Art Class

It was a dazzling white winter day when Allison entered the studio to pose nude for a group of student artists. She had taken the long way through the campus to have the first look at the old oak trees and neoclassical buildings covered in a fresh layer of powdered snow. It was the winter break and most students were back home snug in their childhood beds, leaving the orphans and workaholics free to roam the post-apocalyptic like emptiness.

As Allison entered the room, she was immediately struck by a wall of heat and the smells of clay, paint, and dust. A short, wiry man in his 60s greeted her and took both his hands in hers. “Welcome. I’m Jim. We spoke on the phone.”

She had seen the ad for models wanted on a bulletin board in the English building. It wasn’t a lot of money but because she was avoiding going home for the holidays, she needed extra money for meals and drinks out with her friends who also preferred early afternoon games of drunken pool to spending time in tense family environments.

"You’ll be sitting up there,” he said, pointing to a wooden table covered in yellow flowered sheet, “and the other girl will be there,” he pointed to another table with a dark green shimmery cover.

 “It’s going to be a study in contrasts. You and Laura are as different as apples and orangutans. Now go into that room there while we set up. She’s already there.”  

Allison hadn’t realized there would be another girl and felt both relieved and terrified. When she entered the small room, the other girl had her back to the door and upon hearing Allison, looked back with her head over the shoulder, just like a painting. Long, wavy bright red hair flowed down the middle of her back and the one eye Allison could see was like a cat’s and shone a bright green. She had a wide smile and perfectly straight teeth. But what made Allison nearly gasp was the shape of her body—something she’d only seen on the pages of Elfquest. Laura was about six inches shorter than she was, with an almost grotesquely small waist, full heart-shaped backside, and when she at last turned for a proper introduction, a set of breasts that were at least a C cup.

“Hey, I’m Laura. This is great, isn’t it? Easiest money ever. I just hope I don’t fall asleep on that table. It’s so warm in here!”

“Allison. Have you done this before?”

“Sure, loads of times. Jim calls me a couple times a month. It’s practically paid for all my books this year.”

“What are you studying?”

“Double major in Business Admin and Accounting. How about you?”

“English. Not sure yet what my focus is going to be.”

“Ah. Well, you should get ready. You can put on that robe if you want but I actually find it more comfortable to just go out there and sit down and not have to take it off in front of them. Know what I mean? See you in a few!”

Allison began to undress, feeling more anxious as each winter layer was removed. She folded her clothes into a neat pile, underwear and bra hidden between her jeans and sweater. There wasn’t a mirror in the room but she brushed her hair and tried to stand up straight and strike a model pose—one hip slightly more forward that the others. She had the sensation she always had before jumping off a high dive board or the garage roof, that feeling that something beyond her control was preventing her from taking the final step off into oblivion.

Finally, mustering a confidence she didn’t feel, she opened the door and walked out. The first thing she saw was Jim’s naked body and his much too white high-top sneakers. The group of students were also in varying degrees of undress and were focused on their easels and the already posed Laura.

“Alison, we like to get nude as well to feel a sense of connection with the subject. By making ourselves vulnerable, we can tap into our id and transfer it onto the paper.  Hope you don’t mind. Now, I’d like you to wear this hat and sit in the same position as Laura. Imagine that it’s a hot, sunny day and you’re admiring the scenery in a field somewhere.”

Allison glanced at Laura and did her best to copy the pose. Legs stretched in front, arms behind for support. She looked down and saw the familiar folds of her stomach and the straight lines from her ribs to her hips. Her breasts hung off her chest like deflating balloons stuck on a Happy Birthday sign. She put her head back as if cloud-gazing and arched her back.

The minutes ticked by and she began to feel a numbing pain in her buttocks and she couldn’t feel her arms. She had started to sweat and the beads were rolling down from under her armpits. The large straw hat was itching her forehead and she longed to move any part of her body.

After two hours, Jim shouted, “Everyone, pencils down! Now, walk around in a circle and examine one another’s work. Girls, you too.” And so they walked in a slow motion conga line, Allison between a fully-clothed woman and a man completely naked save for his glasses and brown socks. After the third easel, Allison couldn’t bear to look anymore.

Most renditions of her body looked like a jumble of Picasso-esque lines and tiny triangles, whereas Laura’s figure curved and flowed like the Titian wet dream she was.

She hurriedly put on her clothes and took the crumpled $25 from Jim’s sweaty grip, mumbling a “thanks” and “bye”. He hadn’t asked her to return and nor would she have. Later at the bar, people asked why she wouldn’t take off her coat.

“Exposed myself to the elements too much today.”