no big deal?”
“Like going to the doctor.”
Ben could do that. Plus, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do right now. And an extra six hundred bucks would buy him a new mattress—one that had zero history of him being cheated on, too. Or if his furniture didn’t arrive by Christmas, he could spend that coin on a hotel room for a few nights.
Chelsea arrived so early, the art studio wasn’t open yet when she walked by the first time. She headed to the coffee shop on the next block and got a salted mocha to celebrate the start of her holiday break.
By the time she got back to the studio, the front door was unlocked.
She signed in at the desk, then headed into the back. She’d attended a few drop-in classes over the fall, so she knew the routine. Sign the waiver. Grab a spot. The wood donkeys—an adjustable easel attached to a bench-like seat—were scratched up and covered in paint.
It still gave her a thrill to spend time in the space, like she was a real artist.
She set up her newsprint pad, then carefully selected her sketching materials for the evening. Conte, charcoal, and black pens. She was still figuring out her preferred method for quickly capturing the human form.
The room quickly filled up, and she exchanged smiles with the other students. The atmosphere was as she expected it to be. Professional but warm. Collegial.
At the top of the hour, the instructor introduced herself, then gave them a quick overview of the plan for the four-day intensive program. They would use the same model for all four evenings, working on their progressions from quick sketches through to a finished, detailed drawing. Tonight, the instructor would guide the model through a variety of poses, but starting the next night, the participants were invited to requests poses for up to half an hour each. “Take your time today in figuring out what you want to draw over the next three nights. Be open to a new form, something you haven’t tried before. Ready?”
When everyone nodded, she gestured to the anteroom at the side where the models got ready, and their subject for the night stepped out.
He was beautiful.
Chelsea’s brain caught her instinctive, visceral reaction before it could spin out of control, and translated it into more appropriate observations. Six-foot-something and well proportioned. One big hand clenched a Terry cotton robe shut as the other ruffled nervously through his golden brown hair. Short on the sides, clipped on top, almost enough to tame soft curls. Almost, but not quite. The glint of bronzed five o’clock shadow on his jaw was a rough contrast to his boyish mop-top. Not that he looked particularly young. There were lines at the corners of his eyes, around his mouth.
Chelsea put him around thirty, maybe a little bit older.
“Everyone, this is Ben. Thanks for joining us today. I’ll get you to take a seat on the platform, please.”
He ducked his head and waved with the hand that had just disheveled his hair, then followed the instructor’s prompt, shrugging out of the robe before settling into the first position.
Ben didn’t have any problem being naked. His body looked good, objectively, and more importantly, it was powerful. As long as he didn’t think too hard about what was being scratched on the boards around the room, he’d be fine. But those thoughts were right there, jumping up and down in his mind. How many of them were drawing his cock? Was that even allowed? And were they being generous? Could the instructor sense how weirdly nervous he was? And how the hell did Kent do this?
He’d been naked for five minutes already, and he’d spent the entire time staring at the ceiling. It was a good position to start in, at least, while the instructor talked about his body as if he were a mannequin.
His wingspan was apparently longer than most, and his feet were extra big. Don’t think about your cock. He bit back a laugh that threatened and focused his thoughts on his empty apartment, and the lady next-door who watched that popular Navy SEAL television series apparently around the clock. She’d been up late the night before, the sound of the episodes bouncing through the wall at him—a strange reminder of where he’d just come from, although the reality of what he did wasn’t always the same as depicted in film and TV.
He’d spent the night on the very nice parquet floor, with only