Sunset Model

"Who's the girl he's with?" Debbie asked, biting her lower lip as she followed Sarah in the college cafeteria food line.

"I dunno," Sarah grumbled. "But at least it doesn't look like she's a girlfriend. I think they're arguing." She grasped a sandwich and soda.

"Wouldn't that make it more likely that she's a girlfriend?" Debbie chided.

Sarah stifled a snicker. "I don't care. I fully intend to get that juicy hunk o'lovin' to go down on me before the quarter's over - girlfriend or not. Hell, it would probably just make it hotter if he had a girlfriend. I hear he's an art major, and rumor has it they make the greatest lovers."

Debbie grimaced and looked away, absently picking up a burger from under the glass and setting it onto her tray. Adding a fruit juice and salad she moved toward the register. She caught her reflection in the glass behind the counter, and had to fight back on a tear.

Sarah had long, slender legs and hefty breasts a guy could happily suffocate in. With those, her bleached hair, and that gleaming smile, Debbie understood she didn't stand a chance competing.

She looked up to see Sarah watching her. "You're not still crushing on him, are you?" Sarah chuckled. "I don't really think he's your type; sorry kid."

Debbie pulled her wallet from her purse and paid the clerk, unable to say anything for fear of a pained cry escaping her throat. She glanced over to see Tom's lush dark hair, his strong jaw, and eyes so dark and deep you could see galaxies in them.

"No," she finally responded. "I'm not still crushing on him. Don't be silly."

"Good," Sarah giggled, "then he's all mine. Let's walk past his table and eavesdrop."

Debbie blinked her wet eyes and followed. "Not crushing," she breathed too low to be heard, "being crushed is more like it."

Debbie eyed him, his tall, muscular form, from the corner of her eye. She tried to hear the conversation as she walked past, but all she could think of was how kissable his lips looked, and how cute it was the way he ran his fingers through his hair when he was frustrated.

Debbie paused briefly as she was passing him, tilting her head to get a good look. She remembered him from math the previous quarter, how she had managed to sit next to him almost every class. She remembered the day he had to borrow a pen, and her fingers had lighted over the palm of his hand as she'd handed one to him. She cringed, wishing she just had the nerve to sit down next to him and say...

"Oh my gosh!" Debbie squealed, her lunch sprawling across the floor when Tom lunged up angrily from his chair, not seeing her behind him. He turned to her, his mouth open in shock, and they stared at each other for a long moment. The girl he was sitting with huffed in contempt and stomped away.

"Oh god," Tom apologized, "I'm seriously mortified. I am so sorry. Please, let me buy you another lunch."

"No, no," Debbie stammered. "It's okay, I'll just..."

"I insist, really," Tom pressed. "I'm already completely horrified at destroying your meal; if I don't make it up to you I don't see how I could live with myself. Please, let me get you something to eat."

Debbie tried, but couldn't contain the grin that broke out over her face. She glanced briefly past him to see Sarah sitting down at another table, motioning for her to hurry over. "Of course," she relented. "For the sake of your mental well-being, I will let you buy me lunch."

He watched her, his eyes kind and warm, and smiled. "Thank you," he breathed, looking around the room. "Now, I'd be happy to get you a little something here," he nodded to the food line, "but, if you're not busy right now, I'd be thrilled to take you somewhere that they serve edible food."

Her heart leapt uncontrollably in her chest, and she struggled to conceal her exhilaration. "I live for thrills," she consented. She waved goodbye to Sarah as they walked out, biting her tongue excitedly.

Tom led her to his BMW, and a few minutes later she was ordering a country fried. Her mouth watered just looking at the menu photo.

"Your girlfriend isn't going to get jealous if she finds out you had lunch with me, is she?" Debbie spoke as casually as she could, handing her menu to the waitress. She tried to avoid eye contact as she asked, but his silent, understanding grin forced her to look directly at him.

"No girlfriend," he chuckled.

Debbie looked down at the table, hiding her embarrassed blush. They were both quiet for a long moment.

"Actually, that girl I was sitting with earlier was supposed to model for me today," he finally explained. "I have an art class in oil painting, and I need to paint the human form. She's a professional model I hired weeks ago. She's sat for me twice now, but I need at least another three sittings to complete the work. And now she's found a different gig - something that pays better. So she still wants me to pay her for the first two sittings, but the entire painting is ruined now."

"I'm sorry," Debbie felt a twinge of pain watching his face fall.

He shrugged and took a deep breath. "What can you do? Things are what they are, I suppose." He straightened his back, sitting up taller. He smiled kindly, but his eyes still showed the frustration. "I'll just ask the professor for a few extra weeks, and find another model."

"Will they let you turn it in late?" Debbie asked.

Tom nodded, but then shook his head. "No, I'm sure he won't. He already said as much at the first of the class. Late work doesn't count."

Debbie grimaced, gritting her teeth. "What if you had a new model right now?" she probed. "Would you be able to get it done on time?"

Tom gave her a confused glance. His expression became deeply cautious. He thought for a few minutes. "I'll have to start from the beginning. But if I started today, and worked quickly, I might be able to complete it on time. In fact," he rubbed his chin for a second, "actually, I'd have just enough time."

Tom studied Debbie's face intently, and she fidgeted under his scrutiny. "What are you suggesting?"

Debbie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then she shrugged. "If you don't need to have a professional, I could be your model."

She kicked herself inside. The words echoed in meaningless stupidity through her mind. In an instant she imagined him painting her plain face and bright red hair on a canvas, and regretting ever letting her convince him to do it.

"Seriously?" he gasped.

Debbie had to struggle to act natural. She waved a quivering hand as nonchalantly as she could manage. "I know; it's a dumb idea. Never mind."

"Actually, if you would sit for me, I'd be forever in your debt."

A thousand possibilities for repayment instantly raced through Debbie's mind, and she hurriedly dismissed them all - most of them, anyway.

"Sure," she coughed a little to hide how forced the word was. A shiver ran up along her spine as she wondered what it was going to be like posing for him, with his trained eyes scrutinizing every detail.

"Fantastic! Really?" His voice wavered enthusiastically. He rested a grateful hand on her arm, sending chills racing through her body. She left her arm motionless, soaking in his touch, until he pulled away a moment later.

Debbie laughed, the tingling excitement growing in her chest as she thought about spending time with him. "You don't mind working with an untrained model?"

He looked down sheepishly. "I'll be honest," he submitted. "When I first saw you on campus I thought I'd love to do a painting of you. I was too embarrassed to ask you to pose for me, though."

"It's nothing," Debbie waved her hand casually. Her voice cracked, however, betraying her. "I'm happy to help out."

Tom furrowed his brow, thinking deeply. "I already have everything I need in the car. And it's the perfect day to get started. There's a rock on top of a hill, and the sunsets behind it are absolutely breathtaking."

"Sounds perfect," Debbie grinned. The waitress set their food out on the table.

"If you don't have plans tonight, we can head out right after we eat," Tom suggested.

Debbie shifted uneasily in her seat, but smiled in reply. An hour later she watched nervously out the car windows as Tom drove her up through the scenic canyon, towering evergreens blending with sprawling maples and oaks, the leaves just now starting to burst with early autumn hues. She fought to focus on the wonders of nature, desperate to push aside the nagging realization that, in a matter of a few minutes, Tom would be analyzing and scrutinizing every imperfection of her face and hair, and it was far too late to back out.

"It's gorgeous, isn't it?" Tom mused.

Debbie nodded. "I like the fall. It's my favorite season." She looked over at him, admiring his chiseled face. She grinned softly as she watched him guide the car, his arms exuding strength while he gripped the wheel. "So you plan to be an artist then?"

Tom gave a half smile. "It's more a hobby," he admitted. "But I pretty much don't have to work. The family has money. So yes, I guess I'm going to be an artist. How about you?"

"I don't know the first thing about art," Debbie laughed. "Right now I'm a business major, but I was thinking I might want to switch to something else."

"Any idea what?"

She shook her head. "But business is a bit dull. I think I might need something with more challenge for me."

They sat in a warm silence, and Tom turned from the main highway onto a gravel road, following it up towards the top of the hill. The knot in Debbie's stomach tightened.

"Tom," Debbie swallowed back the lump in her throat. "Why is it you thought you might want to make a painting of me?"

The sheepish look washed over his face again, and he glanced over at her timidly. "The truth?"

She nodded.

He took a deep breath. "It's because you're beautiful."

Debbie's heart skipped a beat, and she hurried to settle herself down, her mind reeling, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. "You mean beautiful like..."

She froze mid-sentence, opting not to press him, not to needle him for more. He'd just told her he thinks she's 'beautiful,' and, whatever his precise meaning, it had to be a good thing. Now she just needed a dignified way to end the question without sounding like a needy, clingy...

"... Beautiful as in nature is beautiful, like a lake or tree? You're not saying you think I'm..." She couldn't choke the rest of the sentence out, kicking herself for being so hopelessly desperate.

"I'm saying," Tom gave her a reassuring glance, "that you are an incredibly gorgeous young woman, more than deserving of having your likeness captured forever in art."

Debbie gulped, and stopped asking questions.

"Here we are," Tom announced, pulling off the road and shutting the engine down. Debbie climbed out of the car with him and helped to carry his equipment up along a narrow dirt trail, and then a little ways through the brush and trees. After a few minutes they came out into a clearing, a large rock with a perfect view of the setting sun behind it.

"Wow," Debbie gasped.

"See," Tom grinned. "I told you. It will make for a masterpiece, with you resting sweetly on the rock."

She watched as he rolled out a thick blanket in front of the stone and briskly erected the easel a few feet down along the hill. Deftly he positioned a large, blank canvas on it.

Debbie looked out over the hillside, the setting sun, and the trees in the distance. She imagined herself, forever there in a painting, part of a timeless masterpiece.

Her eyes widened as she glanced down over her faded jeans and casual top. Debbie cringed as she imagined being forever 'immortalized' in her grubby clothes. She looked awkwardly over at Tom. "Is what I'm wearing okay?"

He laughed, shrugging his shoulders. Amused, he gave her a backward glance as he arranged his paint tubes.

As he looked up at her he studied her expression, and stopped cold. She could see his eyes widen as he swallowed. "Oh god," he grimaced. "You didn't realize..."

She gave him a sideward glance. "What?"

"And once again I'm mortified," Tom shook his head. He hesitated, a pained look on his face. "You're going to change your mind about doing this, and it's okay. But... it's a nude painting. You wouldn't have been wearing any clothes."

Debbie felt the color drain from her face. "Oh my god, Tom!" she blurted out. "You were wanting me... I was supposed to..."

"It's alright," Tom assured her, putting his paints back into the case. "I hadn't realized you didn't understand. I was being discrete when I said I had to paint the 'human form'; I thought you understood what that meant. And now you think I'm some kind of pervert driving you up here to get you undressed."

Debbie struggled to catch her breath. She stared at him in disbelief. "You wanted to paint me naked?!"

"I'm so sorry," he apologized, his hands shaking now as he tried to cram everything into the case as quickly as he could.

Debbie turned to see the setting sun and the trees in the valley below. She stared at the changing leaves, then back at Tom - his back turned to her, hunching and humiliated, broken. A white-hot horror shot through her.

"We're here." Debbie could barely say the words through her dry throat. Tom stopped putting stuff away and looked at her in shock. "We're standing on the hill," she went on, "watching a beautiful sunset. And this is your only chance."

The thoughts raced through her mind, turning over and over as Tom stared at her. Just thinking it terrified her, but when she finally managed to say it her heart lodged high in her throat in utter screaming panic. "I'll do it."

A long silence followed. At last Tom glanced at the setting sun, and back at Debbie. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You don't have to do anything."

"I want to." Her voice quavered, but the words were reassuring to her. Still, the screaming in her head was nearly unbearable. How many times was it that would she need to pose? All of them naked?

He nodded hesitantly. "Okay," he agreed.

Debbie took a long, deep breath, and walked over to the rock as Tom set his paints back out. She stepped onto the blanket. "Is this where I undress?"

She looked back at Tom, his dark, warm eyes, and he nodded. "We don't have a dressing room, or even a robe. I'm sorry."

Debbie cringed as she reached up and started to unbutton her shirt. She stopped, her hands shaking wildly, struggling to breathe. "How soon do we need to get started? I mean, do I have some time to get..." Again the words stuck in her restricted throat.

Tom cringed. "If we're going to do this, we need to get started now."

Debbie straightened her back with resolve. Trying not to think about what she was doing she unbuttoned her shirt and slid it down off her arms, dropping it to the blanket below. The cool air tussled over her bared skin, insisting she not pretend it wasn't happening. She kicked her shoes off, and pulled the socks from her feet. Standing up she felt the soft grass and coarse gravel under the blanket beneath her naked feet. She had to grit her teeth hard as she forced herself to push her jeans down along her legs, her insides knotting and shredding as she exposed her body.

She suddenly felt stupid, still not believing she understood. She looked over at Tom. "My bra too?" she asked weakly.

He nodded, his sympathetic face showing the gratitude.

She turned away from him, reached behind her back and unhitched the bra, slipping it down along her slender arms and dropping it to the ground.

"And the panties?" Her voice was barely audible, cracking with dread. She had asked, but knew what the answer had to be.

She looked over her shoulder at him, trying not to give him too much of a pleading expression.

He managed to nod. She watched as he took in a long, deep breath, preparing himself to paint.

Debbie braced herself, closed her eyes, and timidly pushed her panties down along her legs, keenly aware that Tom's eyes were probably scanning her body, gazing at her back, her legs, her... naked butt. She focused frantically on how the cotton fabric tickled her skin as she took her panties off. With trembling determination she forced herself to turn around, to bare herself to him, but her arms quickly covered her body before she could get far enough around for him to see anything.

She opened her eyes and anxiously watched his expression. Stiffly she held her left arm over her left nipple, the hand cupping the tender, erect right nipple and the fullness of her breast. The fingers from her right hand curved down beneath her, between her thighs, the tips horrifyingly aware of an unwanted wetness there, her palm crushing her tuft of fiery fur beneath it, soft wisps tickling her hand where the hair escaped around it.

His gaze studied her face for long moments. At last he scanned down over her body, his face filling with excitement, and she felt herself suddenly trembling deep inside. The fear and dread raced through her, battling with a tingling that was beginning to rage in her lower stomach. Unable to watch Tom as he took her in, she turned her face away, and dropped her hands reluctantly to her sides. There was a screaming terror ripping through her as she stood there, lost and uncertain, and naked, while Tom stared in silence at her body.

"You are..." his voice seemed distant as it cracked through the stillness, but she could hear him walking towards her, "you are more beautiful than I ever imagined."

Her face grew hot with his attention. She craved it and longed to run from it all at the same time. She turned and, awkwardly, lay on the rock. The coarse surface felt unforgiving and cold. She watched Tom gather her clothes up in the blanket and put them back into the car, leaving her trapped on the stone. She posed in a reclining position, her head back with her eyes reluctantly on Tom, her round breasts heaving upwards. She felt the cool breeze playing over her pussy, tickling the hairs and cooling her skin. She could feel her nipples harden even more in the early-evening chill. As Tom studied her body she could see him stiffen distinctly beneath his pants, bulging out thickly. She felt an odd fluttering in her chest as she realized how big he must be.

He grasped a charcoal and his hands moved swiftly over the canvas. He examined her face, his fingers flickering in brisk, long strokes, sweeping over the canvas. His eyes roamed over her nudity as she lay exposed and unmoving, while she fought the instinctive urge to cover herself. Each time he scanned her naked body his gaze would rest briefly at her breasts, then her... pussy. He would stare at her pussy. Long minutes passed, Debbie growing increasingly self-conscience by the second, feeling the intense vulnerability raging through her. Her world was cascading into the unknown, her soul shuddering with dismay. The realization of what she was doing slashed hotly at her. There was no undoing this.

Then, at last, he gave a look of satisfaction. Flush with excitement he peeled his shirt off. Debbie swallowed back the shock, but couldn't stop herself staring unabashedly over his toned chest, tight nipples, and hardened abs. She admitted to herself that he was, if nothing else, deliciously cut.

"I think I've managed to capture your expression," he breathed. "It's exquisite."

A sense of impending relief flooded her, wondering if this first sitting was over. "You mean that look that says 'what the hell am I doing?'" Debbie chortled, her voice still tense.

He laughed. "It's more of a harmonic combination of fear, doubt, and deep sensuality."

"Sensuality?" Debbie chuckled. "Really?"

He gave her a knowing grin, and continued his sketching. His eyes scanned her body over and over, and it was all Debbie could do not to run screaming from the rock, desperately covering her nudity with her hands, as she realized they were just getting started.