12
Maddie
Luke carried his art supplies inside in two trips. He was quiet and acting a little jittery. Once everything was inside, he asked, “Where should I set up?”
“That’s up to you. Where do you want me?” I winked.
“Umm...” he pulled off his cowboy hat and scratched his head. “I should have thought about it. I didn’t think about it. Maybe we can move the coffee table and you can lie on the couch?”
Not buying it. He thought about it maybe a little too much. “Sure, the couch is fine.”
“I think the contrast would be good. The green against your skin.”
Definitely thought about it. “Okay.” I smiled. “Whatever works. Do you need anything?” I asked. “A glass of water?”
“I’m good. Also, I kinda know where everything is, Maddie,” he smiled.
“Right.” I shifted in place. It occurred to me that I was being a little odd too.
“I guess I should…” I pointed to the couch, not sure what to do with myself.
“If you want.” He smiled. “I’ll just be right here, getting set up.”
“Yeah, okay.” I started to walk in the direction of the couch. He stepped towards me. Pulled me in and hugged me, burying his face in my hair.
“I’m nervous,” he said quietly. “I need to kiss you. I didn’t kiss you when I got here, did I?”
He hadn’t. I shook my head. He tipped my chin up with his hand and gently fluttered his lips against mine. It was a sweet kiss. The kind of kiss that says you mean something to me. The kind of kiss that is begging for meaning in return. I kissed him back just as gently and with just as much meaning. I was falling, fast. With our foreheads pressed together and our eyes closed, we both took a deep breath.
When we broke apart, I headed for the couch again. This time, he smacked my ass. I giggled and posed like Betty Boop, with my ankle lifted and my hand over my mouth in a feigned gesture of innocent surprise. It was a little moment, but one that was more normal for us than the weird nervousness he walked in with.
I sat on the couch with my hands tucked under my knees. Watching him situate his easel, I felt strangely shy. Laying naked before him on my couch felt a long way away from sitting posed before the classroom. There was a certain clinical nature to modeling for a room full of art students. As the model, you were bathed in the classroom’s collective consciousness, their unified belief that you were a thing of beauty, elevated above sexuality. But being naked alone with Luke was different. On an average day, I was dying to be naked around this man. For the record, there were literally multiple instances where I had pulled off my clothes before we could get the door to the house closed. But, there was something about this moment, something more exposed. When we were being sexy together, our focus was sexy time. When I was modeling in the class, the focus was the art form. But tonight, when I stretched out on my own couch, I felt like the focus would be on me.
Not wanting to lose my nerve, I shifted from my own discomfort to watching him. Luke was meticulous. He had his easel set up and he was pulling my kitchen table next to it so that he could surround himself with his supplies. He had pencils, charcoal, and pastels. He also had erasers and those white pointy things that artists use to blend stuff. He laid them all out neatly on the table.
He was wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt. He had recently hung his hat by the door. A couple of weeks ago, I put a hook there, so he had a place for his hat that Mr. Wiggles couldn’t access. Prior to the hook, Wigs had taken to cuddling with Luke’s hat and leaving a furry gray trail in his wake. There is a certain sex appeal to a man in a hat, but I liked Luke without his. His hair was thick and straight, highlighted naturally by the sun. It was the kind of blond hair that women dream about and spend their whole lives trying to attain, only when it was framing this rugged masculine face, it lost all its femininity and became something wholly male. Like usual, he had it pulled back into a quick loose bun at the nape of his neck. This man was such a magical collision of things. A cowboy who couldn’t eat cows. A rugged man with so many soft edges. A brother who was keeping his creative heart from his family but couldn’t seem to be anything but honest in his daily interactions. He felt so authentic to me—so raw and true.
I watched him until he checked and double-checked his materials. Once he was certain they were as he wished, he crossed to a kitchen chair, sat down, and took off his boots and socks.
“Whenever I’m in class, I wish I was barefoot.” The way he said the words made them feel like a secret. “I always draw barefoot at home.”
He actually had really sexy feet. Like the rest of him, they looked strong, like they were rooting him to the earth.
I smiled at the private detail, “Mi casa es su casa,” I offered.
He stood, “Well, I guess I’m all set.”
I tried to sound jovial and free-spirited when I said, “Okay, boss, how do you want me?” But it came out clunky and uncomfortable.
Maybe trying to quiet my nerves, he said, “Why don’t we just start by taking off your top, leave everything else on and lean back a little and we can slowly progress to a more,” he paused, searching for the right word, “classic pose.” A.K.A naked, or as artists like to say, nude.
I crossed my arms in front of me and pulled my t-shirt over my head, tossing it next to me on the couch. Being shirtless before him didn’t feel shocking or soul-bearing. It felt normal, but the thought of removing the other items of clothing still had me rattled. I leaned back a little, pushing my breasts out and lifting my heart. I used my hands to balance, shaking my hair out so that it fell away from my shoulders.
“Like this?” I asked, confirming I was as he wanted me.
He bit his lower lip. “Yes... turn your chin slightly to the right. Good, I want to study your face. I am always at an angle in class. Are you comfortable?” he asked.
I adjusted a touch. It was a thing I had learned to do after my first few times modeling, check in with my body to make sure I could comfortably hold my position for a while. I decided I could, and then, I slowed my breaths and stilled.
He took a charcoal pencil and put it to the paper, but then he put it down again.
“The light isn’t right,” he muttered, crossing the room to adjust the curtains and then moving a novelty lamp that was sitting on one on the couch’s side tables. The lamp was akin to the lamp in A Christmas Story, a giant fish-netted gamb, wearing a red heel and topped off with a lampshade. What can I say? I liked kitsch. Luke pulled the shade off the leg, exposing the raw lightbulb. I imagined that with a brighter light off to my right, he’d created more shadows, but to be honest, I didn’t know much about lighting. He returned to his position behind his easel, and looked at me again.
“That’s better,” he said the words to himself, and then he immediately began to sketch. He worked feverishly, using multiple pencils, holding them in his teeth and tucking them behind his ears. From my seated position, I was looking up at him. He’d glance at me. Sometimes his eyes would meet mine, other times, he’d just briefly focus on whatever aspect he was working on and then his eyes would return to the drawing before him. In general, he was quiet, an occasional instruction here or there, but overall focused on his work.
It was warm in the room. It rarely got really hot in Montana, but today was unseasonably warm and with all the lights, there was a sheen of sweat on his skin and mine.
After a bit, he slowed. He removed the sketch he’d been working on from the easel, placing it down on the table. I couldn’t see it. I didn’t try. I respected his need to show me on his own schedule.
“A break?” I questioned.
“Anytime you want,” he replied.