gestural

February 22, 2009 Leave a comment Go to comments

Inside, the smell of turpentine and oil paint coats every surface.  Outside, the sky is grey as melting snow.  You’re at your easel by the window, watching the snowy drizzle outside in the few moments before class starts.  The soft drumming of water drops falling on pavement thrums a melodic rhythm in the space behind your eyes, lulling and heavy on your eyelids.

It is as if from far away that you hear the professor calling class to order.  Fighting inertia, you turn away from the window.

And come face to face with a nude male standing in the center of the room, cast from chocolate – extra dark.  You groan inwardly at the sugar-coated metaphor even as your tongue flicks across dry lips.  You watch as the model stretches quickly before striking his first pose.  His body is all sinew and tight muscle, and you have to look away, down at your paints, to stop the sudden fluttering below your stomach.  Working quickly now for this five minute pose, you examine the smears of color on your palette.  How can you bring out the richness of that velvet skin?  You mix some earth colors together – burnt sienna, burnt umber – and add a smudge of alizarin crimson and phthalo blue.  A little cadmium yellow gives the paint a hint of a glow.

Your paintbrush now saturated with the rich mixture, you finally turn back to the model.  He is good, body tight as he maintains his position without too much wavering.  Another point of admiration.  Your eyes trace the curve of his spine, then sweeps down his defined pectorals, sleek 6-pack, and finally comes to rest on his serenely flaccid penis, hanging between splayed legs.  You can’t help admiring its length, even non-erect, and a small shiver runs through you as your imagination plays with his cock, working it up to its full, majestic erection and guiding it, first past your lips and down your throat, then slowly inside you, incredibly thick and filling in a way you had forgotten was possible.

A flash of white jars you out of your reverie, and you look up – straight into his eyes.  Heat rushes up your cheeks, and your eyes drop back to your still-blank canvas.

Just in time for your professor to call time.

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