4
Maddie
Ithrew the broom and dustpan in the supply closet with a little too much force and it clattered noisily. Damn it. It was four o’clock on Tuesday night and Delores and I were cleaning up the salon. I was modeling in the art class in a couple of hours and I wasn’t happy about it.
From behind me, Delores questioned, “What is up with you today?”
“Nothing,” I growled.
“Yeah sure, and the Pope’s bar mitzvah is next weekend.”
“It’s really nothing. You know that thing I am doing at the college?”
Delores giggled like a school boy who just heard someone say boobies. “Your risqué empowerment project?” she joked.
“Yes,” I rolled my eyes. “My art modeling. Thing is, Luke Morgan is in the class.”
“Luke Morgan, Luke Morgan?”
I nodded confirmation.
Delores cackled. Her whole body shook and she rocked forward, her hair falling over her face. I took a deep breath and tried not to be annoyed that she was laughing at my life. Once she regained her composure, she said, “Well, the whole it’s-far-enough-from-my-backyard plan backfired.” She paused for a minute and I could see the wheels turning in her head. “Wait a minute, then you already knew him when the Morgan brothers came in over the weekend?”
I nodded again, letting her work it out for herself.
“Did he pretend he didn’t know you?” It was a rhetorical question. “That’s weird.”
A couple of days ago, when he first walked into the shop, my heart leapt. It was just instinctual, I was so happy to see him. Happier than I would have expected. And then when he caged up, I felt terrible. Obviously, he thought that taking my clothes off and modeling for an art class was not respectable. He was either embarrassed for me that I was an art model or he didn’t want his brothers to think I was a whore. And even worse, he didn’t want his brothers to flirt with or date me because he thought of me as dirty. Then, he was so turned on by me touching him, and for a second, that felt exciting, but when the thought of it settled in, I was horrified. I was like porn for him, a sex object. I was modeling in this class because I wanted to feel people honoring my body as a thing of beauty, so that I could feel that beauty as my own empowerment, not to be fodder for some jerk’s spank bank.
I didn’t say all that to Delores. “I guess he didn't want his brothers to know I’m a nude model.”
“Oh, honey, around here, the gossip moves fast, he might have been trying to keep that under wraps for you. Wyatt and Cody are wild ones. They might get the wrong idea,” she reasoned.
“I guess, maybe. He seemed a little intense about it,” I grumped. Luke seemed like he was close to his brothers. After they left the other day, Delores mentioned that there were four of them and a sister too. If this bullshit with him hiding my modeling hadn’t happened, that would be another reason for me to stay away from him. Boys with big families tended to want big families, and I could never offer him that.
“If you ask me, you seem awfully moody about one interaction with Luke Morgan.”
Ugh, I hated and loved insightful people like Delores. It was so hard to keep them from nosing in your business. “We might have had a connection for a minute, but it was obviously nothing.”
“Obviously.”
I got to the meat of the issue, “I feel super weird about modeling in front of him tonight.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just feel like he thinks it’s something I should be ashamed of and that makes it totally not empowering.” I kept it to myself that Luke got a giant erection when I touched him. I just didn’t know what to do with that information for a number of reasons. First, even through his pants, I could tell that was the thickest, longest hose I had ever seen, and I was intrigued. Second, I had this visceral physical reaction to everything about Luke Morgan, and touching his hair had made me as wet as he was hard. Third, I was really mad at myself for feeling sexually drawn (pun intended) to a dude that made me feel dirty. I wasn’t sharing any of that with Delores, it was just too personal.
“Fuck him. If he doesn’t like it,” Delores said.
Oh, he liked it.
* * *
I gotto Fletcher Community College with no time to spare. I didn’t want to talk to Luke at all. I stopped in the bathroom near the class, changed into my nude bra and panties, and put on my brand-new kimono, which I totally got on Amazon. Luke was already in his seat when I entered the room. I wondered if he showed up early because he was hoping to talk to me. Professor Rufus seemed downright flustered by my on-time arrival.
“Madeline, if you could arrive a few minutes early, it would do wonders for my nerves,” he said.
Still not my name. I wasn’t in the mood to please anyone, so I snapped, “I’ll think about it.” Then, I climbed up to my chair in the center of the room, took off my kimono, sat down, and waited for Rufus to drape me. I didn’t look at Luke. Didn’t acknowledge him one bit. The week earlier, I was draped before the students came into the classroom. Dropping my kimono in front of them, in front of Luke, felt like I was being defiant. I wanted to be brazen, to metaphorically say, “You don’t like it that I’m getting naked in front of a room full of people. Well, too bad, mister.”
It worked for like a minute.
But as the room quieted down, the only sound, the scratch of pencils on paper, my bravado slipped. Like the week before, I felt his eyes on me, caressing me, devouring me with that same insatiable hunger. Only this time, knowing that he didn’t respect me made it feel wrong. Instead of feeling the embodiment and beauty I expected to feel, I felt the opposite of the bodily empowerment I was seeking: shame.
Unlike the week before, all the eyes on me were totally overwhelming. Every glance felt like a judgement. I wanted to jump up and run from the room, but that wasn’t the job. I took quiet breaths through my nose and tried to quell the storm inside my chest. I would get through this. And if I couldn’t come back next week, then that would be okay. Or maybe I’d tell Luke not to come back. Maybe there was still some way to salvage this situation and get what I wanted and needed from this experience. I’d find a solution. I was strong and could get through anything. Even this. But for certain, no matter what, no matter how gross or horrible I felt, I wasn’t going to cry in this room. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reveling in my shame.