Chapter 1
CH 1 - Stephanie
The huge and impossibly heavy oak doors leading to the Arts Faculty creaked gloomily as Stephanie backed into them unable to use her hands. She was carrying, in addition to her bag, a ragtag assortment of painting supplies. From brushes of varying sizes and shapes to graphite pencils of various shades, from colour-stained palettes to satchels of acrylic paint tubes, not to mention a bunch of rags that seemed to have been in all manners of painting wars, given the wide range of colours, tints and hues they were shaded with.
She cursed silently as she dropped one brush and struggled to bend down to pick up. She loved the tight skirts that hugged her curves and enhanced the natural sensuousness that vapoured out of her lithe and slim body. She would not give in to dress downs even if on a Saturday and all she had to do today (other than cooking and feeding an unnaturally hungry team of teenagers and their equally ravenous dad) was to attend the morning Art Class for Moms. She had joined a few months back upon a series of reminders from her closest and childhood friend Megan who raved about how liberating the whole experience was.
Setting aside the steep learning curve - she was far from being a naturally gifted artiste of any kind - the satisfaction from taking a blank white sheet of paper and turning it into some form of art was more than pleasing. The University of Sacramento has crafted a well-designed programme aimed at getting idle moms out their kitchens and/or morning binge of mindless soap operas and slowly steer them into the world of art and creativity. Through a well thought through combination of art history classes and practical acrylic paint workshops, it had ignited into a small but determined group of women a learning and growing desire. That same flame that pushed Stephanie out onto the highway every Saturday as she left everything back home and sped downtown-bound to the old City Centre which had been the birthplace of the revered Arts learning centre for over fifty decades.
Those were three hours of escape from the drudgery of running a frantic household of five and a welcome trip into the world of the contemporary and classical masters who had graced this world with their genius and sacrifices. As she hurried down the deserted hallway, a shimmy of the generous hips in cadence with the echo of her high heels on the marble flooring, she felt an even keener eagerness today as Monique, the Arts Coach - she didn’t like to called Professor even though she held a Doctorate in Arts History and was an amazing artist in her own right - has promised that today she would introduce them to a new method that might pique the interest of a few of them. Nothing more was revealed but the twinkle in her eyes meant that this would be no ordinary session.
The ‘girls’ had been complaining for quite some time that they had had enough of conjuring up impressions of apples and bananas in as many forms, shades and perspectives as there were in the markets. Monique had pouted for a while, not quite liking the notion of stepping out of her carefully constructed curriculum. But in the end, she yielded. Not out of pressure but more as a gesture of goodwill and appreciation for these women who had stepped out of their comfort zones to learn a skill that was not meant to earn them riches.
This was more of a learning and development adventure whose roots lie deeply in the notion of the acquisition of that knowledge and skills was a sufficiently valuable goal in itself and needed not to culminate into something beyond for it to be satisfying for them. So, the uptight and bookish Monique, all square glasses, and grey shades of attire (colours are mean for art, not clothes), gradually warmed up to this band of enthusiastic women. Their relationship grew over the few years they had been together from a teacher to student connection into a closer fondness between them.
She transmitted knowledge and art techniques to them and in turn, they allowed her into their lives, sharing their little and great moments, the joys and sorrows of mothers and wives who had to cope with an ever-growing array of situations and concerns. There would laughs and guffaws when anecdotes from holiday trips would be narrated and sobs and tears when one would confide that the husband was having an office affair or a troubled teenager that was turning out to be an impossible nuisance at home.
So, when they caught up with her at the end of one long tiring session of yet another fruit plate representation and pleaded with her to alter the next practices into something much more exciting, for the form she refused allowing them to press further using all their womanly wiles. And in the end, it was gladly that she acceded to their request without indicating however what she intended to do at the practical class.
Stephanie had now reached end of the tiringly long corridor from the lobby that led to the south wing of the red rock and stone edifice. That section of the building looked, felt, and smelt strikingly different from the remaining areas. The atmosphere of quiet and studious contemplation, almost boring to Stephanie, ceded to much rowdier and livelier rooms where students from various art forms would mingle and express themselves. At times, she would come in and be welcome by a drummer honing his sticks skills and in other moments, the soft melodious sing of an invisible saxophone would reverberate from some dark recess of an auditorium. The sculptors would chip away at wood and stone and the floors so immaculately glistening in an earlier lifetime of the institution had given in to the flashes of an incredible array of colours splashed joyously from easels over the years.
She quickly hopped the flight of stairs that led to the small but comfortable room that had been assigned to the experimental outside-hours study group. She worked out every other day at home, Danny her husband having fitted out a quite tidy gym in the basement with weight machines for him and cardio treadmill and stepper for her. She was hardly out of breath as she reached the top and sneaked into the classroom almost right on time.
‘Well, hello there,’ said Megan, smiling broadly. She was very much the girl-next-door type but in an extremely attractive way. Black hair billowed all over her head as she swivelled away from the easel to face Stephanie. ‘I thought you would not make it this time. Isn’t Danny away at a sales conference?’
Stephanie made a bit of a face at being reminded of this.
‘Yeah, he flew to Vegas early in the morning and he should be back towards the end of next week.’
‘Hmmmm…another conference in casino and hooker land,’ teased Megan, her pale blue eyes twinkling with malice. ‘I hope he gets to sell rather buy services on offer there.’
Stephanie cocked her head, an expression of resignation clearly showing off the curl of her red lips.
‘Never mind, love.’ Megan tried to comfort her. ‘We will have all this time for ourselves and maybe we can try some new stuff...’
Stephanie didn’t have the time to ask what, as four women talking animatedly came through from the classroom back door presumably for the ladies restrooms. They greeted Stephanie warmly with Katsumi lingering around Stephanie once the cheek pecking and ‘how y’doing?’ was over. She was from Japan originally but having met and married an American diplomat, Richard, she had made the States her new home and Stephane had been particularly helpful in her settling down. Her husband was also away on diplomatic missions that needed him to stay in far-flung places sometimes for weeks.
Katsumi often said that if it were not for Stephanie and her company during those lonely intervals, she would in all likelihood have gone back to Osaka, despite all the affection she publicly and unashamedly showered on the lucky husband when he was around. For an Oriental woman, she was very extrovert in her expression of love, kissing him in front of friends and sometimes to Alex's horror, she would sit in his lap right before colleagues stroking his head as conversations went on. He loved her dearly though and would never correct any of her behaviour, however uncomfortable he might have felt in those instances.
The three of them started making plans for the week ahead as it emerged that at least that the two married elements of the trio would be partner-less for a few days. Megan had never married - she was still very much eligible in the mid-thirties but she did not feel the pressure of marriage and family-raising that would drive other women to the altar for fear of missing out and staying celibate. In their discussions on the matter, she would not hesitate to state that she was perfectly content in her romantic life and it was far from being a boring one, if the number and diversity of relationships she had had were to go by. Now though, she was single jokingly announcing to anyone who asked that her matrimonial status was ‘Actively seeking’.
They didn’t have time to firm up plans though as the tutor’s door opened to and Monique came into the room, an inscrutable expression on her face. She wore her usual ‘uniform’ black pants and white blouse both of which contrasted with the shock of red hair that cropped up in the ‘a la garconne’ cut she always wore. Usually a chatterbox, it felt rather strange for all the students when she allowed a heavy, uneasy silence to set in and deepen once they had all settled in. Somehow, she seemed to be debating internally about something, her eyes darting left and right in rapid-fire sequences stopping to gaze through the window at some spot out in the clear cloudless sky. Finally, after what seemed an interminable interlude, she drew an ocean-deep breath and heaving the air out, released the tension from the hunched soldiers.
‘So, for today, as you asked, we are moving ahead of schedule and will skip the remaining classes of still life drawing and painting,’ she announced.
Some of the women looked at each other and Stephanie and Katsumi exchanged a knowing smile.
‘So, what do you have in store for us, Monique? Not a butterfly.’, asked Caroline, a petite brunette with freckles all over a pert little face.
‘I think I can do better than that,’ smiled back the teacher as she opened the door to her study calling out. ‘Leroy, will you join us please.’
A huge shadow appeared from the dark room. There was collective gasp, and more than a mouth dropped as a massively built black man emerged from the tutor’s quarters, draped in an electric blue robe.
CH 2 - Leroy
‘Ladies, please meet Leroy who will be your model for today.’
Leroy strode purposefully to the front of the class, naked feet and the robe hanging loosely from the impressive frame of his athletic body.
Stephanie looked at Megan mouthing: ‘What the fuck?’
Megan shrugged back indicating that she had no clue that this was going to happen. Katsumi was giggling like a teenager and her friends were almost worried that she was about to gleefully clap her hands in approbation.
‘Leroy has kindly accepted to be our model for the next few weeks, and I am sure you will give him a warm welcome. He will also be available after class if you wish to have, ermm, one on one with him so that you can improve the detail work. I hope you maximise this opportunity. It does not really come often.’
Leroy towering over Monique who seemed to be dwarfed by the black mountain of muscles momentarily flashed a smile that did not allow much room for what he intended to use these private sessions for. His face regained the stern, forbidding expression that was further enhanced by his cannonball head. The pate was smooth and shiny with an oiled look about it and his skull seemed to have come out of factory mould such was the evenness of the bone structure.
He had a thick black beard, not the trimmed facial hair that seemed to be the flavour of scores of yuppies. No madam, his was a man’s beard, rough and intimidating. It spread across his face like ragged vines after a horribly bad harvest. There was something uniquely savage about the way it jutted out in all directions leaving the gaping women in not doubt about the brute resolve of this man. It had not seen the blade of scissors or razors quite some time and just as well.
Monique was carrying on, even though her gang was hardly listening to her, gawking at the improbable model she had cast.
’Leroy comes to us from the parole officer programme for mild offenders. He has a little history with the law, but he has demonstrated a commendable interest in the work of our University, especially the Art Faculty. He has modelled before and you will find him a docile and willing subject for your art. This ‘internship’ if we can call it this way will avoid him going back to jail, so you can feel very safe with him. As have I.’
Megan spotted a nasty look appearing the eyes of Leroy at hearing those words and wondered whether it was the thought of going back in or the reference to his submissiveness that had annoyed Leroy.
‘On that note, I know that there are hardly any prudes here. So, I have decided that you will test your skills against one the most revered male nude paintings of all time.’
With that announcement, her projection clicker came to life as she called up a picture of a young man completely naked sitting on a rock, his head leaning into his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs and his head resting on his knees, eyes closed.
’This is the famous “Jeune Homme nu assis à coté de la Mer” i.e. “Young Male nude seated beside the sea” by Flandrin. It’s a beautiful representation of the male nudity without revealing too much of the “anatomy”,’she said, fingers flicking to illustrate the inverted commas. ‘You should be able to do a rather good impression of this famous painting, if you apply all the techniques that we have gone through together. So, I shall leave with Leroy. He knows the drill.’
She left but even before the door closed, Leroy had let the robe slide down his body. He was wearing nothing underneath and eyes popped out when his immaculately sculpted body was revealed to them. The massive chiselled chest was bursting with hard sinewy waves of flesh ending with two dark nipples projecting out insolently. His neck muscles bulged out as he leaned forward to pick up the robe inside his huge hands. He had huge gun-like biceps that appeared to have been carved out of granite with blueish vein raking off here and there, giving that amazingly fine definition. His limbs were long and shapely and stood him confidently. He was no longer hiding his sneer as he watched the posse of milfs gazing at him.
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