Jill steps to the front, looking slightly afraid.
‘I found us a replacement life model this evening,’ she says. ‘His name is Will.’
She repeats it in Greek.
Their eyes find mine, and in a few minutes, they will see every part of me. But they have kind faces, and I just have to imagine them naked and I’ll be all right.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Sam whispers to me, his hand on the small of my back. My nerves dance, vibrating with anticipation. There is something magnificent about the touch of another man on such an intimate part of your body.
‘I’m sure.’
Inches away from me, his eyes tracing my lips, he smiles.
‘Go get ’em,’ he says.
Jill leads me to another room. ‘Here, put this robe on. Then you can get comfortable on the chaise. Cover yourself if you need to. Do whatever makes you comfortable. Honestly, people won’t be looking at you rudely. They will be lost in the strokes.’
‘Wrong thing to say to someone about to get their willy out.’
Jill blushes, but laughs, an unspoken taboo between us.
‘Are you sure you want to see me naked, Jill?’
Jill doesn’t answer, but I can see from the way her forehead creases that I’ve given her something to contemplate. This is Sam’s mum. She’s known me since I was a kid.
As I walk back into the room, ready to face my fears, to be brave, to do something out of my comfort zone, Jill steps in front of the class once more.
‘I’m going to be in the next room,’ she says. ‘I have some things to do. You have one hour.’
The class doesn’t question Jill’s choice to excuse herself, instead they turn to me with expectation. I pause, afraid ofletting her down, of taking away an enjoyable evening of drawing nude people from her class. There is nothing I can do now. She gives me an encouraging thumbs up and heads into the next room.
‘Ay up, look who it is,’ a voice says, and I find nudist Tim in the crowd. Him and Jemima are only now taking their seats.
‘I didn’t know you were a life model, too,’ Jemima says.
‘You’re in for a treat here, people,’ Tim says to the room. ‘He’s got a very nice member.’
‘Very nice,’ Jemima echoes.
Swallow me up now.
I laugh along with the room, as if it was perfectly normal to be talking so openly about my ‘very nice member’. Although, I have to admit, Tim scored some points with that comment.
I’ve always liked Tim and Jemima.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and shed my robe, trying not to think about whether people agree with Tim, before getting onto the chaise and arranging myself.
I don’t know why, but I keep my gaze upward, as if contemplating the moon.
Brushes whisper across the canvas, clothes rustle, and I know people are observing me.
My eyes won’t meet Sam’s.
I can’t.
I feel him, though. The print of his hand on my back. The warmth of his skin. What does he think of me? How vulnerable I am right now, how exposed I am under his gaze.
The soft silk of the chaise longue chills my skin, but it’s nice, soothing, like aloe vera on sunburnt skin. Lying here feels liberating.
