College Art Class Needs Male Model


I was the first in my family to go to college. I grew up on my family farm; it was hard, but rewarding work. I played football for our small high school team. I wasn’t a ‘huge’ guy, but my lean body was built for speed. Additionally, having a brother who was three years older than me and always beating me up, I had a higher than normal threshold for pain. Consequently, I was the star running back and cornerback on the hometown team. But, going away to college in a big city, I was a nobody. I was just your average 18 year old guy next door.

The university gave me a decent financial package – a combination of loans, grants, and work study. But, my family still had to pay half the tuition. I returned each weekend during the growing season to help with our farm market. I didn’t get ‘paid’ directly, but considering that my parents were chipping in half of my tuition money, it was the least I could do for them. Through the university work study, I was also given a job tutoring inner city high school students in Chemistry. It paid minimum wage, but was relatively easy work. Fortunately, I was paired with kids who really wanted to learn.

During the first week of college, I noticed a flyer posted on the bulletin board in the student center. It was a simple poster, with the words, “Looking for live models to pose for Art class.” But, what really caught my attention was the final line, which read, “Pays $25/hour.” That was more than 4 times what I was being paid for work study!

I wrote down the phone number on the ad; then called the number when I got back from my morning Biology class. I spoke with a professor who seemed really nice. He briefly described the timing of the class to make sure that I didn’t have any conflicts; fortunately, I did not. Then, he asked if I could come to his office immediately, as the first class of the semester was this evening, and he had still been unable to find a willing art model.

As I walked to his office, I debated with myself “do you think they require the models to be nude, or can I just pose in underwear?” I had a suspicion that Professor was indeed seeking nude models. On the way to his office, each side of my brain lobbed arguments back and forth, and I wrestled with the decision. The more I thought about it, the more arguments “for” I could come up with. I noted that I had showered naked in front of my high school football team and gym classes, so it wasn’t like people had never seen me nude before. I reckoned that taking off one’s clothing and standing in place for an hour was a considerably easier way to make $25/hour than farming, and considerably better than having to tutor kids for four times as long.

Professor Griffiths seemed to be a nice man. He was very calming and reassuring, and told me that this was a class for juniors and seniors, so it was students that were truly devoted to art, and I need not be afraid that any “creeps” might be in the class. He confirmed that it was indeed a requirement that the models be nude. I was re-assured by the fact that it was a 300-level class, meaning that none of my classmates (freshman) would be in the class. I figured this would be a little something I could do on the side, and no one would be the wiser.

Professor Griffiths asked me to report to Loyola Hall, Room 235 at 6:45pm – 15 minutes before the start of class. He told me that some models preferred to get naked before the students arrived, so that they did not feel they were being watched as they undressed. However, he said other models preferred to change into a robe and only get naked once everyone was seated at their easels. I hadn’t given any thought to which scenario might be ‘easier’. As I walked to the class, I decided on the “get naked first” approach, thinking that I would be less likely to chicken out if I were already naked.

When I arrived in the classroom, Mr. Griffiths and young man were already present. Professor Griffiths introduced me to Matt, a graduate student and Teaching Assistant (TA). Matt showed me the platform on which I would be standing, and pointed out the “Chinese screen” behind which I could undress. I thought it was odd that they would have a screen for me to undress behind, considering that everyone would be seeing me completely exposed for an hour. Thus, I passed on the screen, and just started peeling off my clothes while Matt was explaining the various logistics of the class.

Matt seemed a little shocked or distracted as I undressed. I noticed his eyes had dropped to my waist. “That’s the darkest tan line I’ve ever seen,” he commented. I blushed and said, “Well, I work on a farm, so I’m outdoors all summer.”

Students started arriving, carrying various sketch pads and little pouches of pencils. Slowly, easels were set up in a full circle around the center platform. Most of the students had taken bursa escort up seats, as I stood in the corner of the room with Professor Griffiths. He was giving me some last minute instructions. He told me that he typically has the models stand, leaning with their elbow on a Greek-like column. At that moment, Matt walked over. “Professor Griffiths, I was thinking we should have James stand with his arms raised, hands behind his head. We haven’t had a model with such muscular definition in some time. We should take advantage of it.”

Matt gently grabbed my arms and raised them above my head. “See…see how his ribs emerge from the sides of his pectorals when his arms are raised? It will make for great contouring”.

I was a bit embarrassed. It was strange to be discussed in the third person, when I was standing right there.

Professor Griffiths replied, “Matt, that’s a splendid vision”. Then he turned and looked at me, “James, do you think you have the stamina to hold that pose for 25 minutes at a time? We’ll only have one break.”

I said, “Well, I’ve never tried standing in one place for that long, but it’s not like I have to hold weights or anything. Yeah, I think I can do it”.

The time actually flew by rather quickly. It wasn’t all that difficult to hold the pose for that long. However, at the break, I did realize that it seemed like the blood had drained from my arms. My fingers were tingly, and I had to shake my arms to get the blood flowing again. After a short break, class resumed, and students continued with their drawings.

This became my routine every Tuesday and Thursday night for three weeks. It was interesting – none of the students ever spoke to me. The only one who ever talked with me during the breaks was Matt. Sometimes we would make small talk. Another time he invited me to walk around the classroom and take a look at the student’s sketches. I was impressed at how good these students were. Unlike the drawings I made as a kid for Mother’s Day or the like, these sketches were very realistic renderings.

The following Tuesday, Professor Griffiths did not show up. Matt informed the class that the professor’s sister had been in a serious car accident, and the professor had flown out to California to be at her side. Matt took charge of the class, but by this time, the class generally ran itself. Matt seemed distracted. I presumed he was worried about the professor’s sister. Matt stood at the back of the room, texting most of the class, as opposed to wandering around the room offering tips, as he typically did when Professor Griffiths was around. Matt seemed to have forgotten about the break, and 35 minutes into class, I did have to break my pose and request a pause. Matt was very apologetic, commenting that “I didn’t mean to torture you; I’m sorry.”

At the end of class, just as I was getting dressed, Matt asked if I could stay behind for a few minutes so he could talk to me. Then, Matt explained that he had been chatting with Professor Griffiths, and the professor was very concerned that some of the students were progressing too slowly with their drawings. “We need to move on to other forms in a couple weeks, and Professor Griffiths is afraid the students will not have finished their drawings of you.” He continued, “I was wondering if you might be able to do a Saturday class – an extra session for the students who are behind on their work.”

“I can’t,” I replied. “I have to work on the farm on weekends.”

“Yes, Yes. I know that,” Matt responded. “But, I had to ask.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

There was a pause for a few moments. Matt then looked up at me (which was a bit unusual, as Matt had developed quite a habit of dropping his eyes to my chest – or lower – when he spoke with me), and said, “What Professor Griffiths sometimes has done in circumstances like this is – he has the students finish their drawing on their own time from a photograph.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He has the students bring a camera, and take a photo of the still life. Then the students can complete the drawing on their own time.”

“Oh,” I replied.

“Would you be ok with that?” Matt asked me.

“Umm. I dunno. I guess. If that’s what Professor Griffiths normally does.”

Matt responded, “Yes, it’s quite routine. We do it all the time”.

I said, “Ok. Yeah, that’s fine with me”.

“I’ll send an email to the students, letting them know,” Matt said. “Thanks so much, James.”

Matt then apologized, and told me he was running late for a date. “See you Thursday!” he shouted over his shoulder and he hurried out the door.

On Thursday, Matt greeted me in the hallway outside of class. “Hey James, how are you?”

“Not too bad; how are you?” I gave. It’s my standard response.

Matt then said, “I wanted bursa escort bayan to give you a heads up. There’s going to be a few more students in class today.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Yes.” Matt continued, “Today’s the last day of drop/add. There are a few students that dropped other classes and are looking to pick this one up. So, we’re going to have a full room today.”

I was indeed surprised. Instead of the typical class of 30, it was nearly twice that. Perhaps 50 students. The easels and chairs were packed in close together. Otherwise, the class was relatively the same – just more faces looking back at me. What did strike me as odd, however, was one guy who was sitting at the back of the classroom on top of the radiator. He didn’t have an easel, a sketchpad – nothing with him. What was he doing here?

Twenty-five minutes into class, Matt announces the break. I was so relieved. It doesn’t make sense, but the room being more cramped had made me feel more cramped. I was really fighting it for the last 10 minutes. My arms felt dead. Even my legs, which normally didn’t bother me when standing in one position, felt stiff. I shook my arms out, as I had become accustomed to doing during the break.

Matt walked up to me. “Are you uncomfortable?” he asked.

“No. Just stiff,” I replied.

“You should run in place – or do some jumping jacks to limber up,” Matt suggested.

“Are you sure?” I asked, looking at him quizzically.

“Yes, it will get the blood flowing again. Do 50 jumping jacks, then we’ll resume,” Matt said.

I took his advice. I started doing jumping jacks. After about 25 or 30, I became aware that my penis was flopping a bit too much as I jumped. As my legs would part, it would swing up and slap against my lower abdomen. And, as my legs joined, it would swing down and slap against my thigh. With each slap, I could feel my penis getting longer. I was about to stop. “Fifteen more!” Matt called out to me.

I finished the jumping jacks. Fortunately, I wasn’t hard. But the flopping had elongated my flaccid penis to twice its normal length. I became self-conscious. I waved Matt over. “I. umm. I think we should wait,” I stammered.

“What’s the matter?” Matt asked.

“My…umm…penis. It’s not the same size as when they were drawing before,” I muttered, realizing that my cheeks were surely flushed.

“Better for you,” Matt said with a smile and gave me a pat on the backside. Well – his pat landed on my butt, catching me by surprise.

Matt then addressed the class. “As I indicated to you in my email, those of you who do not feel you will be able to complete this assignment within the confines of our upcoming four classes, you should plan to work on your drawings on your own time. So, if you need to, at this time, you may photograph our model, so that you can reproduce his image on your sketch.”

Matt looked at me. “James, please return to the platform.”

I looked down. My penis was still engorged. “Umm…,” I started.

“James, there’s only 15 minutes of class left. Please,” Matt said, as his arm ushered me to the platform.

The first student to take a camera out of her bag was a girl who had been sitting off to my left. I was really surprised. When Matt and I had walked around the room, I had seen her drawing. I would have thought it was already 98% complete, one of the furthest along in the class. Seriously, I think she was counting and drawing individual leg hairs. Her sketch was very thorough and seemed nearly finished. Why was she taking photos? Then two guys who were sitting off to my right also pulled cameras out of their backpacks. One stood on top of his chair, with his camera’s viewfinder pressed to his face.

Then I noticed a guy who had been sitting behind me. He had now gotten out of his chair and walked halfway around the classroom and was now facing me. Snap! Snap! I hear the sounds of his camera.

Wait, this wasn’t making any sense to me. I waved Matt over to me.

“Matt,” I said, “that kid was drawing me from behind. Why is he taking photos of me from the front?”

“Oh. I understand,” Matt responded. “Don’t worry. I’ll address it.”

Matt then made an announcement to the class.

“Students – remember. Our model is a three dimensional form. Your drawing is a two dimensional form. In order to re-create a three dimensional form on paper, you will need to take multiple photos from various vantage points in order to re-create that three dimensional image in your head, as you transfer it to the paper.”

“What?” I thought to myself. That was not the explanation, nor the outcome, I was expecting.

Matt’s announcement seemed to have released a floodgate. Nearly the entire class was now out of their chairs. Those who had been behind me were now standing in front escort bursa of me pointing cameras at me. Those who had been in front of me were now standing to my side, similarly snapping photos of me.

Then I noticed the guy who had spent the first half of the class just sitting on the radiator at the back of the classroom watching. At some point, he too must have retrieved a camera from his backpack. Now he was walking around the platform on which I was standing. Why was he taking pictures? He hadn’t even started a drawing?

Those last 15 minutes of class seemed to take forever. I thought in the previous four weeks of classes I had become accustomed to standing naked in front of the class. But, that evening, the class had seemed to take on a different atmosphere. People weren’t drawing me. People were looking at me. It was a subtle difference at first. However, by the end of the night, I had never felt so naked in my life.

And then it was over. The buzzer rang. I walked to the back of the classroom. For the first time, I dressed behind the Chinese screen. I can’t explain why, but it gave me comfort.

Matt walked behind the screen to thank me for being so cooperative. “The students’ photos – I mean drawings – are going to come out fantastic,” he said.

That weekend, I was alone in the tomato patch, filling trays with beefsteak and roma tomatoes. My mind kept replaying the events of Thursday evening’s class. In hindsight, something just didn’t seem right. I made up my mind when I got back to campus, I was going to email Matt and drop out from future modeling sessions. Yes, it was good money. But, something about it just felt a little weird.

On Sunday night, I sent Matt my “cancellation” email. Monday came and went; I did not get a reply. Nor did I get a reply on Tuesday. I re-evaluated my decision. Maybe I should show up? “No,” I convinced myself. “I am done.”

I skipped the class. Still no email response from Matt.

A couple weeks later, the incident had been removed from my mind. Temporarily. It was a Monday night. I was walking home from the library around 11pm. Campus was dark. Streetlights created little discs of light, but shadows from the trees were cast upon the sidewalk.

“James!” I recognized the voice. It was Jason, the Resident Assistant (RA) for my dorm. I really hadn’t gotten to know him well. We had had a few floor meetings, laying out the groundrules/expectations for freshman life on campus. But, every weekend I had been back on the farm, so I really hadn’t spent much time in the dorm yet.

I walked over towards the voice. Jason was sitting on a bench at the end of the Student Union. Another guy was sitting next to him, but concealed in the shadows.

“How are you?” Jason hollered as I approached.

“Not too bad. Doing alright. How ’bout you?” I responded.

“James. I believe you’ve met my boyfriend,” Jason said as he pointed to the guy sitting beside him. Matt!

I can’t imagine the look of shock on my face. My brain must have processed 5 weeks of information in 5 seconds. “it’s a 300-level class” I told myself. “No one in my dorm will ever know” I told myself. It had all become abundantly clear, that my ‘plan’ had not played out as expected.

I didn’t even have to ask. Despite the darkness, I could tell that Jason was mentally undressing me with his eyes. He had seen the photos. Jason, my RA, had seen me completely naked. That was evident.

But, the next revelation was unexpected.

Jason said to me, “The Gay Student Alliance loved your photographs!”

“What?” I think I muttered, as my brain was still recovering from processing the prior moment’s disclosure.

Jason continued, “Oh, I thought you knew. Matt is moderator of the campus Gay Student Alliance.”

I clearly must have had a blank, or bewildered, look, on my face.

Matt then spoke up for the first time. “James, listen…I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I should have told you…”

“What?” I asked.

“That night – those other students – they weren’t art majors. They were guys from the Gay Student Alliance.”

I was still struggling to connect the dots. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“James, when you agreed to pose for photographs – I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I emailed our club’s membership and let them know there was a hot jock who had agreed to pose naked for photographs. Those other guys – they were from my organization,” Matt explained.

“Wait – they weren’t art students?” I asked.

“No. Well – some were. But, yes. No,” Matt somewhat incoherently uttered.

Then Jason interjected, “You have nothing to be shy about. You look awesome, James. Hell, Dimitri has an 11 by 17 print of you in his room.”

“Dimitri?” I asked.

“Dimitri, from Room 128,” Jason replied.

It was only 7-8 weeks into my first semester. I honestly hadn’t met all the guys on my floor yet. And now this revelation!

Jason could tell from my face that I did not recall meeting Dimitri. “I’ll introduce you again,” he offered.

(to be continued)

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