Posted by Model/Randall on August 9, 2005, 4:11 am Got the urge to show it? Why not model for life drawing classes? Find a Wednesday-afternoon class dominated by older women and soccer moms looking for something to do away from the house. Need to show your [genitalia]? Don’t know if it will fly there though. Try sneaking it in like I did. During a reclining pose, as in sleeping, I closed my eyes and simulated a loud, slow breathing pattern and let loose with my [genitals]. I heard whispered comments and a little throat clearing. At the end of my 30-second pose they ‘woke’ me up and we went on to another pose. It was my last of a scheduled four modeling sessions. They invited me back for four more sessions. And I obliged. Pay was good too. [Language edited by board administrator] _________________________ ...that can pacify people’s attitudes. All through the centuries, in spite of nudity being considered such an outrage in many cultures and time eras, one situation many people have always been able to accept in spite of it has been in the context of art. When somebody sees a work of art somebody made—their creation—even if the thing is naked, that doesn’t cause them any uneasy feelings. And it can inspire their sense of adoring a thing of innocence, just like it is with a newborn baby or something. And even when they know that the person who posed for it had to pose naked, even many people who would otherwise be bothered by nudity, even they seem to be able to accept it without being bothered by the fact. I figured that out a few years ago once. One day I was at the beach all alone, and I felt the desire to have a girl, and I couldn’t because I didn’t have one, so, just to satisfy some inner longing to see the shape of one, I got the idea of taking a bunch of wet sand, piling it up in a spot away from the water and seeing if I could sculpt the figure of a girl and make it look anything remotely like the real thing. I had never had any experience at sculpture of any kind. Never painted pictures, never been an artist, had never been into art at all. Well, I started piling the sand up and forming it into the shape of a woman lying on the ground. First I lay down and measured from my feet to her coming about up to my shoulder, then I started forming with my hands, everything that didn’t look quite right, redoing it, running my hands over the wet sand of her body: the femininely curved hips, the legs, the knees, the ankles, the feet, the stomach, the navel, her waist, chest, shoulders, arms... the face was the hardest part, her face and her hair. With my comb I carved out her facial features, slowly working at it. But, my! She started taking shape. She was getting to have a beautiful figure, if I may say so myself, having formed it with my hands. I took special care on the breasts and the nipples, and on the vulva (my favorite parts.) Didn’t make the pubic hair too thick, in order to have clear sight of the labia majora, oh, that beautiful little raised mound with the titillating groove running down between her thighs, which I carved with my comb. I made her right leg turned out just a little bit, not enough to look as if she were spreading her legs in any sexual way and risk having the thing look lewd, but enough so that the slit would be visible and provocative, as much as it could be when made of sand—to my ability to imagine it being a real naked woman lying there. After a while, two girls came walking along the beach, then they came down to look at it. “Wow,” one of them said. “Did you make that?” “Yeah.” “Wow, that’s good,” said the other one. “Thanks.” “When I saw it from way over there,” the first one said, “I thought it was somebody lying down in the sun.” “Really?” “Yeah.” “But it would have been better if I had had a model.” Now I wished instead of making the sculpture of a woman, I had made a sculpture of myself for them to see. They sat down, we started talking for a while, and after a while the subject came to having me do another one. “Should I do a woman... or a man?” I asked them. “A man,” they both said. So I started doing a man—myself, of course (the only man I would want to do). (No, no, wishful thinking, but no, I couldn’t tell them that in order to get it right I would have to take my swimsuit off in front of them to model for myself. There was courtesy between us, and I could sense in them that if I tried something like that, things would suddenly turn sour, so I didn’t try it.) I told them I was doing myself, since I was the only man around. I just kept looking at my arms and my legs and running my hands over the sand sculpture until its arms and legs looked just like mine did. I had a big mound of wet sand over the pubic area, compressed it, then took my comb and started carving out the... yeah, the thing from which all this energy—all this “artistic” energy—was ultimately emanating. My favorite part of this sculpture of me... taking shape right in front of their eyes (making sure I mentioned clearly enough that this it was of myself.) I gotta admit, I cheated a little on the... the main attraction. I made it a little bigger than it really is—I mean, just a tiny bit bigger. Not too much, so it would still look realistic. I took my comb and carefully carved around the ridge of the glans penis, my circumcised one. I had my sculpture of myself lying down beside the woman, in the same pose with the right leg turned out a little. I had the penis lying sideways, as it might do if I were lying on my back. They sat there and watched for quite a while as I did the whole sculpture, and when I was finished, they marveled at it. “Wow, that’s really good,” they said. “Thanks.” I watched as one of them ran her eyes over the whole thing, from head to toe. And when her eyes got to the pubic area, she gleamed at it. Oh, I was getting turned on. Well, after that, this got to be a new hobby of mine. From that I went on to clay sculpting. People told me I was talented at it, but really, underneath, if this was supposed to be talent, the truth is, the only thing that was really powering it was sexual desire—though I always took every precaution to avoid any appearance of lewdness in any of my sculptures. Nude? Yes, of course. Always. But lewd? Never. Always only natural poses—but always with the genitalia clearly visible. I did all kinds of women and girls. I looked through sculpture books to find poses that had already been done in classical sculptures all throughout the ages, and made up some new ones of my own, always natural-looking situations, of course, but always naked. But one time when I was showing my work to high-school girls who were interested in art, I always explained that there was only one man I was ever interested in making a sculpture of, and that was myself. Whenever I was showing them one, while I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, I would always explain to them, running my finger along the skin on my arm, that I tried to make every part of it, every contour of the skin, exactly the way all the contours of my skin really were, in order to make it the most artistically natural. I would feel complimented when they ooohed and aaahed at a sculpture I had made of myself—and I would feel turned on whenever they stared and gleamed at the genital area on it. It got to where I could have a photograph of myself standing naked on the beach—in a natural pose, of course—and when I was in a conversation with them, I would get to showing them the pictures of all the people in our art class, me somewhere in there among them, then come to the one on the beach and just casually say, “Here I am posing for a sculpture at a beach. So-and-so girl took this picture, blah, blah, blah....” and they would just casually look at it, never getting upset, but sometimes gleaming all the more. I thought I had gotten turned on when they gleamed at the sculptures I had made of myself. I really got turned on when they did it at my nude pictures. (Pervert, I know.) Good thing we have people like Dear Abby explaining in her column nationwide to the American public that if someone is seriously interested in art, there are never any sexual motives behind it. It helps calm people down about the subject. But I have a theory, that that’s not the way it really is, or ever was. I think—in fact, I know—that all through history some of the world’s best artists have had sex drives, and much of their art has been motivated by it. Michelangelo was of a different sexual orientation than we are. He was gay, but that’s beside the point. When he stated that he thought the male body was more beautiful than the female body, he did more than reveal his homosexuality. He also revealed that in the sexually suppressed society he lived in—just like the one we live in—art was his sexual outlet. Like some of us, his sex drive was the thing that drove him to work so hard at perfecting it all. History says that later in his life when he was in his middle ages, he was worried about what was going to happen to his soul after he died, so he went to his priest, made his confessions about all the sex sin in his life that he couldn’t control, and did all the sacraments and penance to take care of it. Well today, in the 20th century—oh, I guess it’s the 21st century now (still getting used to that)—it’s one of the things that helps me let off steam without upsetting society. Yes, there’s something about art. [Board administrator’s note: post was written January 29, 2001, one month into the 21st century]
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Life Drawing Classes
Posted by Model on January 26, 2001, 7:36 am
There’s something about art...
Posted Randall on January 29, 2001, 9:59 pm
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