She stood there before us all, naked from head to toe. Our eyes studied every detail of her body, including her behind, since she was standing in front of a large mirror, with her right foot up on a chair and her right hand resting on her knee.
With the exception of two female art students, we drawers were all young men; even our teacher, in his mid-forties, was male. And yet the pretty blonde, about my age-twenty-stood there with a serene face, even smiling, as she recited her poetry, just allowing all those eyes to stare at every inch of her skin.
She wasn't even the tiniest bit uncomfortable? She didn't feel embarrassed, or even scared? Didn't she worry about the statistics that one in five college girls get raped? As she looked back at the faces of all us men, about ten including our prof, surely she was getting a jolt or two of fear from the lecherous twinkle in the eyes, or a lewd smirk or two, from least a few of us. I certainly had that twinkle in mine, though I was trying hard to hide it, and speaking of hard, I was hoping she hadn't noticed the bulge in the front of my track pants! Yet she stood there with perfect confidence.
On the other side of the coin, those men may have been looking disapprovingly at her. I thought she was absolutely beautiful, but her thin body, with its small but firm breasts and small, wispy tuft of light brown pubic hair, may not have been to their liking. Were any of the men sneering and thinking she was a 'dog', preferring those perfect, tanned, and bikini-waxed porn stars, with their round silicone?
Still, she stood there in total calm, reciting poetry, of which these lines I remember with a smile:
"Let us walk barefoot, you and I, across the grassy plain,
with the wind caressing our skin...
We'll hold hands and laugh, running together,
our soft footfalls massaging the curving landscape,
going up and down the round hills and valleys cleaving in between...
We'll rush up to the bushes and pluck berries off the boughs, savouring their sweetness,
and carefree, we'll fly into blissful skies."
At one point, our eyes met, right when she recited the line, "We'll rush up to the bushes..." She smirked at me for the lustful thoughts she could read in my eyes. I blushed, making her smile all the more.
When our prof saw that we had all finished our drawings of her, he said, "OK, Sofia, let's do another with you on all fours in the centre of the room."
As she was getting into position, three late-arriving students, two female and one male, came in. I, already to the left, was asked to move over further that way. Only I realized, with Sofia's skinny behind and stretched-out legs closest me, that her vulva and anus were exposed for me to draw.
And she just stayed there, blithely looking to her right and reciting more poetry:
"Baby, crawl to me,
so bare and helpless.
Don't be afraid:
You need no masks,
no pretence.
Just be your lovely self,
from front to end.
The holes in your life
will be filled one day
with love."
Sometimes, she'd turn an eye back to me and smirk. Needless to say, I paid scrupulous attention to every detail of her body, as I had with the first picture. When I say I drew her vulva and anus with the utmost exuberance, I'm not bragging: I was just that turned on.
Her labia were pretty purple folds of liquorice, flanked on either side by a thin line of blonde pubic hair. Her vagina was enticingly open: I enjoyed drawing in the shadow for that part of my picture, always wondering what delicious secrets were hidden behind the black. Her anus was a bronze swirl of wrinkles that met in a tiny black hole that seemed to ask me to finger it open wider.
Her poetry continued:
"Divine animals are never embarrassed.
Man is the only beast that needs to blush.
The human sees crudity in what is truly beautiful.
Clothes are cages and straitjackets."
Again, we were all finished drawing, and Sofia was allowed to get up and get dressed; but instead she stayed nude and toured all the students' drawings, ending with mine. I quickly flipped the page of the first drawing of my sketchbook back on top, so she wouldn't see my pornographic second one.
She stood so close to me that her pubic hair was brushing against my hand! I even felt a bit of her genitalia-her clitoris?-touching my fingers!
"You draw really well," she said to me with a grin.
"Oh, thanks," I stammered, trying to refrain from looking below her face.
"What about this one?" she asked, flipping up the paper to see my second drawing. Before I could stop her, she saw my enthusiastic depiction of her holes.
"My," she said, lightly brushing her pubes against my fingers again. "You are good at observing detail."
"Oh,...well..."
She looked over at the clock on the wall. "Oh, I have to get going to my next class," she said. "Bye."
She walked over to her clothes, which were in a pile by that mirror. Hiding behind an easel, I couldn't resist watching her put on her frilly pink panties, bra, and white socks, right in front of everybody. Then she put on a green T-shirt and blue jeans, and slip-on shoes. She picked up her backpack and left the room as if she'd never taken off a stitch of clothing.
Thankfully, my hard-on was lessening, so I could also leave the classroom without needing to cover my crotch.
***************
Later that day, I went to the university cafeteria for a late lunch. As I was looking at some yogurt, I saw Sofia approaching. With a bright smile and widened eyes, she rushed over to me.
"Hi!" she said, throwing her arms around me. "How are you? Remember me? I'm Sofia Razumovsky. I was the model in your art class today."
"Oh, yeah...H-hi," I said, my hard-on returning. "I'm Mark Cushing."
"I loved your drawings of me," she said, grabbing some bread and going with me to the cashier. "You drew my body more realistically than any of the other students."
"Oh, thanks," I panted. We found a table together and sat down. "Do you do modelling often?"
"Oh, no. That was my first time."
"Really? How did you feel...I mean, standing there..."
"Naked?"
"Well, yeah."
"Oh, I don't know. Fine. I didn't really think about it."
"Wow. I mean, I don't think I'd be able to handle it."
"Why not?" she asked.
"Oh, I look ugly nude," I said.
"I don't believe that. You're kinda cute, actually."
"Thanks." I blushed. "But really, I've got an ugly body."
"I'll bet you're cute nude."
"I'm ugly."
"I'm not that great looking, either."
"Nonsense. You have a beautiful body."
"Thank you, but I don't look all that great."
"If that's how you feel, then how could you stand there, all exposed to us? Weren't you at all...inhibited?"
"No. I don't think you have to be a supermodel to be confident about yourself."
"You sure were confident," I said. "I was amazed at that. It made you all the more beautiful to me."
"You're really sweet," she said, grinning.
"And those poems you recited. Who wrote them?"
"I did. They were all mine. Your teacher wanted me to recite them while I posed, because he thought they would inspire you all as you drew me. I couldn't resist the opportunity to have people hear my poetry, so I agreed to pose for you all."
"You wrote the poems...You're divine! You're a talented goddess of poetry." I was already falling in love with her. "You're beautiful, inside and out."
Our eyes met so hard, each pair was piercing into the other pair, burning into the other.
"Do you wanna go out sometime?" I asked shyly. "I mean, for a cup of tea...or coffee...i-if you want to?"
"Sure," she said, smiling. "Do you know Tina's Tea Shop, on Yonge Street? I'm free tonight. Meet me there at eight."
**************
I arrived at about 7:55. She was already there, at a table with a cup of tea and a book in her hand, Aldous Huxley's 'Island'.
"Hi!" she said with a grin. She put away the book, got up, and gave me a hug. I was already breathing...hard...as was another part of my body. "How are you?"
"Har-uh, good," I said. "You?"
"Oh, fine," she said as we sat across from each other. "I was thinking of putting on a slinky dress and makeup, but I got lazy. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," I said in all sincerity. "I'm glad you're wearing exactly what you had on this afternoon, in the cafeteria. It's perfect. Natural."
"Also, you know I'm wearing my pink underwear."
I blushed.
"I wish I could be as carefree and uninhibited as you are. How do you do it?"
"I have really great parents," she said. "They gave me lots of love as a child. Always encouraged me."
"I envy you. My parents are assholes."
"Ouch. You have my sympathy there. That's too bad."
"Was there anything other than your parents that made you such a free spirit?" I asked.
"Well, it could have been the acid I took a year ago. It really opened my mind. I got this feeling that, deep-down, we all really don't have anything to fear. We're all one. Life is just a dream."
"I guess that's why you read Huxley, eh?"
"Yeah. He's great."
She caught my eyes looking up and down at her body.
"When I was standing next to you in your art class, how did I make you feel?" she asked.
"Oh, I think you already know the answer to that."
"Yeah, but I want to hear you put it into words. Did any other woman make you feel that way?"
"No, not that intensely," I said shyly.
"Oh, come on, there must have been a girl you've made love to who gave you such a charge.."
"Uh, no." I avoided her eyes in shame.
"Mark?" she whispered. "Have you never been with a...?"