Figure Painting

I'd been nude modeling for art classes at RISD as a favor for a professor friend/ex-lover a few years now. She said she always preferred that the models be people she knew so that she wasn't distracted. I thought the opposite would be true, but I wasn't her and she always gave me a decent check when I did it. Plus, I figured it was good for the artists of the future to learn how to draw people my size, anyway. They needed a well-rounded education, I figured, and that included drawing those of us in the double digits size-wise.

I walked into the studio on a Thursday evening, where my friend -- Tee -- greeted me with a warm white robe, as she always did. She turned away as I dropped my clothes in the little basket she kept behind her desk. I hugged the plush robe around my shoulders.

I looked around the room of easels. It was January, which meant only a select few students remained on campus to hoard some winter credits or escape their shitty families for a few extra weeks. "How many tonight?"

"Just a few," she replied. "Two freshmen and a few seniors who need an extra credit."

"Sounds like you," I chuckled. "Remember how many winter term classes you crammed in our final year?"

Tee and I had dated back when we were sophomores at RISD, but we'd stayed friends after realizing our relationship just wouldn't work. That simple. The sex was magnetic, but, at the end of the day, we were way too similar. Both double majoring in fine arts and curation, both obsessed with the same lame bands, and both hopelessly in love with any girl who smiled in our direction for the first 20 years of our lives. We wore the same dress size, for God's sake, and still stole each other's clothes to this day, even in our early 30s.

The first student filed in, smiling nervously at both of us, before setting up behind one of the easels. I moved to the center of the ring of stations, where a stool, a chair, and pillows waited for me, inviting me to be creative and curious. I thought about what position I might start with tonight. Tee let me choose my own positions unless she was working with a particular part of the anatomy. It was best to stay relaxed, of course, so that the pose could be held for the length of a good sketch. But I also tried to bring something interesting in terms of lighting or positioning so the students were challenged.

While the remaining handful of students joined us in the room, setting up at their easels, I decided on a slightly reclined pose, propping myself up on one elbow with my legs extended, crossing at the ankles. It was a pose that highlighted curves and lines while still allowing me to remain comfortable. The soft studio lights illuminated the room in a way that cast gentle shadows across my skin, adding depth to the form that the students would have to capture.

As I settled into the pose, Tee began to teach and the students began to focus on their work. I could hear the faint scratching of charcoal on paper, the soft hum of concentration that enveloped the room. It was a strangely intimate experience, being the subject of such careful scrutiny, but after all these years, I was used to it.

Tee moved quietly among the easels, offering gentle suggestions and guidance. Occasionally, she would come over and adjust my positioning slightly to help me maintain the pose without straining. We had developed a silent language over the years, a shorthand of gestures and glances that conveyed what needed to be adjusted without disrupting the flow of the class.

As the session neared its end, Tee signaled for a final break so the students would have a chance to ask questions and receive feedback. She handed me a robe to slip back into, and I did so, grateful for the warmth as the adrenaline of posing waned. I took a sip of the water bottle Tee had left on her desk for me.

The students gathered around their works, and Tee walked from easel to easel, offering gentle advice, praising their efforts, and encouraging their growth. I watched, feeling a sense of pride in being a part of their learning process. I'd gone from fine arts to full-time curation after school, continuing into a master's degree and settling into work at a local museum. I rarely missed long nights spent with charcoals and paints, but I still loved to see the new generation grow. These young artists were honing their skills, and I was contributing to their journey in my own small way.

The students tucked their sketches and scribbles into their black portfolios and left one by one. Only one straggled behind, an imposing but meek woman who must've been a senior, if not someone our age returning back to college. She was easily 5'10", maybe taller, and held strength in her curvaceous body. Her head was shaved and her septum pierced. Her bright blue eyes betrayed a nervous innocence underneath the black clothes and chunky boots.

While she waited for Tee to wrap up with something on a computer, the woman said to me, "Thanks for coming in today; I know the weather's brutal out there."

"It's not so bad. I've been in the city for a decade, so I'm used to it." I extended my hand. "I'm Drea."

She shook it, her hands firm and calloused from years of holding wooden brushes. "Val." Her eyebrows furrowed as she placed me. "Do you give the Rembrandt talk over at the museum?"

"Guilty as charged." I lifted up my hands and smiled. "Tee and I are old friends; she uses me to get out of paying model fees."

Tee rolled her eyes. "I pay you better than I'd pay a stranger." She walked around her desk and leaned on it next to me. "What can I help you with, Val? Your senior project's still fighting you?"

She sighed and I could tell they'd talked about this before. Val replied, "Exactly. I've been working from those photo references you gave me, but I can't get the shadows right the way I can when someone's actually in front of me."

"Drea, would you mind staying a bit longer? Val's working on this gorgeous piece. Here, I'm sure she has a picture."

She gestured and Val pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos until she found it. It was a huge canvas, nearly as tall as her, and it was taken up by two women. One sat on the floor, leaning against the foot of a bed, and the other approached her on all fours, seduction heavy in her eyes. They weren't caricatures of women, though, with cinched hourglass figures and pouty lips. The dominant figure had a stomach that protruded into the negative space and thick upper arms. The submissive one had breasts that were large, yes, but sat low and natural on her chest.

Val explained, "My whole thesis show is exploring queer intimacy in a way we don't see it in the mainstream. The real desire that exists for and between people who live along the margins." She swallowed, afraid to meet my eyes, and asked, "Would you two mind doing a few poses together so I can block in some tones? For me to reference later?" Nervous, she added quickly, even though we'd already seen, "They're both nude in the painting. I know that's not really appropriate for me to ask a prof-"

Tee laughed and put her hand on Val's shoulder. "I'd tan nude on the quad if they let me. I don't mind. I've got on a tan bra and underwear; that should do."

Val nodded, chest blushing pink.

I propped a cushion up against the heavy stool so it would mimic the shape of the end of the bed in Val's piece. Then, I dropped my robe and reclined in almost the same position. I said, "Show me the piece again? So we can get the pose right."

Meanwhile, Tee turned off the large overhead light and moved a portable one around me so that the light source matched the painting.

Val joined me at the center of the room. She touched my unclothed body gingerly, afraid of doing something wrong. She repositioned my legs and tweaked my arms. Finally, she touched my chin, turning my face away from the light so the dramatic shadows played on my face. Once I was in position, Tee joined me on the floor, propped up on her hands and knees, looking like an animal hunting for prey. Val moved her in subtle ways just as she'd moved me.

As Val settled behind her easel, laying out a mix of charcoals and other supplies, Tee's eyes met mine. There was an unspoken understanding between the three of us -- Val, Tee, and me. We were collaborating on a project that went beyond the confines of academia. It was about capturing vulnerability, desire, and the intricate nuances of a relationship that existed beyond societal norms. Queer subject matter was important, and being able to help in any minimal way inherently meant a lot to me.

As Val's hand moved across the canvas, her charcoal capturing the lines and shadows of our bodies, Tee and I held each other's gaze. I tried to focus on her face even as my breaths came in a bit heavier. Her father was Ethiopian and her mother Ghanian, and she had a mixture of their features -- wide nose, almond eyes, full lips, round cheeks. Her medium-brown skin was clear and smooth and her hair was done in a collection of box braids, blondish-brown strands weaved in at the ends.

And her eyes. She had these eyes that were such a deep, dark brown I could fall into them, like a cup of black coffee after a night of passionate sex. I desperately tried not to look at her body but failed repeatedly. It had been years since we'd been together, but her curves and edges still captivated me as they had that first time. I'd always admired her legs. She'd played soccer back in the day, and it showed in the long-lasting muscles of her thighs and calves.

I couldn't help noticing that she was doing the same for me. Looking. Refusing to look. Every once in a while, her eyes would leave my face and traverse the rolls of my stomach, the valleys of my hips, and the fullness of my thighs. She used to praise my nipples, soft pink with wide and sensitive areolas. She'd kissed at the deeper, redder stretch marks of my stomach when I was insecure about my freshman 15 -- and my sophomore 15, and my junior 10.

Tee's gaze was intense, but there was also a hint of vulnerability, as if this collaboration had opened a door to unspoken feelings. The way her body contoured, the play of light and shadow on her skin -- it was as if Val's artwork was unraveling layers of our past, exposing the history and emotions we had once shared. The room was filled with the soft scratching of charcoal against paper and the shifting of poses.

As the session continued, I found myself caught between the dual roles of being a model and being a participant. Val's attention to detail was meticulous, and with every stroke of her charcoal, she seemed to draw out the tension that was simmering beneath the surface. I could feel the weight of Tee's gaze on my body, tracing invisible lines across my skin, igniting a warmth that was both familiar and electrifying.

The air in the room had shifted, becoming charged with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. The boundary between model and subject had blurred. Tee and I became co-conspirators in bringing a new level of honesty to Val's painting. It wasn't two strangers. No, it was two lovers, two women who had known each other intimately, two people connected in both body and spirit.

As Val worked diligently on her canvas, I shifted my gaze from Tee's eyes to her lips, feeling an almost magnetic pull toward her. The memories of our shared past, the chemistry we had once embraced, seemed to resurface with a newfound intensity.

Tee's fingers brushed against mine ever so slightly, a subtle touch that sent a shiver down my spine. I could see a mix of hesitation and longing in her eyes, mirroring my own conflicted emotions. We were caught in a dance of words unspoken, our connection oscillating between the present moment and the weight of our history.

Val began to wrap up her third sketch, muttering something about how she'd finally gotten what she needed to. We stayed frozen as Val wrapped up her supplies and thanked us both for being willing to stay after hours. Tee barely acknowledged Val as the student left the studio.

As soon as Val was out of the door, Tee pounced. I knew exactly what she wanted. She yanked me by the ankles onto the floor, flat on my back. She pulled off her panties, tossed them toward her desk, and crawled over my body. Manhandling me with expert care, she put one of the cushions under my shoulder so that my head lolled backward, mouth open and ready for use. I gasped at how rough she was being, but I wanted to be used by her more than I'd wanted anything in my life before. It wasn't often that a woman was willing to truly take me, and the thought had me wet already.

She straddled my head, lowering her clit toward my mouth. Her pussy was wet, like mine, from the prolonged mental foreplay of imagining each other; the taste was clean and light and smooth like an expensive liquor. I closed my eyes and let her take me however she needed, knowing that she would get me off exponentially if I was good.

Tee didn't want me to do the work; she wanted to treat me like a fuck toy. That's always how she operated. I let her hold my chin, keeping my head still, as I left my tongue out. She rocked back and forth on my tongue, her smooth clit working itself over and over against me.

Tee slapped my breast -- hard. No romance about it. I gasped and she chuckled at me. Then she slapped the other one. The sound of her hitting me echoed around the room, a pounding drumbeat against my ears. The pain that ricocheted across my skin hurt, yes, but it also turned me on and I wasn't ashamed to admit that. Still rocking her hips back and forth, Tee began to moan, low and constant.

Juices spread from her pussy, more of a river than a creek, and I knew she was moments away from coming. I would've begged for her to if I could speak or even breathe. All I knew at that moment was her cunt on my face, its smell and taste and texture getting me high. She came quickly after that, which I knew meant that she'd been horny since before she'd even let on. How long had she imagined taking me like we were 21 again? It didn't matter, though, as she flooded my mouth, gripping my chin so that I couldn't escape. She rode my face through her orgasm until it slowed and she stopped to catch her breath.

Before I could say anything, Tee climbed off of me and pushed me back up against the chair and cushions. She closed the space between us but didn't kiss me on the lips. Instead, she went for my exposed neck. Her fingers wrapped in my messy curls and tugged to the side. A gasp shook out of me. Her lips and teeth made contact with my skin at once. She sucked hard enough to bruise and I thanked whoever that it was winter and I could wear a scarf with any outfit because lord knows I didn't want her to stop once she started.

The tightness and certainty of her hand in my hair flooded my body with a pulsing hot blush that made me wet and breathy and nervous all at once. Tee pulled my head back and dragged her lips down the front of my neck, across my chest, and stopped between my breasts. She kissed the small, faded tattoo I had there. Then she gripped me by the waist, her fingers digging into the yielding flesh there, and dropped her mouth to my breasts.

With her right hand, Tee grabbed my nipple and twisted it hard, the way I liked. The pain was exquisite, shooting a rocket of desire in a clear line from my breast to my cunt. At the same time, she sucked and lightly bit on the other nipple. The two different types of pain -- one constant, rolling, insistent, and the other shocking in ripples -- made my legs spasm and my hips buck. I gasped each time she applied more pressure or eased up, flooding adrenaline through me.

Tee replaced her mouth with her other hand, never letting up on my nipples, so that she could make her way lower. Her tongue caressed along the line below my belly that ran hip to hip. On each pass between my hips, she bit down where the bone was and sucked, too, until I had enough purpling marks on my sides to match the ones on my neck. She worshiped my thighs then, teeth nibbling their way along my lines of stretch marks.

"Play with your tits," Tee commanded as she finally moved down between my legs.

I couldn't resist her and I didn't want to, so I obliged. I replaced her hands with mine, taking each nipple between my thumb and forefinger. By the time she made contact with my pussy, her mouth deliberate, I was dripping wet from the need for her. A groan rumbled against my pussy as she tasted my juices again after years without. She spent a long time just tasting me, exploring me, teasing me. Getting reacquainted. Her tongue ran along my entrance, between the folds of my labia, and back up.

Tee finally started to lick my pussy in earnest. My hips ground against her mouth on instinct. In response, she gripped my waist tight to keep me still. To stay in control. I'd become more of a switch in recent years, but Tee brought me right into that submissive headspace in only a few moments. She lifted the hood of my clit slightly with her thumb, fully exposing its vulnerability.

My cunt ached when she tongued the bundle of nerves. Her tongue stiffened and softened, applying a pulsing pressure that felt better than I remembered. She stayed calm yet hungry, keeping a consistent pace that made me try to squirm against her strong arms. Heat coursed through my body as all of my muscles responded to her. My toes curled. My calves tense. My fingers pinched down hard on my nipples.

She slipped two fingers inside of my cunt and that was it. Every sensation overwhelmed me at once. I began to tense up, my breath catching in my throat. She chuckled darkly against my clit, not letting up. My thighs writhe and my back arched and I came against her mouth. I clamped down around her head like a vise, my thighs quivering and my eyes shut tight.

As a top, Tee had always been into high intensity, and she never left a pussy without making it cum at least a few times. So she didn't let up, just easing up slightly during the peak of that first orgasm. Once it had gone from excruciatingly delicious crashing waves to a subtler current lapping at the shore, Tee pulled me close up to her mouth again.

For a while as my body warmed back up, she focused on curling her fingers inside of me, slow and intentional. My cunt was swollen, warm, slick, and sensitive after the orgasm. Her fingers constant inside of me, Tee pulled back and said, "Look at me."

When I did, my heart pounded -- and not from the exertion of squirming around on the floor and not from fucking in a place where a security guard could interrupt as at any time. Her eyes were wild with lust, her lips wet with my juice, and her smirk undeniable. My breath slowed during the moment of eye contact.

"That's a good girl," she said, fingers still working in and out of me. "Don't need you hyperventilating on me."

After another few seconds without sharing any words between us, Tee returned to eating me out, this time so gingerly that I'd barely feel it if my nerves weren't already on fire and worked up. With my clit completely exposed, she used her flexed tongue's tip to flick up and down ever so slightly. The feeling of her on my clit and inside my pussy was overwhelming in the best way I could imagine. I couldn't think about anything but the heat and radiating pleasure.

As my gushing wetness coated her hand, Tee added another finger to the onslaught. The fullness was perfect, stretching me but not hurting, and when she began to move them all together, I moaned loud, unable to help it. She changed from gently coaxing sensations out of my clit to moving her tongue in circles that were both insistent and agonizingly slow. She knew that, if she rushed, I'd never be able to cum again. Instead, she had to work me back up, keeping me at each stage of arousal for longer than before.