The Ordinary Model – part 1

She had never done anything like this before, though she had imagined it many times. She had no choice but to admit to herself that she found the idea erotic, though she could never admit that to her husband. It might seem strange to say that she had no choice, but the inevitable arousal of her body to ideas could not be denied. She was so aroused when her husband had suggested that she model naked for a life class that she had taken the first opportunity to slip out of the room to rush to the bathroom. In its privacy, she had touched herself as only she knew how, to attain a final shuddering release.  But the sexual enjoyment it brought her was not the reason her husband had proposed the life class modelling. He had no idea that it would have such an effect. The erotic perspective was not the reason she found herself in this little room, a room that was virtually a cupboard, waiting to be summonsed for her session. It was a case of needs must when the devil drives. It was only possible to move a debt from credit card to credit card for a finite period. Their meagre income soon became insufficient to cover the amount needed to service the debt on the cards. So here she was, sitting on the severity of a hard school chair, her clothes neatly stacked on the table. The purple satin robe she was wearing was a birthday present from her husband. It was deliciously comfortable after a nice warm soak in perfumed bath salts after a long day in the office. Now it was as out of place as she was. It was all that stood between her and the world. The matching purple strap of her bra was hanging out of the neat pile that was all of the clothes she had been wearing when the nice old gentleman had showed her to this room to prepare. The strap protruded from between her black skirt and white blouse like a statement, yes, it said, this woman has taken everything off, even her Çekmeköy escort underwear. Soon she would be called. She would find out if she had the courage to go through with it. She had only ever been seen naked by her husband, and now she would be seen by a group of strangers. How many would there be, she wondered. Would they be real aspiring artists or college students out for a thrill, perhaps looking for laugh? Would they have been told that the model today was a middle aged slightly chubby, droopy breasted housewife? Were they expecting a sexy model, a perfect example of the female form as it was persistently portrayed by the media? She imagined walking into the room for the first time. Would it be a studio, with easels all around and bright shafts of sunlight streaming through roof light windows? It would be so much better if it was. She could imagine herself as an actress and the studio would be her stage. If it were like that, she could feel professional, as much an artist as the aspirational artists that would be putting down her image on their canvases. Now she felt herself relaxing, yes that was it, she was an artist and this was her first performance. It was only natural that she should feel tense and nervous at such a time. That afternoon, she had bathed and taken the time to trim her hair. Trimming her body hair was not something she usually did, perhaps not a good idea to have tried it before her first appearance. As it happened, she felt she had made a very good job of it. She had resisted the urge to use her pink humming lady shave anywhere but under her arms and on her still elegant and very long legs. Damn, she wished she had not thought of her legs. She was not proud of them as she had been when she was younger. These days they were a little dimpled at the top end, a little heavy. Her thighs were Gebze escort bayan patterned with orange peel under the buttocks, buttocks which were a little fuller than she would have liked. Now she was nervous again. There was a knock on the door that made her jump. It opened without any delay and the old gentleman was there, smiling warmly. His hands opened and closed nervously this time. “They are ready for you, miss.” Miss! I suppose I am a lot younger than he is. She decided the description was understandable, though it felt uncomfortable. She followed him slowly. His jerky gait meant she had to walk slowly to avoid catching him up. She had no desire for conversation. She was far too nervous to speak. She found herself emulating his nervous hand movements and concentrated hard to stop it. Concentrating on her hands carried her as far as the door without any thoughts of running away, but now they came flooding back at her. She could turn around, leave now. Forget the modelling and find some other way to increase their inadequate income. Before she knew it, the door was pushed open and he was ushering her through it and into a studio. It was a studio as she had imagined it. There was a semi-circle of people waiting, faceless to her at the moment, features unformed. She focussed on the centre piece of the room, a chair just like the one in the room she had undressed in. She was surprised at that. She had expected a chaise longue for some reason, probably evoked the memory of a painting of a nude on a wall during a trip to Pompeii some years before. She needed no guidance to walk across the room. She sat down, pulling the purple satin over her knees; the robe had slipped either side of them as she sat. She looked around at the easels and the faces alongside them. Not everyone was visible, partially obscured by their Escort Şerifali canvasses. That’s good! If only they would all hide behind them then they would not see her. Ah, she realised why the faces that were looking were wearing such confused expressions. She was not naked. She hesitated. Should she just stand up and take the robe off? Where would she put it? Across the back of the chair? Over the chair would be better for comfort. But then how should she sit? Whilst these thoughts fell over each other in her mind, a young man had entered the studio and walked across to her. “Hi, Mrs…?” “Emma.” She did not tell him her second name, for some reason she reverted to on line behaviour, forgetting that she was known. She had to be known by the college or they would not know who to pay her fees to. “Emma, hi, I’m David. This is my art class.” “Hello, David.” “Have you modelled before? I’m guessing not,” he nodded at her robe. “Ah, no, I haven’t. I didn’t know what to do.” “That’s fine, Emma,” he smiled and she felt suddenly relaxed. He is an artist and to him I am just a piece of art. The thought that this young man would think of her as art was inspiring. Suddenly, she wanted to take off the robe and allow him to enjoy her nakedness. At the thought, she looked down with embarrassment, she felt as if she had flushed and he would see. “Allow me,” he said, opening his hands toward her. She took his meaning and suddenly completely comfortable and without thinking about the others, she stood and slipped open the belt of her robe. It fell open. She turned her back toward him, allowing it to slip from her shoulders into his waiting hands. He laid it over the back of the chair. She turned back to face him, immediately remembering the others. In a rush, her nerves returned. The thought went through her mind. I am naked in front of complete strangers, next to an attractive tousle haired man young enough to be my son. “Would you mind taking off your shoes, when you sit down?” he said, interrupting her thoughts. She looked down past breasts, belly, to her feet. Shining black shoes peeked out below her nakedness; they somehow emphasised it. “Oh, no, sorry.