Moments

I felt depraved, wanton, horny. This was art, erotic, sensual, emotional, physical. This was my artistic reaction. The body. Mine, theirs. Nakedness not nudity. Arousal not appreciation. My orgasms were swift and powerful. When I woke the cigarette I smoked was rich and filling.

And then he posed for us again. What would have been the sixth class. I hadn't forgotten him, but I had started to give up on seeing him again. I was there early, I looked as the door opened. I had to look away very quickly when I recognised him. He half smiled at me. I caught his eye. And smiled back.

I am returning, I am giving in again.

"Bonjour. Ça va?"

"Oui, bien, merci, et vous?"

"'Tu', s'il vous plait. Mais oui, ça va bien."

This is it, this is our exchange. I glance, from the side of my eyes, as he fills a glass, drinks some water, chats with the teacher. I look. He still looks slightly nervous. Compared to our other models. Waiting, smiling, nodding. He looks back to me again. I am looking at his body, without realising, up and down, quickly. He looks away. The room is filling up, I take my usual spot, kicking my shoes off and scrunching my bare toes on the dusty floorboards. I look at the screen, look at the shadows behind it, undoing, unlacing, unbuttoning, unzipping. And then standing. The shadow looks sharper, more clearly defined. I realise he is naked. I see him bend and pull on his robe. Damn. I had started to hope he might follow the lead of last week's model.

He steps out, covered, taking the same instructions as before, and undoes his robe. I feel my breath leave me again, as he turns, as he strips for us, drops his final item of clothing and stands in front of us gloriously and completely naked. I re-familiarise myself with his nude body, his chest, his stomach, his strong legs and full firm ass, that thick rug of pubic hair, his soft little cock. His tiny pinched tip, his pursed curl of foreskin, his tight round scrotum, nestled within his dark course bush, perched above his thighs, pushed out, god, his penis, his beautiful slim short cock, pushed outwards, almost, almost up, almost out. I sit. Clenching my leg muscles. Feeling the sudden dampness in my crotch, sensing and savouring the thickening of my sex, the tingle of my moist tight opening, the upward creep of warmth and wetness. I feel each of my swelling labia touching and sliding.

He poses, standing, something new. Quick, five minutes, then something else. I find myself behind him, drawing him from the rear, memorialising his wide shoulders, his tapering waist, his perfect round firm ass, wondering if he was gay, suddenly, if he fucked men, if he undressed with them, for them, touching, reaching, laying down on his front, being kissed, both naked, both gloriously erect, his lover holding his full strong cheeks apart, kissing his smooth tight asshole, moistening him, pushing his stiff penis against his anus, god, I hardly ever thought of men with other men, I used to, I remembered, I'd seen my brother, I'd seen Serge and his friend together, on the beach, touching themselves, touching each other. I imagined Laurent flat on his bed, raising himself to another guy, his lover penetrating him, sliding his hard cock deep inside his smooth clenched ass, so slow, feeling every inch as another man eased him stiff penis inside his moistened anus, turning him over, kissing, reaching down and stroking Laurent's long rigid cock.

I was already enjoying the prospect of getting home, undressing, stripping naked in front of the mirror, pulling it close to my bed, spreading my legs, stroking my moist sex, treating myself, getting my dildo out of its draw, watching myself slide this inside my slippery tight cunt. Oh god. I felt my arousal peak as I played with the thought of watching myself penetrate my vagina, fucking myself, pushing it in and out of me, as I stroked my tender clitoris. I told myself to draw. As I thought of watching Laurent with another man, as I thought of drawing two men together, having two nude male models undressing, posing. Then as I imagined undressing with them, painting nude, in my little attic room, the blinds up, putting my brush down, walking to them and holding both of their soft cocks, feeling them stiffen, taking them to my bed.

Laurent changes his pose. Stands for longer. Then has his break. I pretend to look at what I have drawn as I watch him pull his robe back on. He had sat for his longer pose before, this time the teacher helps him lift a long, backless chair onto the platform. I get up and make coffee, hold off going out to smoke a cigarette, hold off going to the toilet, for two kinds of relief. Instead I wait. We all sit back down.

I stare as he steps out from behind the screen and removes his robe immediately, before he starts walking to the platform. I moisten my lips. I watch him move naked to the stage, his bare feet making soft padding noises on the floorboards, his small slim cock wobbling again with appealing jerky motions as his legs push his testicles up, as his perched cock springs rigidly up and down. He steps up, sits, lays back, on his side, up on an elbow, one leg, one knee raised, one stretched out. His position allows me to look more clearly at his tight round scrotum, the soft line of his raphe, running up underneath the middle of his taut penis, down between his legs, between the firm round cheeks of his ass. His cock is still held almost upright, in that lovely parody of an erection, held forward by its own smallness, a tiny wrinkled barb of dark male sex sticking up from his thick bush, above his retracted tight balls.

I draw, faint with arousal, telling myself off for giving in to it again, even as I tell myself it's only another hour or so before I get home, wondering if I have become so damp it will show when I take my skirt off, whether I will notice that erotic sign of dark wetness in my underwear before I pull them away from my hot sticky cunt. The thought occurs, I look, is he looking at me? Am I in his eye line? Perhaps. If he looked down. If he wasn't so studiously gazing at the wall behind my head. But he could, easily enough, when I am looking at what I am drawing, he could easily glance at me, down, with a flicker of his eyes. What if I let my legs drift apart? What if he caught a glimpse of my underwear? No. I push the thought away, not too far, perhaps for later, but far enough.

The teacher is circling behind us, talking, encouraging, directing. The minutes pass. I want to slow them down, to stretch out each second. The secret erotic pleasure is only increased by the exquisiteness of the sweet torture of not being able to meet my body's growing demands. I am trapped in my own aching straight jacket of helpless arousal. And I knew the course wasn't going on for much longer, it was possible this would be the last time he posed for us. I drink in the detail of his body, each curve, each fold, each line and slope, his tiny nipples, the flat saucers of his pectoral muscles, the rippled cuts radiating out from the deep furrow running down his abdomen, running into his deep dark navel, surrounded by a small forest of dark hairs, thinning to a line that widened out to form the dense canopy of his pubic hair.

I don't know why my eyes are still surprised when I am able to follow this trail of hair all the way into the thick tufts covering his pubis, then lower still, that I can stare with shameless pleasure at this beautiful man's exquisitely soft and small penis, at the tight round sac beneath it, his male sex a perfect delicate extrusion in the centre of his slim smooth body. I realise I have been staring at no other part of his body for far too long. I look up to his face.

Our eyes met. He has been looking at me. He looks away immediately. I am sure his face reddened. I feel a deep shudder of arousal throb inside me and feel another spasm of moisture between my legs. I look down, back away from his face, back to his soft little cock.

My arousal takes a sudden and huge leap. His penis is larger. Fuck. His penis has dropped back, is noticeably thicker, fuck, his penis has become obviously longer. Laurent's cock is getting hard.

Oh god. I look back, to his face, he is staring intently behind me, does he know? Could he tell? Do men always sense their own arousal? I watch his mouth open and close, he closes his eye for a fraction of a second longer than a blink requires. Oh god. He knows, of course he knows. He is modelling nude for a class of male and female art students, all around about his age, some of whom he might even know, and he is starting to get an erection.

I can't look away though. I know the right thing would be to... to what? To stop drawing, for the teacher to end the class, for Laurent to get up and get dressed? Or to carry on? And wait it out. I feel collective breath being taken in. I am sure I can feel the air suddenly thicken with erotic reactions. I look back to his penis. Oh fuck. I stare as his exposed cock shuffles up along his leg, creeps over the pale skin of his thigh, I glance up, his mouth is open again, his breath looks to be coming more heavily, my sense of embarrassment is swallowed whole and quickly by my own rising pleasure. My eyes are drawn down, his penis is taking small visible pulsing steps up to his stomach, we can all see it thicken, the whole class is watching the model's penis lengthen, straighten. Oh god. He is getting a hard-on, right here, right now, in the middle of a class, in the middle of a long pose.

I am sure the teacher will say something, do something, will have experienced this before, surely, every once in a while it had to have happened.

We are all staring, I know we are, without having to look around. I am. I am hypnotised by the sight of his blatantly stiffening cock. I look as it slides up over his belly, up from his still tight, still small round scrotum, over his pubic hair, I stare as his penis continues to swell, continues to thicken. The sight, having grown used to his softness, his smallness, is more thrilling, more shockingly arousing than anything I can remember, than any other time I had seen a man getting aroused. Laurent looks in pain, his brow is creased, his chin seems to be shaking, he is still opening and closing his eyes with denial, with concentrated effort to will his penis to stop throbbing to a state of full engorgement.

It doesn't work. The class is silent. I might have expected giggles, would this have deflated him? Laughter usually did the trick, was usually more effective than the coldest of showers, unless derision was a person's thing, unless they got off on humiliation. Did he? I suddenly wonder? He is still getting hard. Is the fact of his public arousal making him all the more aroused? Is it the possible sense of humiliation which is getting him so turned on?

Still, he sits still, laying half back, nude, deliciously naked, his body in clear view, posing for a class of young artists. And his penis continues to dance up his body. I look again. His cock is sticking straight up, away from his legs, towards his large navel, following the line of his pubic hair, I see it move again, again, pulsing, filling with blood, it gets thicker, fuck, longer, straighter, fuck, leaping up from his body, away from his stomach, I watch as his penis hovers above his skin. As he becomes completely hard. Oh god. His cock is now fully erect. It is raging up from deep between his legs, deep inside him, up from his bulging oval testicles, sticking up in a thick straight rail, quivering and throbbing visibly, so smooth and stiff, his increasingly ragged breathing moving his stomach up and down, causing the long rigid rod of his stiff penis to rise and drop as he takes in nervous gulps of air.

His exposed and erect organ looks huge. I am so accustomed to the sight of his soft penis, when it was so small, looking at it now it is erect, as it sends small tingling jolts of erotic energy into my own sex, the contrast was thrilling, the sight of this private, intimate, most personal physical response happening in public, not aggressively so, accidentally, unavoidably. The fact he would be feeling such shame made the moment forbiddingly arousing. He was erect, completely and gloriously hard. And he shouldn't be. I judge the size of his rigid penis. It is thick, fuck, thicker than quite a few of the men I had known, long, fuck, Laurent didn't have a huge cock, but he isn't small, not as his soft size would suggest. It looks even bigger on his slight, slim frame, seems to dwarf his own body. I guess, in inches, seven? Nearly eight? Fuck. I sit and realise I haven't drawn a line in minutes. I clip a fresh sheet onto my easel. Our handsome male life model is sitting and displaying a thick and long and thrillingly hard penis.

I draw quickly. I had never drawn a naked and aroused man before. I didn't know if I would again. I pick out a thicker pencil and outline his body as quickly as I can, as large as I dare, and return my gaze to his trembling rigid cock.

The teacher steps in front of me, approaching Laurent. He has to say something. He almost whispers. I find myself leaning in to listen.

"Are you okay to continue? We can stop? We are near the end anyway?"

"Um, well, I don't know."

"It is okay, it happens from time to time, if you relax I'm sure it will... you know, go away, as usual."

"I'm so sorry, this is so... so unprofessional."

"You are fine, new, I won't... we'll work with you again. We'll carry on though? Okay?"

"Sure."

He steps back. Laurent's cock is still completely rigid. I want him to touch himself, I realise, I want to watch him hold his cock, ease his foreskin away from his smooth swollen tip. I draw the shape of his stiff cock, his tight scrotum, the length of his thick stem, the curve of his still hidden, large oval bulb, the now stretched hood of soft dark skin shielding his fat glans. He remains erect. As minutes pass. Does this surprise me? I know men get hard-ons, they come and go, in the sleep, throughout the day, do they last this long? Laurent doesn't look any more relaxed now he's agreed to carry on, after their conversation. His face still looks contorted, still looks anguished.

My sex is increasingly damp. I am not sure I have been more aroused, not without actual physical contact. My pleasure rises as I draw, as I see our model's large stiff penis taking shape on my paper. I wonder if his tip is wet, if he is producing his sweet male fluid, if I held him and stroked his thick stem and fully exposed his final hidden part his large glans would be coated in slick clear lubrication.

Oh god. I might need this to end soon. I press my thighs together. I know when I pull my underwear off there will be a long thick damp strip of material clinging to the damp skin of my sex.

I draw and draw. I capture him, nude, slim, strong, handsome, erect. My drawing doesn't do justice to the eroticism and aching beauty of his nude body, his large stiff cock.

"Okay everyone, we'll end in a couple of minutes, so if you finish up what you are working on."

Two minutes. My body demands more, two hours, two days, even as it is also demanding its own relief. I have done as much as I can, I use the time to look, to study, to fix the image of his bare body and erect penis in my mind.

"Okay, thank you Laurent."

He shifts, stands, his cock is still utterly erect, it stick up in front of him, away from his body, a few swaying degrees away from vertical, he walks quickly, away from our transfixed gazes. I stare, watching his long and thick erect penis making stiff circular bouncing movements as he steps behind the screen. I stare with undisguised longing at his bare ass. He glances back, I see the stiff tip of his dancing cock. Our eyes meet again.

And he's gone.

I think to wait. The class gets up, packs up, mingles. There are finally some smiles, one or two nervous laughs. I am not sure anyone found it funny, I am fairly sure even the guys there reacted in ways that might have surprised them. Everyone seems to be lingering. I want to wait, I want to try to speak to Laurent. To meet him. I leave. Am I playing the long game? Or merely eager to get home. I don't know. I think he might think more of me if he sees I have left and not obliged him to apologise, or explain.

I realise I am walking home far more rapidly than usual, even after other classes. When I climb up to my apartment I am undressing before I close the door behind me, I drop my art equipment, pull my jumper off as I kick my shoes from my feet, as I reach and slide my T-shirt over my body, touching my already bare breasts, unzipping my skirt, feeling it fall, standing in front of my long mirror in just my underwear, braless, I can, I can see the dark smudge of wetness, I bend and pull my panties off, and stand naked, looking at my own slim pale body, my thick dark damp nest of pubic hair.

From somewhere I retain enough control to step back to my folder, unzip it, pull out the last sketch I managed to complete. And place it on the floor in front of me, in front of the mirror. I reach up and touch my breast, my small stiff nipple, oh fuck, my skin is alive, is electrically charged, I touch my belly, opening my fingers over myself, feeling the top of my thick bush, and look at Laurent, at the quick lines of his naked body, at the large straight rail of male sex in the middle of his bare form drawing all my attention, I feel my way through my pubic hair, and finally reach the soft thick moist flesh of my genitals, I drop to my knees, my legs wide apart, my aching wet cunt splayed over the image of Laurent's beautiful long hard cock, and I thread a slim finger between the swollen slippery lips of my pussy. I feel my climax building almost at once, almost as soon as I find my tight opening, as soon as I feel another warm wave of thick sweet wetness escape my vagina.

I look at myself in the mirror, imagining him, thinking of Laurent, here, in front of me, looking, both of us naked, his glorious cock stiff, his shiny smooth wet tip exposed, I stroke my pussy, oh god, I look at my exposed sex in the mirror, I think of his exposure, his nudity, his strong naked male body, the act of being looked at so intently, his reaction, oh, his stiffening prick, the delicious hardening, until his long thick rigid cock was completely erect, and inside me, oh fuck, I think of undressing in front of other people, in front of the class, Laurent already naked, watching him, being watched, I slide the tip of my finger inside my tight engorged cunt, I am slick and soaking wet, my fingers are already slippery damp with my warm moistness, I am coming, oh fuck, the pleasure rises within me, fill and echoes in my legs, in the base of my back, I feel ripples and waves of exquisite tension building, I stroke my lips, my vagina, my tender stiff clitoris, oh, oh, I think of being watched, stripping naked, Laurent, his cock getting hard as I undress, as people study us, as I climb onto that small raised platform, as my classmates watch, as I reach for his beautiful big cock and draw it inside me, as I lower my hot wet cunt onto his rigid male prong, as we fuck, as I slide up and down his thick penis.

As people watch him penetrate me, enter me, stretch my tight cunt wide, oh god, my orgasm explodes within me, we are watched, in front of others, Laurent, oh, oh, pulling his glistening hard cock out of my wet cunt, stroking himself, they watch, the class watches as he comes over me, gripping his thick stem and spurting his thick hot seed over my bare breasts, over my face, I hear myself crying out, I give vocal expression to my pleasure, I never do this, not when I am alone, I gasp and shout and scream with the intensity of my climax.

It's half an hour, it's a long period of exquisite semi-consciousness before I am in a fit enough state to enjoy my cigarette.