This never really gets easy. It doesn't really bother you any more but something about walking into these sorts of things, the smell of paper and charcoal thickening the air, giving it an almost musty odor. Its always a little off putting coming into a new space with new people but its nothing you can't handle. After all, you take your clothes off for a living.

Well maybe not necessarily for a living, you're still a student but college is a full time job and if you can get a steady paycheck sitting around posing for the Namby Pamby Private Art School kids night classes than you're sure as hell not going to be flipping burgers.

As you make your way into the classroom you notice that its already nearly full. All young girls giggling, twirling their hair and talking on their Sidekicks and skater punk guys with their iPod ear buds shoved in their ears.

You drop your bag next to the platform and sit on the edge, getting the feel of the space. Your eyes scan the room, sliding over all the stereotypical rich art school kids but your vision hitches when your eyes fall on a boy…er…man…holy shit is he ever a man, setting up an easel directly in front of you.

He's fiddling with the knobs, raising the tray to fit his long legs underneath. Watching his biceps flex as he moves the heavy metal easel into a better position, his eyes falling on you. You look away and you think he doesn't notice you were watching him but you can't be entirely sure.

The teacher walks up to you, introducing herself, and going on excitedly about what the class is going to be doing today. You nod, not really paying attention, watching him from the corner of your eye. He's talking with a boy next to him, nodding his head to what the guy is saying as he tapes his paper to his drawing board. Shit you hate it when there's a fucking hottie in the session. It makes you nervous and when you're nervous you can't pose for shit.

"Okay class!" the teacher exclaims clapping her hands together and garnering the attention of the room. "You'll be doing life drawing today. Just gesture for the first twenty minutes then a break and another twenty minutes of gesture and then a long pose."

"Are we using pencil or what?" a girl asks.

"Uh…" the professor pauses in thought, "Pencil for the gestures and charcoal for the long pose."

The teacher gives you a nod and steps back. You always kinda want to laugh at this. They always give you the "you can strip down now" nod. You glance over at the hottie and find that he's leaning over on his stool, rummaging through his art box. A tingle of apprehension zips through you and you roll your eyes at yourself, untying the halter of your sundress and pushing the material from your body quickly. You hear a few initial giggles as you climb up on the platform, setting the timer for two minutes before setting it at your feet.

You make a deliberate decision to face him first, get the little jitters out of your stomach right off the bat. You pull your body up, standing tall, stretching both arms over your head, pushing out your breasts and jutting one hip out, your eyes trained on the ground.

The sound of something crashing to the floor causes you to jerk slightly, your eyes flitting to the source of the noise. Your eyes crash into his and you find him just staring at you, mouth slightly agape, hand still open from where his box of charcoal slipped from his fingers.

The entire class bursts into giggles, and a few people applaud as he immediately looks away, scrambling to pick up his broken pieces of charcoal. You smirk a little as you look at the ground, watching his slender fingers, tremble as he collects all of his drawing matieral.

"Dude, she's naked," you hear him whisper and fight the giggle that's bubbling in your throat, forcing yourself to keep a straight face.

"Yeah," his friend says, unaffected.

"You didn't tell me she would be naked!!!" His whisper is urgent and you have to bite your lip to keep from smiling.

"Dude, its fucking life drawing…of course she's naked," his friend responds impatiently.

"Yeah but…wait…you knew…and you didn't tell me?!"

"You're in art school man! How do you not know this?"

"We never had this back where I came from," he says and you hear him drawl a little, a shiver running down your spine and you grit your teeth as your nipples tighten.

"That's because you're a backwoods hick-"

His friend's voice is cut off by the timer going off and you stop it with your big toe, turning ninety degrees and striking another pose. You do this nine more times, passing him twice, sneaking glances at him as your position changes. He seems a little tense but is all business, hunched over his sketchbook, and you can barely see small outlines of your naked form before you look at the ground. When the timer goes off for the last time you step off the platform, pulling on your dress quickly as the professor addresses the class.

"Okay everyone, I'm gonna come around and get a look at everyone's work while our model takes a little break and then we'll give it another go."

You slip your flipflops on your feet, walking towards the door. He's still working on his sketches but looks up when you walk past. Your eyes meet and you give him a small smile, which he returns, his cheeks coloring slightly before dipping his head down again.

You go down to the vending machines, grabbing a water, drinking from it slow and deep, trying to calm your nerves. You've never been this thrown by an artist before. Its been a really long time since you'd got someone who was so flustered by figure drawing and you find it slightly endearing. Plus the fact that he's smoking hot doesn't really hurt either.

You make your way back up the stairs and as you approach the room, he's standing in the doorway, using the pencil sharpener that's screwed into the wall. You bite your lip as you approach him, but he doesn't see you immediately, intent on getting a sharp point. He's standing completely in the doorway, so you do the only thing you can.

"Excuse me," you say softly, turning your body sideways and sliding through the small space between his body and the doorjamb.

You place your hands lightly on his hips to let him know you're there, your breasts brushing his back slightly and you know he can feel how hard your nipples are. All his muscles contract and you can feel him suck in his breath. You can't help yourself, you look over your shoulder and see him just holding his pencil, looking dumbly after you. One hand goes down to adjust himself as inconspicuously as possible and you notice how loosely he moves himself inside his sweats. Looks like you're not the only one going commando today.

"Alright class!" the professor says as you make your way to the podium again. "Another round of gesture. I'm really liking what I'm seeing. Remember quick strokes, try and get the whole form before time runs out."

She gives you "the nod" again and you untie the knot at the back of your neck, your eyes flitting to him and you swear you saw him lick his lips. You skin tingling, you start with your back to him this time, teasing him a little, your head turned over your shoulder, eyes trained on the floor, but flicking to him every once in awhile.

He's intent in his drawing, his face varying from perplexed, his eyes brows drawn, plush bottom lip between his teeth, to contemplative, the little pink tip of his tongue peeking out of his mouth. The timer goes off and you switch and switch and switch, feeling his eyes on your skin like he's the only one watching you. When the timer goes off the last time you stretch a little before slipping back into your dress.

"Okay, everyone take a ten minute break and we'll do the long pose next."

You make your way to the door again as the professor surveys his drawings. You hear her say "Very nice Justin…" before you walk out of earshot. You wander the halls a little, looking at the works that are hanging on the walls. You scan the signatures, looking for his name but can't really find it amidst all the scribbled anagrams and unintelligible symbols.

"Like what you see?"

His voice makes you jump and you turn to see him, standing a little down the hall from you, hands in the pockets of his sweats. He gives you a shy smile, swaggering over to you to survey the drawings.

"They're very nice," you say, because a lot of them are. Apparently this art school is worth the forty grand a year to go here. "Which one is yours," you can't help asking and he grins a little, pointing to the third from the left on the very bottom row.

You bend over, examining it closely, taking in his use of value and the way he made his lines. He has a great composition and his shading is superb. It is a little dark but everything is well in proportion.

"Very nice," you say, still surveying it closely and you hear him say softly:

"Yeah it is."

You look back at him and find that the only thing he's surveying is your ass and while you know you should be offended, you're kind of turned on.

"Excuse me?" you say standing and raising an eyebrow at him. His eyes widen.

"Oh my God! I'm sorry!" he exclaims, his cheeks flaming pink and you burst out laughing.

He allows himself to chuckle nervously, eyeing you warily as you smile easily at him. He really is very cute.

"Its okay," you say, reaching out and patting his chest as you brush past him, this time intentionally brushing your breasts against his arm.

You make your way back into the room and are somewhat surprised to find it almost completely dark, save for a few spotlights that are pointed at the platform, now draped in a cranberry-colored velvet throw. You step in, a little uneasy over the new set up. You've never been lit before but you figure there's a first time for everything as you step up to the platform.

"Good, good," the professor says when she sees you. "I was wondering if you would be comfortable taking suggestions from some of the artists as far as your posing goes?"

"Yeah that's fine," you say. You've been posed before; it's not always ideal but you don't necessarily mind.

"Okay then," she says giving you "the nod" and you strip down again climbing onto the podium

"Can you lay across it?" a female voice calls and you oblige, laying your body across the fabric.

You're lying on your side, supporting yourself on your forearms. You're facing away from him but if you turn your head just slightly to the left you can still see him from the corner of your eye, a dim silhouette in the shadows.

"Can you prop your chin on your hand?" a male voice asks from almost directly in front of you and you do, sliding onto your stomach a little more so that your hip his jutting out, legs scissored slightly. "That's good thanks."

"Can we move the one light?" Another male voice asks and the light near your head is moved more behind you, allowing you to see him better without the light in your eyes. "Yeah that's better."

"Everybody satisfied?" the professor asks, and you're just about to settle in for the long haul when you hear his voice ring out.

"Can you look up, please?" Your eyes snap to his in shock and he grins. "Perfect."

"Okay everyone, get started."

Your eyes are locked on his and he gives you a little smirk, before turning to his easel, his eyes roving over your form, his hands gliding across his page. Your breathing is slightly shallow, your stomach trembling a little. You've never looked at anyone while posing, generally choosing to look at the floor or the ceiling so things didn't get awkward. But now you're stuck this way for an hour, staring at him, watching that cute little tongue of his peek out of his mouth as his eyes caress your naked body.

Is it hot in here?

You lay there, skin tingling, almost feeling his eyes roaming across the plains and curves of your body. You can't help but let your mind wander a little, wondering what it would be like to not just have his eyes on you, but his hands and his mouth, the pink tip of his tongue flicking against your clit. You're glad that your position allows you to keep your legs together, your pulsing core growing slicker the longer you lay that way. Your entire body is tingling, the soft velvet doing nothing but stimulate you farther, the heat from the lamps warming you to almost unbearable temperatures.

It isn't until the last ten minutes that his eyes meet yours again and you know he's drawing your face. You try and keep your eyes locked on his, just watching him watch you. He tilts his chin up a little and then with a pointed look, licks his lips. You mimic his action and he gives you a lopsided grin, turning back to his drawing. He tilts his head leaning back a little to survey his work and then survey you, eyes licking over your body, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the professor calls time. You lay there still for a moment, your mind not quite comprehending the words until he moves and you scramble from the platform, your thighs slick with your want for him. You pull your dress on again with shaking hands, so turned on you can barely see straight.

The professor comes over to thank you quickly, apologizing and saying she needs to get to an appointment, as the rest of the class files out. You hardly hear any of it, turning to the podium to grab your purse that's right next to it. In your hazy state you grab the strap and its wrapped around the bag, flipping it upside down, spilling the contents onto the floor. You curse quietly, bending to pick up you things and shove them back in the bag. You need to get home and take a shower…a cold shower.

Your hand reaches for your lipstick but long slender fingers, smudged black with charcoal cover yours as they wrap around the plastic tube, leaving his finger prints on your skin. You glance up and your eyes crash into his indigo orbs and he smiles at you.

"I was wondering," he said softly, his voice echoing slightly off the high walls and you suddenly realize you are alone. With him…and neither of you are wearing underwear. You swallow hard and he smiles gently at you. "if you would mind staying a little longer? I'm close to being done but I'm not quite there yet."

"Um…" you pause and his face goes contrite.

"I mean if you can't that's fine! I was just-"

"Its fine," you say, and he tilts his head to the side working through the undertones. You lick your lips, helping him along.

A wide smile spreads on his face, his eyes growing darker as you both stand. You just look at each other for a moment, your eyes scanning his face, his eyes doing the same to you.

"So I guess we should get you back in position?" His voice is low and soft and you shiver slightly.

Your eyes don't leave his as you reach back and undo the knot at the back of your neck, letting your dress puddle at your ankles again. He sucks in his breath, hand reaching out, but he pulls back suddenly, stepping away. You look at him confused and he gestures to the platform, bowing his head to you. You smile a little taking his invitation and laying across it, folding your body into the position you had just spent the last hour in, turning your head away from him, to look at his easel across the room.

"Nope I think that's wrong," he says softly and you turn you neck to watch him walk around you, arms crossing his chest, one hand pressing the backs of his charcoal stained fingers to his chin in thought. "Weren't you're shoulders back more?"

You gaze at him perplexed and he raises an eyebrow at you, a small smile playing across his lips and you get his game. You give him a slight nod, pushing your shoulders back a little more, which causes your chest to lift, exposing more of your breasts.

"Your hip was tilted back more," he says his voice quiet and thick and you shift back just a little. "No like this," he steps forward and before his hand touches your skin he asks, "May I?"

You nod, smiling a little and he grins back at you, the warm expanse of his hand skimming up your hip, leaving a trail of black dust, tilting you back more until you're forced to lay on your shoulder, you're body twisted so that your lower back and ass are flat against the velvet but your torso is still turned to the side, causing a pleasant stretching sensation in your back muscles.

"And this leg," he says softly, his fingers brushing the inside of your knee of the leg that is against the cloth, marking your skin with black "was out more."

His fingers skim up your thigh and you know that he feels your wetness there from his sharp intake of breath. His eyes go to yours and he licks his lips, his fingers tracing across your wet skin.

"I think I remember now," you say, rolling your body completely so that your back is against the soft velvet, splaying your legs wantonly to either side. "Like this?"

He's staring down at you much the same way he did when he very first saw you on the platform, mouth slightly agape, breathing shallow. He licks his lips again, eyes traveling up and down your body. You notice the prominent bulge in his sweat pants and you can't help but shift your hips a little at the thought of seeing him.

You don't have to wait long. He kicks off his flip flops as his arms bring his t-shirt over his head. You gasp as the muscular expanse of his chest and abdomen is revealed, moaning a little. His fingers hook in the waist band of his sweats and…yep you were right…no underwear. Your eyes widen a little at his size, your experience being that men this good looking never have the goods. You're glad that you've been proven wrong.

He wastes no time, laying his body over yours and you moan at the feel of his soft skin against yours, as he slides himself against you, rubbing your stomachs and chests together, his arousal pressing into your thigh.

He reaches between you to position himself at your entrance and you giggle slightly.

"What no foreplay?" you quip and he smiles easily at you, bringing a hand up to brush a stray hair from your face and you know you must be smudged with charcoal there now too.

"What do you think the last two hours were baby?" he asks and you can't help but moan. "My shit was so fucking hard for you, from the second I saw you on this stand. But," he says, his lips going to your neck, tongue tracing wet patterns against the column of your throat, rubbing his cock against your clit, "if you want foreplay…"

"No!" you moan, when he pulls his dick away from you.

Your arms wrap around his neck, trapping his body against yours and he smiles down at you, positioning himself. You've never wanted anything so bad in your life, feeling him pulsing at your entrance. He's looking down at your face, his bottom lip captured between his teeth.

"You have the most elegant face," he says softly, one large hand moving to smooth across your forehead, and you're a little shocked at his candor. "The slope of your neck down to your shoulder is just striking." His mouth presses soft dry kisses along the described area, dizzying you. "The curve of your hip," his hand smoothes over the sweeping expanse of your hip, long fingers tracing your hipbone, before his palms slide under your thigh, pulling your leg up to wrap around his waist. "You're so beautiful to draw."

You gasp as he penetrates you, a low groan pulling from your throat as he inches in slowly. He's watching your face, panting a little and you know he wants this so bad, wants to just pound into you but how he wants so much more to savor this.

You tip your hips forward, taking more of him in and his head drops to your shoulder, rocking his hips into yours slowly. He's stretching you so perfectly, not enough to hurt but just enough to make you feel full to the brim. You hear his breathing hitch as you test him, clenching your walls around him.

"Do…ugh" his words melt into a moan as you do it again. "Don't do that," he finally manages to grit out. "You can't do-" gasping as you do it again "that."

"I am though," you reply softly, clenching him over and over, ripples of pleasure rolling through you, watching his beautiful face painted with ecstasy.

"Fuck," he moans, beginning to rock his hips against yours impatiently, sliding in and out and you let yourself get lost in the feeling.

His hands are planted on either side of your body, giving him leverage to thrust powerfully into you. You're raising your hips to meet him thrust for thrust, body straining underneath him, feeling yourself involuntarily suck him deeper every now and then, intense pleasure roaring through your veins.

He's moaning low and throaty in your ear, whispering things to you, telling you things, calling you Venus, Aphrodite, the embodiment of grace and beauty. These art kids…you began to think but the quaking in your belly intensifies so that you can think of nothing else, his cock sliding deeper into you, touching that spot that drives you crazy.

Your nails dig into his back, marring his perfect skin as you're so close and you whisper it over and over again, your hands sliding to fist in his curls. He pulls back a little, one large hand wrapping around your jaw, turning your face to his, the heel of his palm applying a light pressure to your throat.

The change of his position cause his hipbone to grind into your clit sweetly and with a few more thrusts you are thrown so violently over the edge, you're sure your scream of pleasure can be heard in the next county. He moves in and out of you steadily, working you through your orgasm, pumping every last ounce of pleasure from you before dropping his head to your shoulder again.

His hips are grinding into yours and you can hear every whine and pant as he pounds into you, chasing his own release with an urgency that's quickly causing your pleasure to build again. You can't think, you can't breathe, all you can do is lay there, letting him slam into you like it's the last time he's ever going to perform the act.

You hear his breathing hitch and his hips stop all movement, pressing hard into you and you feel him burst inside you, shooting against your spot, causing another orgasm to ripple lazily through you, listening to him shout as your body locks down on him again and again.

The aftermath is only slightly awkward, gathering your clothes, smiling giddily at each other, bantering a little back and forth. He asks if you need a ride home and you decline saying you walked but he insists, because it's late and it's kind of a bad part of town.

He walks you to the door of your brownstone, kissing you chastely on the cheek. You don't exchange numbers and this is something you've been kicking yourself over for the past week. Until you come home one afternoon and find a cardboard tube on your doorstep with the words "Venus/Aphrodite" written in untidy scrawl across the brown paper.

You can hardly contain your excitement as you walk through the door, dropping everything else in your hands, ripping at the end of the tube. You pull out a single piece of rolled drawing paper and gasp loudly as your form unfolds in front of you.

It's a perfect rendering, your body laid out, one hand cupping your chin, eyes looking directly back at you. You simply stare at it for a moment, taking it in and then your eye catches it, his signature…followed by the seven digits of his phone number written in the bottom right hand corner.