F*ck me like one of your French girls

I recently volunteered as a live model for a group of painters. It was my first time in years. Prior to this, I had only posed for artists - mostly friends - in private sessions at home. The idea of taking off my clothes facing a group thrilled me. I was surprised to recognize several faces in the room, which made the drawing session all the more transgressive and ripe for erotic fantasies: my former professor, a cute artist I had been on a few inconclusive dates with, a university classmate whose subtle sensuality had always (secretly) turned me on, and several others who I’d never met before.

As I stood naked on a platform, beneath a warm light, I stripped myself of my inhibitions and allowed my body to twist and bend itself into unexpected forms to the erratic sounds of charcoal on parchment. On the outside, I seemed collected and in control, but my mind was exploding with carnal reveries. There was a proverbial wall that separated me, as muse, and them, as voyeurs, from breaking through polite society’s prohibitions and celebrating our freedom to explore each other in an orgiastic feast. Nobody knew the filthy side streets and forbidden back doors my mind was wandering through, especially when I was asked to stretch, fully exposed, out onto a mattress on the ground. Was it just me or was everyone in the room hungry for the same?

I wondered what it would look like if someone – maybe the handsome, soft-spoken art instructor – would dare to step over the invisible line that kept us from enacting our desires. From here on, the rest is fantasy: He joins me on the platform and instructs the students to draw us together in a variety of ‘quick poses’. At first, we are eager yet restrained, each position gradually becoming more erotic and intimate, before indulging in tender, passionate love-making. The artists frantically try to capture the shape-shifting outlines of our bodies in motion until one after the other joins us on the platform until an orgy is in full sway.