Adventures of a Nude Model: Complete Read online

  Just like that, she was naked. For about all of two seconds. Then she bundled herself up in her wrap and knotted the belt. She was panting. Through the walls she could hear murmurings and the scraping of chairs and Clodagh's voice, the only one pitched loudly enough to be distinct. No laughter – this promised to be a serious gathering.

  A tap on the door made her jump. It opened, and there was Clodagh. “We're not due to start for another five minutes, but everyone's here, so come on out when you're ready.”

  Wait in here by herself for another five minutes? Just the thought was enough to drive her spare. She gasped, “I'm ready.”

  “No jewellery or watches?”

  Sophie wasn't wearing any jewellery, but she still had her watch strapped to her wrist. She quickly removed and tucked it between the folds of her tracksuit.

  “Right,” smiled Clodagh. “Come and meet the gang.”

  Sophie padded after her.

  “Okay, everyone,” said Clodagh. “Can you get yourself a chair and sit around the platform, please? I hope you've all remembered to bring your pads and HB pencils. There are drawing boards if you need them, but we won't be using easels. We're art guerillas, light on our feet.”

  Clodagh's words provoked a flurry of activity, but the artists still found time to steal glances in Sophie's direction. Sophie peered back, equally curious.

  She hadn't thought to ask Clodagh how many artists would be attending. She was surprised to see that there were only six. A pretty girl with curly hair in her early twenties, a blonde woman of about thirty, a man and woman who seemed to be a couple and were both in their fifties, and a very elderly man who had to be at least eighty to judge by his general dodderiness and his liver-spotted pate. The teenage Asian girl from the other day was there, too. Sophie felt a slight chill when she saw her – what if she starting telling tales around the library? But the girl mouthed, No way! It's you! and wiggled her fingers in such a friendly manner that Sophie felt she could rely on her to be supportive.

  Humble beginnings, she supposed. Perhaps more would join in later weeks as the class gained a reputation. She couldn't help wishing there had been a much bigger turn-out, though. Posing for an anonymous crowd was one thing, being naked in front of such a small group was quite another. It would be so… intimate.

  But not intimate enough for Clodagh, who was saying to the artists, “Scoot in, get in closer to the platform, a nice tight circle, close as you can...”

  She had to chivvy the artists into it, but eventually they were seated almost with their toes touching the base of the platform. She's obviously a great believer in throwing people in at the deep end, thought Sophie, looking at the cramped space where she would be working, and imagining how exposed she was going to feel with all those people literally breathing down her neck. The artists were gazing at Sophie with even more curiosity now, as though she were a mythical creature, not a middle-aged woman in a jersey wrap.

  “Okay, just a few preliminary remarks,” said Clodagh. “The title of this class is Nude Figure Drawing. We will be using a nude model, in this case the lovely Sophie, and if that makes you uncomfortable at all, this probably isn't the place for you.”

  Sophie braced herself as her name was mentioned and all eyes swept upon her once more. The lovely Sophie, that's me. She noticed the teenage girl crinkling her face into a smile that was the equivalent of a thumbs-up gesture, and felt a lump of gratitude in her throat. No one, she noticed, made a dash for the door.

  “This first class is about getting acclimatized to working from a nude model. The more comfortable you are, the more comfortable your model will be, and the better you'll work together.” Everyone was listening intently, although they were still mainly staring at Sophie. Clodagh's tone suddenly lightened, “By the way, no one ever applauds a model, have you noticed that? Life drawing classes are always way too quiet for their own good. So, I'm going to ask Sophie to take off her robe, and I'd like you to give her a round of applause. You can clap, or you can rap your knuckles on your drawing boards, but let's make some noise for Sophie.”

  Clodagh stretched out her hand. Sophie realized she wanted her wrap. Now. Sophie took a deep breath and reached for her belt. As she did so the clapping starting up, not very loud because people were juggling pencils and pads, but enough to puncture what would otherwise have been an awkward silence. She smiled her thanks, and saw the fifty-somethings smiling back warmly in return. The next thing she knew, her wrap was over Clodagh's arm and she was standing there wearing nothing but a blank expression.

  A gesture from Clodagh ushered her forward. The artists watched her like hawks as she moved. They had what felt like hours, because time slowed to a trickle. Some seemed fascinated by the bobbing of her little upturned breasts, while some directed their eyes lower. She made for the fifty-somethings, because there was a largish gap between their chairs and because they seemed friendly. When she got there, she faced the embarrassment of having to turn sideways and decide who got the bottom and who got the full frontal. She gave her the full frontal, then miss-stepped and his hand came up to steady her elbow.

  She mumbled a meek apology and lurched not very gracefully onto the platform. Once up there, she did her best to steady herself and get her bearings, but her head was spinning. She also felt acutely self-conscious of the fact that, elevated above the artists in this way, she was in danger of making quite a show of her bald pussy. They might crave breasts and bottoms, but would they really wish to see that? Also, she didn't want them to think she was totally without shame, did she?

  Trying to seem casual about it, she stood with her legs tightly closed and her hands linked in front of her groin. She composed her face into a placid expression, something which took a supreme effort – she couldn't remember ever being more uncomfortable. At the same time, a part of her was thrillingly aware of how slight and pretty she must look in her nakedness.

  She glanced at Clodagh. In the real world outside her bare body, only seconds had passed, if that.

  “Now, I'd like you all to put down your pencils and just look at Sophie for a moment. I know it feels awkward. But Sophie's here to be seen, and it's important to understand that, as artists, you have permission to look. More than that – it's your job to look. You'd be amazed how many people come to life drawing classes and spend all their time with their noses in their pads, without really taking time to enjoy the model. So let's take a moment to enjoy Sophie.”

  Clodagh made a stirring motion with her finger, a signal for Sophie to turn on the spot, and glanced pointedly at Sophie's clasped hands.

  Sophie sighed. She'd known all along, in her heart, that, in Clodagh's version of art nude, the model would be obliged to show absolutely everything. It was something she'd been living in denial about, but had secretly always accepted. Whatever, she thought, it's just a few more inches of skin. It's not the end of the world.

  She let her hands drop to her sides, and simultaneously took a sideways step. A small one, but to her it felt vast, as it opened up her stance, revealing the full extent of her labia to anyone who cared to look.

  Sitting directly below her was the pretty twenty-year-old with the curly hair. Her big eyes flicked around nervously before settling on Sophie's belly-button.

  “Don't be afraid to make eye-contact with the model, and don't limit your gaze, let it wander where it will.”

  Sophie found herself facing the blonde woman next, and she did rather better at following Clodagh's instructions, looking Sophie in the face in a cool, detached way before moving down to her breasts.

  “Remember, the model is there to inspire you, so try to take pleasure in the act of looking.”

  Next up was the teenager. Sophie's heart began to thump. The meek little Asian girl brought out Sophie's maternal side, so it was especially embarrassing to be parading in front of her in this way. She hoped she wouldn't think less of her for putting on such a show.

  She needn't have worried, because the girl beamed up at her
like an old friend – the only one so far to make proper eye contact – before giving her form what seemed like a very thorough once-over. It was a most odd experience, being scrutinized, as an object, by a teen who couldn't have been much older than her daughter. But if she's not embarrassed by it, Sophie thought, I won't be either.

  Sophie completed her turn. Clodagh said, “Well done, everyone. I know it's tough, but observation is the root of fine art. You did very well. Sophie, I think they deserve a round of applause, don't you?”

  A laugh of surprise caught in Sophie's throat – if anyone deserved a round of applause, it was surely herself – but she brought her palms together cheerfully, and this was enough to trigger another volley of drawing board-thumping from the artists.

  There was undoubtedly a method in Clodagh's madness. The mood at once lifted, and the tension that had been building was gone in a flash. A bond, the beginnings of one at least, had been established. Sophie felt another surge of respect for Clodagh, so young but so full of bold and interesting ideas.

  “Okay, let's do some two-minute poses. Don't worry about getting all of Sophie on the page, just draw what's in front of you. And try to spend as much time looking as drawing.”

  Clodagh nodded to Sophie, and she went into her first pose. After standing there with no clothes on and people just staring at her, posing and being drawn was something of a doddle. Breasts and bottoms, she thought. And pussy – they might as well have the works. Planting her feet a shoulder's span apart, she threw her weight forward onto her left hip and twisted at the waist. She turned her head in profile and bent her arms behind her head.

  There was an electric moment when they all gazed at her, then the manic scribbling began. An industrious scratching of pencils on thick art paper, like the sound of mice in the rafters. Sophie looked past her raised arm and the ends of her fringe into the little garden, at the statue, its whiteness blotted with green and black moss. It was still raining, and a cool, greyish light was falling on her raised breasts and elongated tummy, on her jutting hip and rounded bottom… she couldn't see it, but she could almost feel it.

  The two minutes was up in two seconds. At a nod from Clodagh, Sophie turned on her heel and froze herself with one knee bent, one foot arched, as though she was about to take a step forward. She lowered her head and trailed her left arm behind her back, wrapping the right across her front. Remembering Clodagh's admonitions, she made sure the arm went under the breasts rather than over them, accentuating rather than obscuring that interesting part of her anatomy. Once again, she was rewarded with the sound of scribbling.

  Because of the tilt of her head, she was looking down at her own bust, but she raised her eyes, seeking out Clodagh, wanting to check that she was satisfied. Clodagh beamed at her, obviously very pleased. Sophie felt herself swelling with pride.

  But when that two minutes was over, Clodagh pointed to the platform, an indication that she wanted some lower level poses. The strong vertical attitudes she had been striking thus far, Sophie realized, must have been difficult for the artists perspective-wise.

  Sophie dropped to her knees. She'd thought the worst of her nerves were over, but they started up again. Standing, she'd been above the artists. Now she was amongst them. Hemmed in by their bulk, their anoraks and sweaters and squeaky boots. It was what she had been afraid of when she first saw the set-up.

  Mastering her self-consciousness, she took a deep breath and leaned sideways, supporting herself on the palm of one hand. She looked up and tucked her other arm to her side. She tried to concentrate on the ceiling, but it was impossible to forget that she was practically sitting in the artists' laps. The hard tip of her left nipple couldn't have been more than ten centimetres from the top of Curly Hair's drawing board, and when someone behind her flipped to a new leaf in their pad, the rasp of paper on paper was like a crack of thunder in her ear.

  When it was time to change poses, her extended foot brushed Mrs Fifty-Something's voluminous skirt and it was brought home to her as never before, I'm naked, they're clothed. I'm the only one naked here. The thought was like a splash of cold water, chilling but also vitalizing.

  She pulled herself up into a crouching pose. Her hands went to her hair, burying themselves in her shiny bob. She arched her back, as though she were stretching after a long sleep. She was facing the Asian girl, who gave a nod, as if to say, Oh, so pretty, and began scribbling. Once again, Sophie was grateful for the support.

  And in that moment, something changed for her. She didn't think she would ever get over being naked and vulnerable, but it began to take on a different meaning. The vulnerability was the key. She could feel it bringing out something in herself, something she valued – her own natural gentleness. Clothes made people hard and armoured. Crouched naked among the clothed, she felt as delicate and graceful as woodland animal. It was a scary feeling, but also a delicious one, and, for the first time in years, she fell head over heels in love with her skinny little self.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After that, Sophie got into her stride. A series of ten minute poses? No problem. By the end, she had knelt, crouched, lain on her front, back and side. The artists had covered many sheets of paper and drawn every inch of her. And she felt strangely lighter for having exposed herself in such a way, as though she had unburdened herself of something.

  At the end of the hour, Clodagh announced that there would be a twenty minute break. A rumble of applause for Sophie, who stretched and put on her wrap.

  She was glad of a rest. But, as the applause petered out and the artists shuffled from their seats, a slightly gloomy silence descended, and Sophie hoped the time wouldn't pass awkwardly. What was she supposed to do? Should she retreat into the changing room? Go around chatting to the artists and taking an interest in their work? Now that they had put down their pencils, they seemed slightly wary of her, as though all this time they hadn't really approved of her naked antics. Not that they were saying very much to each other either. Sophie glanced at the Asian girl, but she still had her nose in her pad – either adding some last touches, or pretending to do so as a way of avoiding talking to anybody. Oh dear.

  Then she heard Clodagh saying:

  “Show of hands? Who wants tea? Coffee? Sophie, could I borrow you?”

  Sophie dashed to her side with all the eagerness of a dog called to heel. Of course! Clodagh would know what to do.

  “Close the door behind you,” said Clodagh as beckoned her into the kitchen area.

  Very mysterious.

  “Just wanted you to know, you've been absolutely fabulous. Very giving. I'm so pleased. Keep up the good work.”

  Sophie beamed and stood a little taller. It was a ridiculous way for a forty-year-old woman to behave, she knew, but she loved being petted and praised by the young artist.

  “I've got to admit there were times when it was a challenge,” she said honestly, “but I'm really starting to get into swing of it.” Then she lowered voice to ask, “How are the artists coming on? They don't seem very chatty.”

  “Probably just a bit freaked out by all the nudity, that's all. Why can't people enjoy? Luckily, I've got a plan to jolly them up.” She held up a carrier bag. “Slip off your robe and put this on.”

  It was an embarrassing testament to how totally in Clodagh's thrall she was that she didn't hesitate to cast off her wrap and drape it on top of a nearby stool. She took the bag and rooted inside. It harboured a frilly white apron.

  She snorted with laughter. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Trust me. My years may be few in number, but much is my wisdom.”

  “Well, all right then. Here goes.” She pulled the apron over her head and tied it at the waist. Although it was plain white, the frills made it sexy. The bib was broad enough to cover her breasts, but her bottom was bare, and even with the frills brushed down, the skirt only just reached to the tops of her thighs.

  “Give us a twirl,” said Clodagh, who in the meantime had been busy pouring o
ut teas and coffees, adding milk where needed, and placing them on a tray with spoons and sachets of sugar.

  Lifting up the corners of the skirt, Sophie turned on one foot, bringing her bare backside into view.

  “Ooh la la.”

  “Merci.” Sophie completed the twirl, facing front again. Mooning Clodagh had felt rather erotic, and she coloured. “But won't it freak them out even more if I go out there dressed like this?”

  “It'll be fun. Remember my flier? A fun, informal atmosphere. There's nothing wrong with fun. We're artists, not undertakers.” Clodagh pressed the tray into her hands. “Just be your usual sweet self.”

  “Minus clothes,” Sophie amended with a grin.

  Clodagh opened the door for her. Sophie smiled brightly and sashayed forward. She was pretty certain most nude models didn't have to do this sort of thing, but she didn't mind, if it was going to help Clodagh reinvent the art of life drawing.

  The ta-dah moment worked. There was yet another round of applause – conventional hand-clapping this time, as they'd all put down their drawing boards – and a whoop from one of the girls, she wasn't sure which. It was a definite mood brightener.

  “I'm Sophie, your sexy tea maid,” she said to the fifty-somethings. “Oh, and coffee maid. What are you having?”

  Barry and Linda were there names. They seemed very nice. She swept on, giving tea to the old man (Gordon,) coffee to the blonde woman (Leslie,) and good vibes to all. Sophie suspected that the tea and coffee were a bit cold, but the frilly apron was a success, tapping into everyone's love of innocent sauciness. Her last stop was Curly Hair and the Asian girl, who were chatting together in a desultory way. Their names were Rachel and Annie.

  Even though Annie had been so kind and was obviously very nice, in a way Sophie felt the least comfortable around her, because she was near Beth's age and, if anything, looked even younger. But she suppressed her unease and said, “So how are you enjoying it so far?”