When Tom reached the age of sixty, he decided to retire. His wife was already retired, the children had left home and, frankly, he’d had enough of trying to teach English to teenagers unwilling to learn. He’d built up a good private pension, as had his wife, and they had some savings. They could manage quite well, and the state pension would kick in at age sixty-six.
Tom was excited that they could now go on holiday during school terms. The holidays would be cheaper and, as a bonus, there would be far fewer children about. Tom didn’t hate children; he had two of his own and wouldn’t have stuck it out as a teacher for thirty-five years if he did. But he liked the idea of holidays in adult company without kids splashing around the pool.
Tom and his wife were part-time naturists. That is, they holidayed in naturist resorts around Europe and went to nude beaches in the UK. They were both happy to be in their garden naked if the weather permitted. The neighbours could see them if they tried, but this had never been an issue. Tom looked forward to more days spent lounging naked in the sun.
He’d kept himself fit. He wasn’t ripped with a six pack but he had a good firm body for a man of his age and had kept his hair, although it was mainly grey. He was secretly quite proud of his appearance but would be self-deprecating if anybody complimented him on it.
Tom knew the statistics that teachers tended to die sooner after retirement than many other professions and was determined that this would not happen to him. It was thought that the high death rate was due to the structure and stimulus of teaching suddenly disappearing, leaving the retiree with no focus and a lot less physical activity. So he started going to the gym, volunteering at a community centre and hobbies like improving his guitar playing.
Part of the attraction of naturism for Tom was the opportunity for exhibitionism (although he’d never admit this). It seemed logical, then, to explore opportunities to become a life model. He’d read articles about this. He knew that artists, and aspiring artists, weren’t particularly looking for young, attractive women. They were happy to take older, male models. The important thing was to be happy to take up a variety of poses and be able to hold them for an extended period. Tom thought he’d be able to do that.
He contacted local colleges and art evening classes and was added to their lists. He signed up with an agency, although this seemed to concentrate on offering much younger men as models or nude butlers for hen parties. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do that or that the “hens” would be happy with a man his age.
But none of these people had any work for him. The feedback was that they had experienced models that they knew and trusted. When he had some experience, he should call them again. Tom decided to seek work on his own and put a free advert on Gumtree. The advert contained a picture of Tom, naked, but with his genitals obscured. He offered to work for nothing in order to gain experience. He didn’t need the relatively small model fee. He was looking for an interesting hobby rather than a source of income
Nobody responded to the advert for several weeks but, one day, Tom got an email notification that somebody had replied. He clicked on the link and found that an artist called Chris, living ten miles away, was looking for a model and thought Tom might be suitable for a set of sketches.
Tom was pleasantly surprised, although a little apprehensive. He’d envisaged posing in front of a group or class of trainee artists. Posing for just one felt somehow more intimidating than for a group. It was more intimate. How would he feel about standing naked in front of just one clothed man while that man paid close attention to his body? But he decided the opportunity to gain experience was too good to miss and made arrangements to visit Chris’s studio the following week.
On the appointed day, Tom drove to Chris’s studio, which was in a purpose-built outbuilding in Chris’s garden. Tom was very surprised that “Chris” was short for Christine when he was greeted by a very attractive woman, aged about 35.
Chris was very welcoming and offered him a cup of tea. They sat together in her living room, which was cluttered with art books, throws and scatter cushions. He had time to take in Chris’s appearance. She had long, wavy reddish hair, green eyes and a very easy-on-the-eye trim figure. She was dressed in a pale blue cotton shirt and dark blue jeans.
Chris explained that she made her living mainly from paintings of local beaches, which she sold to tourists in shops in the area. She also liked to draw and paint people but the market for those pictures was not so lucrative. But she had found one genre of painting that might sell but it was a bit of a long shot and so she had sought free models on Gumtree. She didn’t say more about what this line of work might be but checked Tom was OK to pose nude for her.
Tom said that he was although, in truth, he was now very nervous about it. It was the one-to-one aspect of it that unsettled him. He’d been a bit worried when he’d thought Chris was a man. How would he feel being naked, on his own, with an attractive young woman?
But she was friendly and did her best to put him at his ease. It was too late to back out now.
When they’d finished their tea, she took him across the small garden to the studio. This was about the size of a domestic garage and had large French windows and skylights to maximise the amount of light. Tom could see lots of paints, brushes and half-completed paintings scattered around. There was an easel with an A3 sketch pad on it. And there was a chaise-longue covered in brightly-coloured throws.
Chris said, “I’ll leave you to get undressed. Just slip a robe on and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Tom had brought a dressing gown with him. As soon as Chris had left, he took off his clothes and slipped on the gown. He was now very nervous. Yes, he was used to being nude around other people. But this was different. Would she be judging his body? What if she thought he was too fat, or too pale? Was his penis going to be big enough, or would it shrink away as if it were in cold water? Would she care? She was an artist, not a lover. Hell, what if he got an erection?
His increasingly panicky thoughts were interrupted when Chris returned.
“I’d like to try a few preliminary sketches. Could you just lie on the chaise with your feet up? You can keep the robe on for now.”
Tom was relieved to hear this and lay on the chaise-tongue, with his back resting against the end. Chris asked him to move so that he lay on his side, facing her, and propped on one elbow with his other arm on his (top) side. He wasn’t quite following her instructions, and so she said, “Do you mind if I touch you?”
Tom knew that all the articles he had read said that artists should not touch models, but that surely applied to group situations. He had no problem with Chris moving his arm to get him into the pose she needed. And he told her to go ahead.
As she leaned over him to move his arm, he could smell her perfume. Her touch on his arm was electrifying. Quite unwittingly, he felt a small twitch in his penis beneath his robe. He willed himself to stop thinking about that sort of thing. She was an artist, and he was a model. He should be professional, even if he wasn’t getting paid. When she slipped a hand behind his naked knee to move it forward, the challenge to remain professional became harder. But, in a moment, she was gone and behind her sketch pad.
Chris worked quickly. She had Tom move from pose to pose, occasionally coming over to him to adjust his pose. After four or five sketches, she said, “OK. Would you mind taking the robe off now, please?”
By now, Tom was quite relaxed around Chris. He’d got used to her intense concentration when she was sketching. He was more relaxed when she sometimes touched him to move him into position. But this was the moment of truth. Well, nothing else to do but get on with it.
He stood up and took the robe off before sitting down quickly and placing his hands in his lap.
“Could you stand up again, please?” asked Chris. “Just face me with your legs slightly apart and your arms by your side. Just relax.”
Apprehensively, Tom did as she asked. Although he struggled with the “relax” bit. He stood, naked, in front of her, willing his penis to stay flaccid. She sketched him for about ten minutes in this pose, but to Tom it seemed a lot longer. But by the end of this sketch, Tom was feeling more relaxed. Chris had made small talk and a few jokes while she worked, and he found they got on very well.
It was time to move to the next pose. Chris asked Tom to lie on the chaise on his side, propped up on his elbow, as he had for the first pose with his gown on. Tom lay in the requested position. But it wasn’t quite what Chris wanted, and she came over to move his top leg to bend it slightly. She reached behind his knee, as before, but this time he felt her fingers briefly brush his naked thigh as she moved away. The touch sent a jolt through his body but Chris returned to her sketch pad and worked as before.
They carried on like this, repeating the positions they’d done with his robe on. He’d been in the studio for a couple of hours. Fortunately, he’d blocked out the whole day for this modelling. Occasionally, Chris would move his limbs slightly and, sometimes, would touch his thighs or put her arm around his back to position him to her satisfaction.
Eventually, she called a break and suggested he put his robe on and join her for another cup of tea and a snack.
After tea, they came back to the studio. And Chris spoke, a little more hesitantly this time.
“I mentioned a market that would pay more for pictures of people. Well, that market is erotica. How would you feel about posing in a more erotic way?”
“I’m not sure,” said Tom. “What would be involved?”
“Not hugely different to what we’ve done so far. But I may want the poses to be more suggestive. And,” and here she blushed a little “It would be good if you could be, you know, hard for some of them. Oh, and I’d want to take photographs so that I can work them into proper paintings later.”
Tom tried to absorb this information. Nothing had been mentioned before about erotica. He’d been worried about getting an unwanted erection. Now, he wondered if he could get one on demand in this setting. And who would see the eventual paintings? Would he be identifiable? What would happen to the photographs? Did he even want to make erotic pictures with this relative stranger?
As if reading his thoughts, Chris went on.
“These paintings wouldn’t be sold locally. I have a dealer in London who specialises in this sort of thing. The photos are strictly for my use, and I’ll delete them when I’ve finished the painting. The market is for people who are tired of crude, commercial pornography. They want something more artistic. Paintings of single males tend to go to the gay market, as far as I know. Although I suppose some women might also like a naked man hanging on their wall.”
The thought of men getting turned on looking at his naked body hadn’t really occurred to Tom before. But, after thinking about it, he found he didn’t really care. He’d never meet these buyers and would be completely anonymous. But could he do it? He realised Chris was still talking.
“I have done paintings of a man and a woman together, getting involved, if you know what I mean. I half thought of asking a female model along today, but thought I’d better introduce you gently to the idea. What do you think?”
“About a female model?”
“No. About you posing more for me today.”
Tom thought.
“I could give it a try. Not sure how far I can go, though.”
“Great,” said Chris. “Slip that robe off and lie back on the chaise. I’ll get my camera.”
Tom did as he was told and lay back on the chaise, with his back on the arm/rest. Chris returned.
“I’ll just take a few snaps of you like that before we move on,” she said.
She took some photos of him full-length, of his head and shoulders, of his face and finally, to his surprise, his penis. He was beginning to realise that this was for real.
“OK. I’d like you to swing round so that your legs are hanging over the back of the chaise and your head is hanging off the front. Do you think you can do that?”
“I can try.”
Tom swung round as instructed. He felt very exposed in this position. Chris reached across him and moved his legs slightly further apart, increasing his feeling of vulnerability. She took more photos from all angles.
“Now, can you kneel on all fours on the chaise? That’s it. Legs a little further apart. That’s great, really good.”
Chris continued to take photos from all angles. Tome realised she’d gone behind him and was taking photos of his exposed arse and of his scrotum hanging down.
“Now kneel up and face me.”
Tom did as he was told. He was now kneeling on the chaise facing front.
“This is the difficult bit,” said Chris. “Do you think you could get hard for me?”
Tom was almost beyond embarrassment now, but this was still quite a request. He tentatively took his cock in his hands and started to try to get hard. But, despite his fears of an unwanted erection earlier, his penis now refused to respond. He was overwhelmed with the strangeness of the situation. After a couple of minutes of unsuccessful rubbing, Chris spoke again.
“OK, relax. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Tom sat down and was surprised when Chris put her camera down and came to sit next to him.
“Don’t worry. A lot of models find it difficult the first time. Can I help?”
“How do you mean?”
“Like this,” she said and reached over and took his penis in her hand.
Tom had not expected this. Nobody had touched him there for thirty-odd years apart from his wife. In fact, even she’d stopped touching him a few years before when she lost her libido. So, nobody had touched him there recently apart from himself, once or twice a week.
Should he push her away and say that this was going further than he was comfortable with? Or should he just see it as an artist trying to get her model into the right position, as she had earlier. And, he had to admit, having somebody else touch his cock, after all this time, felt fantastic.
As she worked her fingers up and down his length, it began to grow until it reached its full, hard six inches.
“That’s it,” Chris said encouragingly. “Ooh, you’re nice and thick, aren’t you?”
She moved away and took some photos. She got Tom to kneel up with his hard cock sticking out in front of him. She put him in all fours, taking pictures from the front and back. She had him from an arch with just his toes and hands touching the ground and slid under him to take pictures, looking up at his cock, which grew as hard as it had been in years.
“How do you feel about going a bit further?” Chris asked.
“Like what?” asked Tom, thinking perhaps she might want him to masturbate. He wasn’t sure he could.
“Well, we don’t have a female model, but I could step in. What do you think?”
Tom thought rationally that he should call a halt right now. But he was no longer capable of rational thought. He was thinking with his dick.
“How would you take photos? he asked.
“A mixture of a timer and a remote control. I can put the camera on a tripod. Are you up for it?”
Tom was up for it in all senses of the word. She set the camera on a tripod and took a small remote control in her hand. He watched as Chris unbuttoned her blue shirt revealing a lacy white bra containing a pair of beautiful, small breasts. She unhooked the bra and let them drop free. She undid her jeans and peeled them down, following them with her white lacy panties. She had a beautiful auburn bush.
She came back to the chaise where Tom sat, gently stroking himself. She leaned over and took his erect member into her mouth. He heard the click of the digital camera as she did so. She gently bobbed up and down on his erect shaft. All thoughts of Tom’s wife disappeared from his head. This was amazing.
Chris gripped his cock in one hand while continuing to suck the head. All the time, he could hear the camera clicking away.
“Hold my tits,” she said, briefly releasing him from her mouth.
Tom needed no second invitation and took those splendid small orbs into his hands. Her nipples were hard. She moved back and lay down, offering him access to her cunt. He leant forward and licked along her outer lips, parting them gently with his fingers. He found her clitoris and sucked gently while caressing it with his tongue. He could hear her panting and moaning quietly. All the while, the camera clicked away.
He could feel her wetness as he worked on her with his mouth while holding her tits with his hands. She encouraged him up to face her.
“I need to reposition the camera,” she said.
She moved the camera so that it was slightly to the left of the chaise. Tom could see that it would now capture her cunt.
“Do you think you could do the final pose?” she asked when she returned to the chaise.
“What’s that?” Tom asked.
“This,” said Christine.
She moved round so that she was beneath him and guided him into her wet, willing cunt. It felt amazing. She gripped him, and Tom, without even thinking about it, began to move in and out. He hadn’t had sex for years and wasn’t sure how long he’d last. He could still hear the camera clicking away. He hoped she was getting what she needed.
“This is what I need,” she gasped.
Tom wasn’t sure if she was referring to the pictures or the fucking. But her moans were definitely related to the latter. He could feel her gripping him and moaning louder. Eventually, she came with a shout while digging her nails into his buttocks. That would be something he’d have to explain to his wife if she noticed.
It was too much for Tom, and he shot his warm seed into her.
Almost immediately, she pushed him away and grabbed her camera. She focused it on the white stream now dribbling out of her cunt. Then she took a few photos of his cock as it slowly returned to its flaccid state.
“I think I’ve got everything I need,” she said, as they dressed a few minutes later. “I can send you a memory stick of the photos if you want.”
“No thanks,” said Tom. “I wouldn’t want my wife to find them.”
A few months later, Tom and his wife were on a trip to London when they passed a gallery. In the window was a large painting of a man and woman engaged in sexual intercourse, evidently enjoying themselves greatly.
“It’s strange,” said his wife. “But that man looks just like you.”
“I suppose he does, just a bit,” said Tom, growing slightly hard at the memory.
