then considered my own situation and decided to add a minor in education. It only took two 18-hour semesters my junior year to make that happen. That was fine because my junior year I was in-between boyfriends.

I only had two serious boyfriends in college. By "serious" I mean we had regular sex. My first boyfriend was a senior who I met in my sophomore year. He was almost exactly two years older than me. We both knew we would go our separate ways after he graduated, but we enjoyed each other's company while we were together.

He was the first boy to see me naked; it occurred on my 19

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birthday; the night I would lose my virginity. We had been dating for several months and I was ready for the big leap. I started taking the pill and giving him hints. One afternoon we were at his fraternity house looking at a lingerie catalogue together. I pointed to a pair of stockings with little pink hearts on them and suggested, "Those look nice."

A week later, on my birthday, a package arrived from Victoria's Secret. In it was a garter belt and those stockings. That night my roommate was out, and my boyfriend and I were in my apartment engaged in a heavy petting session following a celebratory birthday dinner. I announced that I had an early birthday present for him.

Summoning all my courage, I returned several minutes later with a beer on a tray wearing the garter belt and stockings, high heels, and nothing else. I looked hot! He must have agreed because he took me right there on the sofa.

It was exciting to experience sex for the first time. But that paled compared to the thrill I felt walking into the living room almost naked, wearing just those pink heart stockings, about to expose myself to a boy for the first time.

I guess I'm a bit of an exhibitionist - aren't we all? I love the feeling of adoration and being the center of attention. The adoration was one of the things I really missed from gymnastics. Our meets in high school had huge audiences, mostly boys. They were not all there because of their love of sports!

My first boyfriend and I had regular sex after that, and he often told me that my private area was his favorite part of my anatomy. I kept myself neatly trimmed - it was one of the few habits that remained from my days as a gymnast.

Our love making sessions were satisfying but I wanted more. I wanted to expand my sexual horizons and explore these deeper feelings - my primeval programming.

My junior year I was in-between boyfriends when I met Matt Sutton. Matt had been a nude model for one of our art classes and I invited him for a coffee afterwards. I guess I wanted to see what made him tick. I found out that Matt is gay and an entrepreneur of sorts. He has a thriving florist business and manages himself and several other models. We became good friends and hung out together when he wasn't working. We still see each other occasionally. Matt plays a pivotal role in my story later.

My second boyfriend understood me much better. He was a graduate student in finance, also two years older than I. It was the beginning of my senior year, and we were both planning to graduate in the spring. The morning after the first time we had slept together, we woke to the room basked in the golden glow of the morning sun. He politely and reverently asked if he could see me naked. We had had sex several times the previous night, but in the dark. I replied in my sexiest voice, "Of course."

I was on my back, covered by just a sheet. He got out of bed and slowly began to pull down the sheet. That same exciting thrill began to sweep over me. As the sheet reached my chest, I put my arms over my head in mock surrender. I heard a whistle as my perky breasts came into view. As the sheet passed my pelvic bone, he exclaimed, "Oh my, you weren't kidding; you ARE a natural blonde". And when I was completely uncovered, he told me that I was stunningly beautiful with the most perfect body he had ever seen. To which I replied, "I'll bet you say that to all the girls." It was all I could think of; it was all I could do to talk. The thrill of being naked and admired by another person took my breath away.

My breasts had grown to perfect C cup size and turned up slightly at my nipples. My second boyfriend thought they were my best feature and loved to admire them. I was happy to let him.

We began to role play and explore. In most of our role playing, I would end up naked on the bed while he examined me. God, I loved that. Sometimes I would fantasize it was against my will.

He loved to strip me in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom. He would remove my clothing one garment at a time while telling me what he was going to do to me. I pretended to be shy and non-cooperative. When I was down to just my white panties, facing the mirror with him behind me, I would stand with hands covering my breasts. He would reach around and forcibly pull my arms behind my back, exposing my breasts. Then, with his left-hand pinning both my arms behind my back, he would reach under my chin with his right and pull my head back, arching my back and accentuating my exposure. Then he would tweak my right nipple until it was rock hard. Swapping hands, he would tweak my left nipple until it was hard. Then he would say, "Amy, the only thing better than looking at you topless,.... is looking at you completely naked".

At the pause, he would grab both sides of my panties and yank them down to mid-thigh, leaving me exposed. Sometimes, while keeping my arms still pinned behind my back, he would finger me until I came. When this happened, my knees would buckle, and he would have to support me. Watching him violate me was such a turn on.

When I wasn't going steady, I had lots of opportunities for dating - I just was seriously turned off by anyone who came off as immature, and I absolutely hated getting "hit on". I guess the only thing that might have been worse was a boyfriend who didn't try anything. And that's where I found myself in 2011 at the time of my story, but more about that later.

I graduated in the spring of 2009 - the Great Recession was in full swing. Job opportunities had dried up and my only offer came from a small-town high school about 2 hours from the university. A high school football coach and his wife were both retiring, and the school needed her replacement to teach English, French, and Art Appreciation. I was impressed that there were still high school districts that appreciated the arts, so I took the job. It turns out that I may have overestimated the school district's love of the arts.

The Art Appreciation class I was to teach was mostly a crip course for the senior football players. During our turnover, the coach's wife told me that I must never flunk a football player. This course was the school's way of saying "thank you" for their hours of hard work. She also suggested that each class include a modest female nude to keep the boys interested.

For this purpose, she had a stack of small poster sized copies of paintings that featured tasteful female nudes. As she gave them to me, she whispered, as if protecting our secret, "These are for you, Dear." I responded under my breath, "Don't they have the internet here?"

Not only did I take her job; I took their house. They were moving to a small condo in another state to be close to their oldest daughter's family and did not want to sell in a down market, so they rented their mostly furnished house to me. It was bigger than I needed but would be perfect if my folks and brother visited.

My first-year teaching was hectic and exhilarating and I barely had time for anything other than class preparation and grading papers. My Art Appreciation class had gone well, probably because I had followed the script from my predecessor.

My second year I began to feel my oats and started to develop my own style. For my first Art Appreciation class I shared why I love the arts and why they were important; then added that there would be graded tests. The next class, four of the football players were missing. It was their way of saying, "We don't think you understand the deal here." After they missed the next three classes, I went to the new football coach to ask for help.

The new football coach had been hired as the assistant coach and history teacher three years before me with the expectation that, if he worked out, he would take over as coach. He had. At 26, he was the youngest head coach in the district.

We knew of each other, and even acknowledged each other in passing, but we'd never had a meaningful conversation. I had even lightly flirted with him a few times with no success. He was either shy or uninterested.

I arranged to meet him in his office and was immediately all business. "I have a problem with four of your players." I told him. "They have stopped coming to my Art Appreciation class. I may have initiated the problem by mis-stating the class requirements," I admitted, "but I now fully recognize the role my class fills, have made the adjustments, and I need them to return. I can't pass them if they don't attend class."

"I see." he responded.

After a brief pause, I continued, "Can you influence them to come back to class? And it would be great if they could make up some of the time they've missed."

"Yes, I'll try." he responded. After another short pause I mused. "If only they could see how difficult it is to create art, they might appreciate it. I understand there used to be money in the school's budget for art supplies, but that was zeroed out years ago."

Coach unlocked one of his desk drawers and pulled out a cash box. "Here is $200 from the proceeds of the concession stand at last Friday's football game - buy what you need. And I'll have the four boys here this Saturday at 2 PM for a one-hour special football training session. Does that work for you?"

"Yes" I quickly responded, "Yes, it does! And thank you! Would you like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime?" And that's how Coach and I had our first date.

Coach must have talked to the boys because they immediately returned to class. That weekend, everyone in town was in a good mood because the boys had won Friday night's football game. On Saturday, as promised, Coach and the four boys met me at 2 PM for their special training. He must not have told them much because they looked surprised to see me.

I had purchased four easels, two dozen blank canvases, brushes, palettes, and paint and had everything set up in my classroom. I ushered the boys into the room and heard a series of groans when they realized what their special training was to be. On my desk was a basket of fruit.

"Your special football training is to try to capture this fruit basket on canvas. This will do wonders for your hand-eye coordination and your dexterity." I caught a wry smile from Coach as he was leaving. I spent the first twenty minutes explaining the purpose of the palette and how to mix paint. Then I had them practice making brush strokes with various brushes for a few minutes. Once I was certain they had the basics down, I announced they should begin.

Peter was the quietest so I assumed he might be the most talented; boy was I wrong. It looked like he was trying to begin in the middle and work outward. I suggested he start by creating an outline of the object he wanted to paint. Next was Kevin. He was busy making what appeared to be brown splotches on the canvas. I wasn't sure what to say and left him with no advice. Roger was the quarterback of the team, handsome and confident, but not much of an artist. His brush strokes were too bold. I suggested he try more finesse - I'm not sure he knew what I meant. The last boy, John, was a linebacker and the captain of the team. Coach told me later that John was the most fearless football player he had ever coached. I suspected he was the ringleader of this group as well. He was doing OK, and I thought with practice, he might show some promise.

As I continued to cycle through the boys, offering advice and encouragement, I became increasingly intrigued with what Kevin was doing. He had added red splotches to the brown, then began adding black lines to his canvas. On my fourth trip past Kevin, an image suddenly appeared. His seemingly random lines and splotches of color had suddenly coalesced into a beautiful scene.

He had created a rustic kitchen. The bowl of fruit sat on a large wooden farmer's table. He had added a grapefruit to the bowl, improving the balance of the composition. One by one the other boys stopped their attempts at art and watched Kevin. We all sat speechless as Kevin put the finishing touches on his masterpiece - all in 30 minutes. The efficiency with which he painted reminded me of the bearded wiry-headed TV painter, Bob Ross.

Kevin put down his brush, shrugged his shoulders and answered the question he knew I was going to ask. "My Mother is an artist, and I painted with her as I grew up. She taught me everything. I've missed this! Thank you; that was fun." She may have taught him to paint, but you can't teach talent, and he had it!

We put away the supplies and as the boys were about to leave, John approached me. For the first time I noticed his intensely deep blue eyes. They were striking and seemed to look right through me. It took my breath away for a moment.

"Ms. Parker," John began, "do you mind if I ask you some questions? Have you ever painted a nude model?" It was an unusual question to ask, I thought, but I tried to be nonchalant with my response. "Yes," I responded, "many times. They are called life models."

"Male or female?" inquired John. "Both," I responded. "Usually, you try to have a model of the opposite sex from the majority of the artists." I felt the need to elaborate, "It adds the challenge of an unfamiliar body type."

"Oh." said John, "How long are the poses?" "About a half hour each. It's hard to hold a pose much longer than that." I answered.

"And how are the poses selected?" he asked. I responded, "Usually, the model will select the first pose. Something he or she is comfortable with and knows looks good. Often the teacher will select the second pose. Especially if they are trying to illustrate a special technique. And then it's customary to let artists in the class request the following poses. Artists need to know how to manage models."

That exchange seemed to satisfy John's curiosity and he and the other boys left.

The boys made most of my classes for the rest of the semester, but rarely all at the same time - Kevin even earned an "A". Coach and I started dating in November, although football needs often conflicted. We had a standing date on Saturday night - usually dinner and a movie. Coach would take me home and I would invite him in. "Oh, I shouldn't." he would normally reply, "Busy day tomorrow." And then he would give me a quick hug and leave.

I went to my parents for the Christmas break and just before I left Coach gave me a beautiful sweater as a Christmas present. I impulsively kissed him full on the mouth and then suddenly we both realized that had been our first kiss.

Once I got back from break, Coach and I became more exclusive, but he still never tried to get to "first base". I'm not sure he was even on the field. But I was getting addicted to him. He was kind, gentle and funny and perfect in every other way.

I knew he thought me to be a "good girl". I WAS a good girl. But good girls like sex, too! Coach would come around, eventually, I hoped. In the meantime, my vibrator became my best friend and lived in a drawer next to my bed.

The spring semester was starting and to my surprise, all four of my senior football players were in attendance for the first class. After class I expressed my hope that their attendance this semester would be better. And that's when John offered a deal. "Will you do something for us if all four of us make every class for the entire semester?"

"Hah!", I responded. "That would be a safe bet." John paused for a second as if in thought and then asked, "Ms. Parker, will you agree to this: If the four of us make every class on time, at the end of the semester, would you set-up another painting session for us?" I thought that sounded interesting and was intrigued. Then John continued, "With a life model?"

"No way! You are my students." I exclaimed, giving the boys my most discouraging look. John countered with, "It would be after we graduated. We wouldn't be your students anymore." He had a point. "How old are you all?" I asked. Kevin replied, "I'm the youngest and my 18

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birthday is in early May."

Graduation was in early June, so all four boys would be adults by then. I considered their offer for a moment then restated it, "Let me get this straight. All four of you make every class for the entire semester, never tardy once, and at the end of the semester, I set-up a one-hour painting session for you with a life model?"

"A FEMALE life model." added John with a smile, "We want the added challenge of an unfamiliar body type. And one more thing, we want the session to last for an hour and a half; there needs to be time for a third pose."

I know I shouldn't have even considered it, no matter how long the odds, but the opportunity to improve their attendance was enticing. I also wondered how my boys would react with a live, nude female. "We'd have to do this away from the school." I mused. "I guess we can use my house."

"You can really get a female to model nude?" asked John. "Yes, I think I can." I responded, "There is a modeling agency about two hours from here. I'll check and let you know."

That evening, I called my friend, Matt. He confirmed that he was still managing models and mentioned that he even had a website. I asked if he could get a female model to a come here for a modeling session. He promised to check and get back to me.