How I Became a Nude Model

"Is it weird that your brother-in-law has seen you naked?" Carla asked Abby.

Abby put on her serious face and asked, "Are you saying your brother-in-law hasn't seen you nude?"

"Oh my gosh!" the skinny, flat-chested woman gasped. She raised a hand to her mouth, and her eyes grew wide. "No, he hasn't!" She looked shocked and horrified.

Abby laughed and said, "Sorry. I couldn't resist messing with you."

"What's so funny?" Teri, the host of the neighborhood pot-luck dinner, asked.

"Carla asked me about my time as a nude model. One of the artists I modeled for was my husband's brother. He introduced me to Paul."

"I'd like to hear that story," Carla said. She topped off everyone's glasses with the bottle of white wine she was carrying. She pulled out a chair, joined the two women at the table on the patio, and said, "How did you, a respected nurse at the local hospital, become a nude model?"

"Where to start?" Abby pondered. "First, let me make it clear that I was never a whore or a stripper."

The women nodded.

"When I started I was twenty-four-year-old. I was an impoverished student struggling to pay her way through community college to become a nurse.

I had the bad luck to be born on the wrong side of the tracks. I had it tough growing up. I never knew my father. My mother got knocked up in high school, dropped out to have me, and worked a series of low-paying jobs to keep a roof over our head and food on the table."

The guests at the party wandered over and stayed to hear the story.

Abby said, "At the time, I worked three jobs. None of them full-time. My two retail jobs paid minimum wage, and in the third, I was a waitress at a greasy diner and relied on tips. I wished I earned more, but this was my situation.

When I made enough money to cover my tuition and help Mom pay the household bills, I went to school. When I didn't, I dropped out. In five years, I've managed to earn fifty college credits. I had twenty more to go, and at the pace, I was accruing them, it would take me two more years to graduate.

I worked in the mall at Sunglass Hut. According to the company, I worked 'casual part-time' which meant I worked less than ten hours a week, got no benefits, and was paid next to nothing.

Sound great? No, but it fit my schedule, and some money was better than none.

During my training, I was told to 'make a connection' with customers. That translates to: make small talk with people, get to know them, so you can recommend the right pair of sunglasses for them.

I am an outgoing person, so talking, I mean 'making a connection', was easy for me.

One morning, a gentleman stopped into the store, and like any good employee, I chatted with him in hopes of getting a sale. This man, who was in his late 60s, was wearing a red tracksuit, flip-flops, and carrying a gym bag.

He was friendly, I was pleasant, and we talked for fifteen minutes. The conversation ended, and he walked out with a nice pair of sunglasses. Mission accomplished.

For the next few weeks, I saw this gentleman in the mall. If no customers were in the store, he'd stop in to say hello. He always came on Tuesday mornings, which is a slow time for retail stores, so we had many chances to speak.

I learned he was widowed and was trained as a jet mechanic by the Air Force. He put in twenty years, got his pension, and went to work for a national airline. He retired a second time and moved here because his daughter and grandchildren live nearby.

A month after selling my mall friend some spiffy sunglasses, it was a Tuesday, I was alone in the store, bored out of my mind, and staring out the door. When my friend walked by, I called out, "Hello, Lou. How are you?"

"I'm doing well," he answered. He came into my empty store and asked, "How are you?"

"I'm doing great. Were you at the art gallery again for the drawing class?"

"Yes."

"How come I never see you carrying a sketchbook?"

"I'm not an art student. I'm the nude model."

"Oh!" I gasped. I'm sure my face turned red.

He laughed and asked, "Are you surprised?"

"Yes. You don't look like the kind of guy who..." I didn't finish my sentence because I was confused and embarrassed.

He finished the sentence for me. "I don't look like the kind of guy who gets naked in front of strangers?" He laughed and added, "The men in my squadron would tease the hell out of me if they knew.

"My wife and I started doing it ten years ago. A neighbor of ours taught art at a community college. He got into a jam when the two main models for the school's figure drawing classes suddenly quit. One was in an automobile accident, and the other left town to care for an elderly parent. He asked us to take their place, and on a lark, we said yes.

"My Dorothy, God rest her soul, was a creative, artsy person. She'd done some modeling before we were married. She was game and dragged me along. It's not as bad as you think," he said.

"I could never do it," I said. "Being naked and having all those eyes staring at you. My body is shivering just thinking about it."

"I thought it would be weird, and I'd feel uncomfortable, but it wasn't like that. For one thing, the room is silent. No one is talking, pointing, or laughing. I'd describe the atmosphere as bordering on reverent. The students take it seriously, and you soon realize that although you're nude, you are not naked."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Both words describe a person not wearing clothes. Naked has a connotation of being unprotected and vulnerable. Like someone walking in when you're changing clothes, or you and your friends going skinny dipping. Nude is being unclothed for a purpose, such as being examined by a doctor, posing for a painting, or using a sauna. It's not a sexual thing."

"I get the distinction," I said. "But I'm not fit or pretty enough to be a model."

"And I am?" Lou asked as he patted his beer belly. He laughed and said, "Remember, the purpose of a life drawing class is for an artist to practice drawing. His or her goal is to capture you accurately. They don't give a fig about how you look. They care about how well they can draw you.

"That's another reason being nude in front of a room of strangers is not embarrassing. You soon realize they aren't looking at you with lust or any prurient interest. They're focused on shapes and lines, the combination of light and shadow, and positive and negative space."

"If the goal is to create a good likeness," I asked, "why not draw a piece of fruit or furniture?"

"They can and do," Lou said. "Some artists spend a lifetime doing still life or landscapes, but the pinnacle is drawing and painting people. It's the hardest thing to do. The best artists can render a person accurately and capture their personality and emotions.

"I model for various groups: galleries like the one in the mall that offers classes, colleges, sketch clubs, and the like." He smiled and said, "They are constantly searching for new models and are open to all kinds of bodies. Your weight, degree of fitness or attractiveness, or your age is not a disqualifier."

He laughed and said, "Of, course, the nude models must be over eighteen."

"And you're telling me this because..."

"I know you need money for school. Modeling pays three or four times what you make here. You'd be earning more, so you could cut back on the number of hours you work and have time to study, sleep, and have a social life."

"That would be nice, but I'd have to be naked...nude in front of people. I'm twenty pounds heavier than I such be because I have too many rushed mornings where I breakfast on Cheetos and a Coke."

"I can't deny that I was nervous the first time," Lou said. "I felt better when I realized they weren't perving on me, and no one cared about the size of my penis, my hairy back, or the extra pounds I carry on my waist.

"Why don't you give it a try?" he asked. "I can line up a gig for you and be on stage beside you if that would make you feel better."

"Yes."

I was shocked when the word came out of my mouth. I was tired of working so many hours and struggling to pay for school and the rent, and the thought of a social life was enticing. I hadn't been out dancing with my friends in ages.

"What the hell," I said. "Why not give it a go?"

I was a nervous wreck the afternoon I met Lou for my first life drawing class. I'd insisted we not go to the mall class because I was afraid someone would recognize me.

When I arrived, Lou met me in the parking lot. I was wearing shorts, flip-flops, and was braless in a tank top. The girls were sagging, and my erect nipples showed through the soft material. I hadn't bothered to dress up since I knew I'd soon be taking my clothes off.

He said, "Hey, kid. The flip flops are a good idea. The floors of our venues are not always the cleanest. Do you have a dressing gown? It's nice to throw something on during breaks."

"Yes," I answered as I reached into the car and grabbed my robe.

"Nervous?"

"Yeah."

"This is a good place to break into the business. There are eight members in the sketch club. They're all nice people, and they take this seriously. They know this is your first time, and no one will yell at you."

"Good."

"This is a two-hour session. The artists need to warm up, so we start with some short, quick poses of one and two minutes. Then we do five, ten, and fifteen-minute poses. After a break, we will do a thirty-minute pose."

"Okay."

"The leader of the club has a timer and may suggest some poses. Usually, I do whatever I feel like for the shorter poses, and they pick the long pose."

I nodded.

"You know the deal. Once you've struck a pose, you mustn't move. If we move, they have to erase and redraw. I do the difficult-to-hold poses where my body is twisted, I'm standing on one leg, or extending a limb in the short sessions. For the longer poses, we will be sitting or reclining."

"That makes sense."

A smiling, middle-aged woman walked up to us and said, "Hello, good to see you again, Lou." She focused on me and said, "You must be Abby." She smiled, stuck out her hand, and said, "I'm Wendy. Welcome. Thank you for coming. We love Lou, but we always enjoy a new model. Come in, and I'll show you around."

We followed her. She showed me the small raised stage, the changing area, and where the bathroom was.

Wendy said, "I understand Lou will do the warm-up poses and you'll alternate the intermediate poses and be together for the final pose."

"Are you okay with that, Abby?" Lou asked.

I nodded because my throat was dry, and speaking would be difficult. That was a side effect of my nerves.

Wendy said, "I hear the others coming in. See you on stage in five minutes?" We nodded, and she walked away.

Lou stood in the hall as I used the dressing room. I quickly stripped and looked at myself in the mirror. "What was I thinking?" I screamed in my mind. My boobs looked heavy and sagged. I had a pronounced paunch, and overall, my body looked pale and doughy.

My black pubes were a thick, curly, messy mass. I'd considered shaving or trimming but rejected the idea, preferring to keep my vagina hidden. The hair on my head looked nice. It was in a simple ponytail.

I put on my robe and flip-flops and exited the room.

Lou went into the dressing room, stripped, and put on his robe. He came out, smiled, and said, "Showtime!". He grabbed my hand and led me to the artists.

He left me by the stage, took off his robe, and stepped on the platform nude. He immediately struck poses and held them for one and then two minutes. He seamlessly went from one pose to the other. His poses projected strength and power.

I was surprised that he'd been nude for five minutes before I looked at his cock. It was small and soft and surrounded by gray hair. It was out there for all to see, but I hadn't noticed because I'd focused on the poses he struck.

I looked at the artists. The five men and three women ranged in age from forty to sixty-year-old The room was quiet except for the sound of charcoal and pencils being dragged over paper and pages turning.

"Let's do a five-minute pose," Wendy said. "Abby, are you ready?"

I gulped and nodded. Lou stepped off the stage and took my robe when I removed it. I stepped on stage. My face felt warm, and my body trembled. My nipples were embarrassing hard. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

I'd given this some thought and had looked online for positions that would hide my bits. I had a repertoire of modest poses prepared.

There was a stool on stage. I sat on it, facing the artists. I covered my pussy with my left hand and made sure my knees were together. I brought my right arm up and put it across my chest to hide my boobs. I couldn't look at the people in the room, so I looked at the floor.

It seemed like an eternity before the timer went off!

As I left the stage, Lou came on and handed me my robe. He posed, and I covered up.

We alternated being on stage. Lou was confident and put his body out there. I was self-conscious and shy and as modest as a nude woman can be.

During a break, we donned our robes, and Lou said, "Come with me." He took me to meet the artists. He introduced me and asked if we could see their work. They were kind and happy to let us view their efforts. I was surprised by how unidentifiable Lou and I were in so many drawings.

Some works were all squiggles, intersecting looping lines. Others were a collection of shapes and shading. With some, I knew it was a sketch of a man or woman, but it was impossible to say that it was a drawing of Lou or me.

Other drawings were in greater detail, but often as not, they were of a hand or torso, not a face.

When we were alone, Lou asked, "Now that you've seen the drawings, do you feel better? They aren't pornographic or exploitive."

"Yes. You can see they are working on their craft. I feel foolish. I was afraid my boobs or vagina would be their focus and be meticulously copied, along with my face, name, and home address!"

We laughed.

"Do you think you can do this?"

"Yes," I answered confidently.

We did two more poses as a couple. In the first one, we were a ball of body parts. Lou sat on the floor with his back to the artists. I lay on his lap. I curled my body against him pressing my stomach and breasts against his stomach. My head poked out one side and my legs were visible on his other side.

We held on to each other, which made it easier to stay still.

For the final drawing, we sat facing the group. I was slightly in front of Lou. His head was on my shoulder, and he hugged me. His arms hid my breasts. His legs were splayed, and his soft dick was exposed.

My right leg was stretched out off to the side. My left knee was raised, and my hands were crossed and rested in my lap and covered my vagina. All my private parts were hidden. I sat as still as possible with my partner.

The session ended. Lou and I got dressed and headed out. As we passed the chatting artists, they thanked me and told me how important my role was in their development.

Wendy handed us envelopes of cash and asked, "Abby, was it okay?"

"Yes. I was scared at first, but I got over my jitters. Everyone was nice and respectful."

"Can I book you for next week?"

"Yes."

"We have Lou coming on Tuesday. Can you do Thursday afternoon?"

Yes!"

I did more nude life modeling. The money was great, and I was able to quit one of my retail jobs. I was surprised that I enjoyed doing it and looked forward to my sessions.

As I thought about it, I discovered four reasons. Number one was the money. Another was I felt important because I was a part of the artistic process. The third reason was while posing, I'd have zen-like experiences. I mediated as I held my longer poses. My body relaxed, and a blissful calmness filled my soul.

The last reason came as a shock to me. I learned I was an exhibitionist; I enjoyed being nude in front of clothed people."

Some party-goers listening to her laughed. Abby blushed and smiled sheepishly.

She continued her story.

"I took the job seriously. I learned new poses and tried to project an emotion or action as I posed. Since my body was my instrument, I improved my appearance. I exercised, ate healthier, and lost weight, and I sunbathed in the nude and got a nice all-body tan.

I became a better model, and I felt better about my body and myself.

As I became more comfortable and confident being nude, I no longer purposely hide my breasts, ass, and vagina. The posed matter, and if my arm needed to be over my head or my breasts pushed forward to give me an attractive silhouette, so be it.

I was booked for a two-hour session and asked to bring a partner. I called my buddy Lou, and he agreed to join me. We met in the parking lot and caught up as we walked to the dressing room.

He stopped at the door and said, "You can undress first."

I grabbed his hand and said, "I'm not that shy girl who worked with you a month ago. Come in with me. We're going to be nude and share a stage; we can share a dressing room."

He laughed and joined me. We stripped, donned our robes, and he asked, "What shall we do out there?"

"Follow my lead. I have an idea for the quick poses."

The leader spoke to his group and waved us onto the stage to begin. We dropped our robes and walked onto the stage. I was feeling playful and decided to have some fun.

I stood in the center of the stage, stone-face, facing Lou. I held up my arms like a ballroom dancer. Lou recognized what I was doing, and he took my right hand and put his other hand on my back for pose number one.

The timer sounded, and I stepped closer to him. My nipples brushed his chest. I put his clasped hands around my lower back and rested mine loosely around his neck. I put my head on his shoulder as if we were teenagers slow dancing.

The timer sounded. I pushed his hands down so they were touching my butt. I put my hands on his shoulders as if I was pushing him away. My head was up, my eyes and mouth were opened wide. I looked shocked and indignant that he had his hands on my ass. I held that position for two minutes.

The timer chimed. I spun around as if to leave him. I brought his hands up as if he was preventing me from going and placed them on my bare breasts. My look of shock increased tenfold and I stayed like that for two minutes.

For the next pose, I spun around and placed my hand on his face as if I was slapping him. An angry expression was on my face.

Next, I pulled his head into my cleavage, dropped my hands to my sides, and appeared helpless and stupefied at his audacity! This was a five-minute pose. When we broke apart, I noticed that Lou had an erection.

I hugged him to hide it and whispered, "Thanks for letting me choreograph the poses. I see you liked it."

"Too much," he answered. "I apologize for the erection."

"Stuff happens. I'll cover it. Sit down and support yourself by putting your arms out behind you.

Lou did as I requested. I stretched out on the floor on my side, facing the artists. I rested my head on his thigh and threw my long hair over his erect penis. The group could see my breasts and bush.

For the next pose, I had Lou roll over onto his stomach. I whispered, "Get up on your elbows. Put your left hand under your chin and extend your right hand and pretend to be drumming your fingers on the floor and look annoyed."

He did as I asked, and I sat on his back gleefully smiling as I used his body as my seat cushion. My boobs were exposed, and I spread my legs, flashing my pussy at the audience.

Ten minutes later, I had Lou lay on the floor on his back with his knees up and his head on my lap. I cradled his head in my arms, pressing his cheek against my breasts as we appeared to gaze into each other's eyes. We both closed our eyes because otherwise, it would have been too intimate and weird.