The Model Life

The Model Life

The entry is the sequel to "Lo-Fi", which detailed my first foray into the world of being an Artist's Model.

Many years ago, in the Dog Days between leaving college and going up to University, I worked a lot of different jobs. I did anything and everything that would help pay down my not-insubstantial debt mountain. Most of those jobs involved serving behind a till or packing shelves although I found some fairly lucrative work as a personal tutor, helping students and learners who were struggling with their course work or where English was not their first language. However, perhaps my most unusual job was as a Life Model.

My twin sister, Sophie, got me the gig. She'd been making pin money by posing for a friend of the family, Amy. Amy ran a series of Adult Life Classes but also took on commissions, typically human figures finished in bronze. It was easy money by all accounts and seemed to suit Sophie's work-shy attitude. However, as was her habit, Sophie quickly became bored and soon wanted out.

At interview, Amy had stipulated that the job would last at least six months, maybe longer so she wasn't very happy when Sophie announced that she was heading for the exit after just a couple of weeks. Sophie suggested that I might be willing to step in at short notice and, out of options, Amy agreed to meet me.

Sophie and I are identical twins. We're physically the same in every detail. The only major difference between us in those days was our hair - her's was shoulder length and bleached blonde whereas mine was, and is, jet black and mannishly short.

At Sophie's request, I went along to meet Amy at her studio a couple of days later. A few years had passed since we'd last spoken but she was exactly as I remembered her. Tall, well built if a little on the chubby side, and with a lovely round, warm face. Matronly is the best word, I think. Amy asked me a lot of questions related to my previous experience with a special emphasis on reliability and dependability. Of course, she also asked how comfortable I was with taking my clothes off in front of an audience. I said that I'd modelled before, for Sophie, and enjoyed it. And I was more than thrilled when Sophie's compositions for the "Lo-Fi" project were exhibited at a local gallery and even more so when her photos of a very naked me ended up in the regional newspaper.

Amy asked if I was happy to try out a couple of poses right then and there. That was a little unexpected but I felt safe and comfortable, and Amy was an old friend and I trusted her. She showed me to a quiet corner of the studio, pointed to a chair and a model's robe and invited me to make myself comfortable. I saw no point whatsoever in feeling bashful or ashamed. I'm proud of my body. I've always kept myself ridiculously fit and still work out at least three or four times a week so what's there to be ashamed off?

Amy then invited me to show her what I had to offer in the way of poses. Alas, this is where my lack of experience as a model was plainly evident.

"Better if you tell me what you want," I said. I tried not to look too stupid but I didn't quite succeed.

"I have some pictures... " said Amy. "This is what we've been working on."

We had a look through Amy's portfolio and picked out a small collection of trial poses, and then went to work.

"As a start, I think you should just hop up on the bench here, and try to copy this pose as best you can," said Amy. "It's not at all comfortable but that's the point of the piece."

If you asked me to write down all of the weirdest, most surreal moments in my life, then this situation, this tableau, would surely be up there in the top three. I'm kneeling, chest down, face down, ass up, head resting on folded arms as Amy wanders about, left and right, back and forth, checking for angles and lines and possible problem areas.

"As far as I'm concerned," she said. "The job's yours, on the condition that you agree to work for at least three months, possibly four. How does that sound?"

"I'm in," I said. I had plenty of time on my hands. It was the end of May and my University course didn't start until late in September.

"You're sure?" said Amy. "You're not going to bail on me?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm good. I'll see this through to the end."

So, I signed up to the project and spent the next hour or so with my ass in the air and my tits resting on a brown canvas mat, and whilst this sounds like an erotic dream come true for some, it really wasn't.

From start to finish, that first sitting was, in the main, fairly relaxing although ultimately, posing for so long in the same awkward position proved murderous on my knees and my lower back. I knew, with a numbing certainty that I would suffer the following day. I wasn't wrong.

The sessions took place twice a week and lasted around three hours from start to finish, and amounted to little more than sitting motionless for thirty minutes at a stretch. I was a bit nervous at first but soon settled into a rhythm. I would cycle across at around five, eat and shower at Amy's and then sit for her until around nine. After that, I'd either take the bus home or my Mum would collect me, depending entirely upon the weather.

More than anything, the money was good. Actually, it was excellent. Triple what I'd earn packing shelves in the same amount of time.

Posing naked is a strange experience. After the initial panic, you quickly forget that you're not wearing clothes and your mind soon wanders off to the more mundane elements of life - shopping, food, sleep, academic goals, finding a mate. The whole experience becomes so ordinary you start to forget why you're there.

However, that's not the point of this writing.

I'd been working with Amy for about three weeks when she paused the session and said that it was time to try something else, something new.

"You're quite, quite different from your sister," she said. "Actually very different..."

"I would hope so," I replied. "She's..."

"Difficult..." said Amy, smiling.

I nodded. "Yeah... Difficult is one way of putting it..."

"Your temperaments are very different," said Amy. "For an artist, she seems very closed off. Not very open to new ideas. Hasn't really developed much. Maybe I'm being unfair on her."

"She never leaves the house" I said, slipping into my model's gown. (Modesty, you know...)

"Never switches the TV off, doesn't speak to anyone except my Mother and me..."

"Really? How odd..." whispered Amy.

With my back aching and my knees quietly begging for mercy, I had a wander around the workshop and...

... suddenly screamed as I came face-to-face with a large man, around six foot four and about four hundred pounds. Like a chubby version of Rasputin.

"Ah," said Amy. "This is Roger, my ... partner..."

"Partner?" said Roger. "Partner? Is that it? Just a 'partner'?"

Roger was physically enormous. A great wall of a man with a huge bushy beard, shoulder length hair, tiny wire-framed 'penny-eye' glasses and a belly that was almost as round in circumference as he was tall.

"Roger, this is Sarah..." said Amy, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"Sarah?" said Roger offering his hand. "What happened to Sophie?"

"Sophie is my sister," I said. "I've taken over."

"Oh, well good," said Roger. "She was... err... "

"As I was just commenting," said Amy. "She was... Challenging, shall we say?"

"Yes, challenging... " said Roger. "Yes. That's the word."

"Roger isn't normally here," said Amy. "He's usually teaching his own class on a Wednesday evening."

Roger smiled. "I am, mostly. But this week is a half term," he said. "I've given them a break. So they can rest their weary souls."

"Roger teaches fine art," said Amy.

Roger turned to leave but paused in the doorway. "I just popped in," he said. "To tell you your Mother called."

"I'll her call back tonight or tomorrow morning," said Amy.

"Don't worry," said Roger as he turned and left. "I already told her you would..."

"I don't believe that for a minute," said Amy as soon as the coast was clear. "He only 'popped in' to see if you were... posing. Of that, I'm sure. Dirty old bastard."

I smiled. "He's a bloke," I said. "They're all the same."

"Also, I think he was checking up on you," said Amy. "I think he wants you to pose for some of his classes. How would that work?"

"It could, I guess," I said. "Depends if anyone recognises me, really."

"Oh, I suppose yeah," said Amy. "That might be a problem since most of his students are local or if not immediately local then certainly from this area. What do you think? It's more money than I can pay."

I thought about the proposition for a couple of seconds. "Yeah, okay," I said. "I'll do it..."

"That's good," said Amy, smiling. "I'll tell him you're up for it."

"Anyway, as I was saying before Roger barged in," continued Amy. "I want to try something else. I want to work on something different. Something more demanding. Figures, perhaps. Figures combined. Together. How would you feel about working with another model?"

Okay, time for an ugly pause.

"Male or Female?" I asked. "Not that it matters much. What matters is that they're clean and professional."

"I have one of my other models in mind," said Amy. "He's called Luke and occasionally poses for Roger's classes. He's very nice and thoroughly professional, too."

Ah, so now the pieces slipped gently into place. The penny dropped. This is why Sophie withdrew. Was it because she didn't want to work with another model? Or just this model? I started to wonder if 'Luke' is or was one of her friends or maybe an acquaintance from her University days.

"Are you interested?" said Amy.

"Let me think about it," I said. "It's a big step, being that close to someone you don't know, and for such a long time, too."

"Roger would be involved," said Amy. "He's not short of a bob or two. And from what he earns in commissions, I'm sure he'd be willing to pay more than the going rate. Good models are very hard to come by."

"Let me know how you feel about Luke," continued Amy. "He's a nice boy. Sensible, mature, good looking. You'll probably like him in an instant. He has that kind of personality."

I met Luke the following week and, Amy was spot on. I did like him in an instant. Exactly my kind of bloke. Tall, skinny, athletic, short blonde hair, a local accent but also very well spoken.

Of course, working with your ideal specimen of the human male in such circumstances brought with it some additional problems. Yeah, you're ahead of me.

First and foremost, he had an amazing body. Secondly, I was seriously into him, and vice versa. A gal knows this, right from the start. The magic was unmistakable. I just knew I'd found the kind of guy I could take home to meet Mummy and, once he'd had his fill of tea and crumpets and Victoria Sponge cake, I'd take him up to my room, lock the doors and then pound his manhood into the wee hours. I'm nice like that.

Of course, there was a fly in he proverbial ointment. Luke already had a girlfriend, Izzy, so he was, by and large, off limits.

So, here we go.

Luke and I had separate sections of the workshop to change out of our clothes. I'd bought a new dressing gown, acquired just for this gig - a retro Japanese design, black silk-like material with an intricate series of designs, mostly birds, up and down the sleeves and across the back. Luke didn't bother with any of that fluffery. No fake modesty for him. He just stood there in the raw until I finally emerged into the harsh daylight.

You want a description? Okay, here goes. Picture one of Da Vinci's male models only taller but just as well-muscled, with straight, light brown hair, blue eyes and a rugged, manly face. Oh, and yeah - he had a nice penis, too. Make that very nice. Not too big. Not too small. Just nice. The kind of penis you'd like to become more acquainted with on a warm, dark night under a canopy of screaming blue stars.

"Okay," said Amy. "Let's start with something simple."

Aware that Luke was silently staring, perhaps checking out the goodies, I lowered the robe and folded it neatly across the back of a chair, all the while trying to stay calm, trying to stay focussed and professional.

The first pose was simple. Easy, relaxed, back to back, skin to skin, arms folded, as if mutually disinterested. Amy shuttled about with a camera, a big DSLR thing that must have cost a small fortune, taking snaps, looking for angles and lines.

Second pose. Face to face, chests touching, lit from behind and photographed in profile. My tits were pressed up against Luke's chest. I could smell his scent, a rich, deep, manly aroma. I felt a little flustered. I was having fun but also nervous.

The next couple of poses were more intimate. We were asked to hold each other, our heads turned away, hands enmeshed. This was kinda difficult, I don't mind saying. I found it nigh on impossible to clear my head of the images that came, unbidden, to the forefront of my conscious mind. My pussy was getting moist. No use pretending that it wasn't. I was getting seriously wet down there and when I get seriously moist then I start to smell like sex. Unless I learned to focus then the problem wasn't going to disappear of its own accord.

Amy asked us to try another pose. I asked for a moment to settle myself, to sort out the thunderstorm that was going on in my undercarriage. I glanced across at Luke. His cock was... Soft. Flaccid. Utterly, utterly disinterested. I was shattered and crestfallen. Huh? I thought I was irresistible. My ego felt seriously bruised.

Okay, time to be more professional.

We went through a variety of poses before Amy settled on one she liked. We were both upright and on our knees with Luke behind me, my arms above my head, eyes shut but gazing up towards the heavens. I managed to hold the position for around ten minutes before it became uncomfortable and then really uncomfortable.

By mutual agreement, we took a break. The atmosphere was friendly, polite, cordial but still Luke seemed almost oblivious to my presence. I could have been invisible but, from the professional point of view, we had to remain dispassionate and disinterested. It's just bodies. Flesh. Skin and bone. There's no energy there. No connection. No relationship. I found that hard to deal with.

There was s a knock on the door. Predictably, it was Roger, come to get his fix of bare bodies.

"Enter..." shouted Amy without pausing for breath.

"Ah, good," said Roger, trying not to stare. "I need to talk to you two..."

Roger paused and did something of a double-take. He seemed unable take his eyes off me. At last, I thought. Finally we have a man who actually acknowledges that I'm here.

"My classes resume tomorrow," he continued his voice breaking slightly. "And, as ever, my models have dropped out and I'm having problems locating replacements. Are you two available? Short notice, I know but..."

Luke nodded. "Yeah, I am. When and where?"

"Great!" said Roger, elated. "Same time, same place, same duration."

"Fee?" asked Luke.

Roger smiled. "Whatever she pays you," he said pointing at Amy. "Then multiply it by three."

Luke smiled.

"What about you, Sarah?" he asked. "Are you up for it?"

I nodded because I had dollar signs in front of my eyes. Big, green, throbbing dollar signs. I threw caution to the wind and agreed. "Yeah, I think so."

"The pay is the same as Luke's, and triple what my good wife will reluctantly part with..." said Roger, grinning from ear to ear.

"Cheeky git," said Amy.

It was my turn to smile. This was a significant amount and certainly more than the standard agency rates.

I turned up the next day about thirty minutes earlier than planned. Luke was already on site and we helped to prepare the room. We put out twenty chairs. Roger assured us that we wouldn't need more than ten but, in the end, we needed two more.

The learners arrived in twos and threes at around seven pm. They were mostly couples, some pushing seventy plus years although there were a few millennials and one girl about my age. Turned out that she was Luke's girlfriend, Izzy.

Awww... Shame...

Luke leaned over and whispered in my ear. Apparently, this wasn't Roger's usual art class, the so-called Charity class. This was his own class, here by invitation-only. These would-be artists were essentially paying a lot more for private tuition and for better, more aesthetic models. Hence, the fees, and why we were being paid more.

"What do you mean, 'better and more aesthetic models'?" I asked.

"You ought to see some of the nasties the agency has sent along in the last year," said Luke. "They're really scraping the bottom of the barrel..."

I thought his remarks were a little nasty. Unkind. Uncalled for. So it goes, I guess. People are people.

Roger's first session started and this was like no other session I've ever seen or visited or, indeed, participated in.

Roger invited us to replicate a position based upon the sculpture,'Fallen Angel' by Waldo T. Story, which dates from 1889 and presently resides in the Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle. The study had formed a major component of the group's homework assignment wherein the class had been invited to visit the gallery and study the sculpture for themselves. [The sculpture is in the Cafe for those interested...]

Anyway, with Luke and I in position, the class was invited to form a circle around the main stage.

Roger began by working his way through the class's sketches, one by one, noting their individual strengths and weaknesses.

Then came the unusual stuff.

Roger began. "Now, I note that many of you appear to have a problem depicting the relationship between the hips and the shoulders."

Roger moved around to my shoulders, and pressed gently down upon my clavicles. "To make your work convincing, you should note the relationship between the costal arch here, and the arching of the back, here. There is also the relationship between the ovoid mass of the thoracic cage and the ovoidal mass of the pelvis..."

"They are, skeletally speaking, only connected by the lumbar vertebrae. That said, the contribution of the muscle is, nonetheless significant. The connection with only the lumbar vertebrae is what makes the difference."

"I also note," said Roger. "...that we have one or two prudes in the class, do we not?"

The class laughed.

"Do you have any idea as to what I am alluding to?"

Silence.

"You will observe that Story's sculpture, as displayed, features the female genital regions, specifically the outer labia or vulva, although I would further note that they are not stressed and no emphasis is placed upon them. They are merely there."

Roger pointed at my hoo-ha with a long, thin pencil.

"I note that one or two of you elected not to include those features in your final rendering."

"It seemed rude," said one of the ladies.

"It may well seem rude but rudeness is subjective and what is rude to you may not be rude to me, and what is rude to me may seem utterly trivial and incomprehensible to you. What matters most is that we are honest and truthful about our work. We should always aim to present the truth. Interpretation is best left to those with neither the skill nor the patience to learn proper technique."

A loud "Sssssss.... " spilled out onto the floor from Amy's quarters, followed by "Bloody cheek..."

"Another region worthy of further consideration and some exploration in terms of feel, is the median line between the sternum and the umbilicus, along the line of the linear alba. These extended positions are greatly favoured because of the opportunities they afford for study."

Unusual that I remember the words with such clarity, eh? I'd never heard a body referred to in such anatomical terms before. I was so curious that I wrote as many of the terms down as I could remember and looked them up in a copy of Grey's anatomy as soon as I got home. (My mother is a Doctor so she helped me with the proper terminology and the spelling...)