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Extolling the virtues of Robert Kincaid
Having no original ideas
Drawing yourself nude
Showing any kind of physical attraction for the model at all, at any time, or acknowledging that they are anything other than a goddamn still life.
I blush fiercely, but just continue working. Maybe they will forget. Certainly someone else will make some other kind of noise: a cough, a sniffle, a sneeze. It will all be forgotten.
Please, oh please,I beg the invisible art gods,make someone yawn!
The timer goes off again and we all shift one-sixth of the circle. I look up and Diego smiles at me, a secret expression that only I can see from this angle. He raises one eyebrow, just a little bit, just at the outside.
He heard it.
And he begins to get hard.
This is sin number six in art school: acknowledging that male models get erections. We’re supposed to politely pretend it doesn’t happen. Just draw around it, or whatever. Or wait for it to assume its own pose and capture it right then.
But preferably, models are not drawn with erections. We would much rather that they were demure, subtle, shy. Tiny, dignified things.
Unfortunately, Diego’s cock is none of those things. Now that I’m facing it, it begins to swell, thickening from the base. As it inflates, the head rises from where it was previously lying against his thigh.
My eyes widen. I know that Trisha can’t see it, because she is opposite the circle from me. She is only looking at his ass. But Sebastian can definitely see it. He is hard at work, obeying art school rules, pretending he is not looking down the barrel of a thick, impressive dick as it gradually rises to full staff. Sebastian is busy texturizing a hip in the “safe zone.”
I’m not. With my palms deep in the clay, I sculpt the form that lies against his thigh, readjusting angle to match what I see in front of me. Quickly, my fingers stroke the facsimile in front of me, molding an excellent likeness of Diego’s hard, thick, veiny member.
The timer goes off again, and I shift another sixth. At the next timer bell, this beautiful cock will be out of sight. I need to finish this. I focus all my concentration on it.
It wavers slightly with each breath, but I manage to make it work. Even the manicured tuft of hair over the shaft adds to the overall image. I add the tense, compact ball sack underneath, with its center ridge and symmetrical lines curving around the bottom.
It’s gorgeous. I love having it sliding through my fingers, being able to move it as I wish. Just before the timer goes off again I meet his eyes and see the amazement on his face. His lips are parted as he watches me, also breaking a cardinal sin of the modeling profession. If anybody looked at him, and then looked at me, they would see what was happening.
I remember suddenly that I have kissed those lips. He thrilled me to trembling just last night. And I imagine his body in my hands, the way his body is in my hands right now in clay form.
My sex goes hot and wet. I have to hold my breath to keep from moaning again. It’s too much. It’s…
The main bell goes off. It’s break time.
Diego walks off the pedestal and comes toward me, and this time I do not run away. His erection begins to wilt as he walks, bouncing in front of him.
With one hand, he reaches for his robe and twirls it around him.
“Nice work today,” he murmurs, glancing at the clay slab in front of me.
I step back and gasp, embarrassed, like I am waking up from a dream. What came over me?
It is not subtle, that’s for sure. It’s life-size. It’s rough and impassioned, strewn with fingerprints and ridges of overly wet clay that drip down the thigh.
But it is accurate, visceral, and frankly, I kind of love it.
“Okay, everybody, twenty minutes,” Ms. Nkimbe calls out as she walks around. “Meet back here and, oh, Lindy! What—”
Her eyes go round with shock as she looks over my sculpture, then glances at Diego, then straightens somewhat defensively.
“Hmm, yes, very interesting,” she begins in her professional art teacher voice, though I can hear the discomfort in her tone. “I feel like you are… really stretching here. Flexing some muscle, eh?”
I just shrug innocently, gesturing at it like I am a game show spokesmodel.
