Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Most of the easels around the room are already occupied, so I make my way to one of the three still available on the other side of the classroom. Looking around the room, I eye my fellow students. Oh wow, the crowd seems kind of old with their weathered miens and graying hair. I’m guessing most of the women here are close to double my age, and it would seem that today’s clothing aesthetic is hippy chic. Too bad nobody told me because my distressed skinny jeans and black tank top aren’t really giving off any boho vibes.
Ms. Weathers turns around and walks to the center of the room, clapping her hands to draw everyone’s attention. “Thanks for coming today, ladies. Today’s class will focus on the female form. As women, we come in so many wonderful shapes and sizes, and we’re going to celebrate that with our art. We’ve got three talented models here today who have volunteered to pose for us. So everyone, go ahead and get set up before class officially begins.”
I busy myself getting my paints and brushes out so I can start painting as soon as the models are ready. Meanwhile, Ms. Weathers helps the women get settled comfortably. Two of the women pose on blankets spread over the raised dais. They both lie on their stomachs, facing one another, with their robes removed and their bare backs and tushes on full display. They prop their chins up on their hands, watching each other like they’re having a conversation. One woman crosses her feet at the ankles, while the other keeps her legs straight. It’s kind of like two fauns having an innocent conversation in the middle of a meadow.
The third woman is a bit more exposed. There’s an ornate sofa in the center of the room, a bit away from where the other women are already posed. The third woman removes her robe and languidly lowers herself to the couch. She props herself up in one corner against the backrest and stretches one leg across the length of the couch, hooking over the armrest. Her other leg hangs off the couch with her foot planted on the floor, and needless to say, we can see everything. Is this supposed to be happening? I can literally see the pink gleaming between her thighs, but the woman looks totally unbothered. If anything, she looks a bit bored and then spreads her thighs a little wider while shifting to get comfortable.
Wow. I’ve been to figure painting classes before, but never with a model like this. Nonetheless, it’ll be good practice to draw something new, and I look forward to the challenge. Plus, the woman on the couch is very full-figured, and if I had to guess, I’d says she’s at least forty pounds heavier than me. Despite this, the woman has a sex appeal radiating from her that can only be found in someone who is completely confident in their beauty. And I know at once that I’m going to focus on painting her for this class. Maybe if I study the woman, I can find a way to bring her confidence and beauty to life on my canvas. Maybe I can even find a way to harness a little of that assertiveness in myself.
With determination, I grab my orange paint and squeeze the tube to put some on my palette, but nothing comes out. Frowning, I try to work all the paint towards the front of the tube, and then give it another hard squeeze. Suddenly, paint shoots out, squirting clear across my canvas before splattering on a big, bulky form to my left.
Oh shit. I look up to see where it landed, and my mouth falls open at the sight of a man who must have just taken the easel next to me. He’s got night-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a furious expression on his face as he wipes at his cheek. Even worse, that’s not orange paint on his hand. It’s the lube from my sexy session last night, and the gunky mess is shiny, oily, and imbued with the scent of coconut. Oh god, how did that get into my backpack, and even worse, what have I done?
4
Mason
I guess that’s what I get for being late. Something wet, sticky, and stinking like coconut shoots in my face, splattering across my cheeks and nose and even getting a little into my mouth. Immediately, I try to wipe it off but it’s hopeless. The gunk is thick and goopy, and seems to just spread even more as I try to rid myself of the mess.
Dang, this is not how I intended to start the painting class today. In my defense, I hadn’t planned on taking a class at all. It’s a work day, sort of, if you count an energy drink conference as a work day. And since I own G-Raw Energy Drinks, the conference is definitely in my wheelhouse. But despite making millions through my company, I still hate conferences. They’re boring. They’re stupid, and the people attending them are even worse. It’s as if no one else in this business has any good new ideas anymore and only want to fill my ears with drivel and needless flattery.