Charcoal

Charcoal is the thing for nudes. If it's done well, nothing else quite captures the form and grace, and the startling eroticism. But it's all or nothing with charcoal - each sweeping line is definitive and can't be undone. I don't really have the skill, so I make do with pencil and a sneaky rubber to correct some of the wilder mistakes. But you still need confidence. And you need the confidence to convince a model to pose in the first place. God, it's worse than asking for a date! Women are flattered and suspicious in equal proportions.

She's an unlikely model. Most men find her attractive, and she is, undeniably... but.. there's something else. More than femininity - some sort of hidden feline strength somehow. A strong woman. I like her a lot.

"What on earth do you mean, 'pose'?" she'd demanded.

"I want to draw you."

"Draw? I didn't know you could draw. What do you draw? You're having me on.."

"No, really, I'm not. What do I draw? Well, birds mostly. Oh stop leering! I mean real birds - birds of prey usually."

I was almost beginning to regret telling her. I was getting embarrassed and she was beginning to enjoy herself because of it.

"So, Mr Bird Man, why do you want to draw me? You don't mean with no bloody clothes on do you?" she added, suspiciously.

I drew a breath and took the plunge. (And this is why you need confidence).

"Well, yes, actually I do." I said, calmly.

It was worth the look on her face.

It took an hour of persuasion, and I had to show her some of my bird paintings to convince her I was actually competent. She refused to commit to going nude though. I know her well enough not to push it.

She'd turned up in jeans and a soft sweater. She'd made an effort with her make-up - I should have told her I wasn't a portrait artist, I was really just after the form of her body. Currently hidden behind a bloody great sweater. Damn.

She looked at me, amused. "So, here I am. What do I do now?"

"Coffee. And relax."

I made the coffee and pointed casually to a large white towel bathrobe. "You can go into the bathroom and get into that. Then come back here and we'll sort the pose and lighting and we'll get started."

Court. Ball. Yours... I thought. She was definitely rattled, not really wanting to acquiesce, but not wanting to refuse either.

"I'm keeping my underwear on." she said abruptly, before snatching the bathrobe and disappearing. I grinned to myself and poured out the coffee.

When she returned I was sorting out my paper and easel and sketch pads industriously. She picked up her coffee and began to drink it, eyeing me cautiously over the rim of the cup.

"Okay," I said, "So... I thought natural light - over there in the window bay on the couch. When you've finished your cup make yourself comfortable and I'll be over to sort out your pose." Her turn to feel embarrassed. I watched the annoyance on her face as she realised that she actually was, then she purposefully strode over to the bay window to hide it. Rain flicked against the window outside.

"Okay. Drop the gown, lay on the cushions, get comfy."

She looked directly at me then defiantly did as I instructed. She wore black briefs and a black laced brassiere. Her blonde hair fell around her neck and she brushed it to one side impatiently. I gestured to the cushions and she lay on the couch, rather stiffly and self consciously.

I eyed her pose critically, assessing the light as it fell on her body through the slats of the venetian blinds, gauging shadows, highlights and lines.

"You won't have to keep perfectly still. Just as long as you keep roughly the same pose, that's fine. If you're too stiff it comes across in the drawing anyway, so I'd rather you didn't freeze up. And we'll take a few breaks - for my sake as well as yours. Its gets quite tiring actually, I tend to get rather absorbed."

She unbent a little. "Oh good. I'll put my hand up if I need the loo, shall I..?"

I smiled at her sarcasm. "We'll see how it goes. Oh and I'm sorry if I sometimes seem a bit... distant. It's actually really difficult to draw and chat at the same time. Uses different parts of the brain, you see. I suppose a woman wouldn't have any problems though.."

"You mean you're going to ignore me throughout. Charming.."

She had a good body. And I could tell she was proud of it. I walked over to her and looked with an artist's eye at how she lay. I bent down and lightly but firmly grasped her lower left leg. She looked down at my hand curiously. Her lips parted slightly.

Ah..

I bent her leg at the knee to the angle that harmonised with her hips and waist and shoulders. I firmly tilted her hips, making my touch of my skin on hers cool and clinical. She said nothing. I measured the pools of light and shadow. Okay. I stepped back to my drawing board and looked across at her. Her eyes gazed at me, alive and now with her usual sardonic humour. She was no longer fazed by the situation.

I wanted to capture that. I wanted to see if I could meld it with her obvious sexuality. Charcoal would have been brilliant. Sighing, I picked up the chisel sharpened pencils and began.

A part of my brain began to shut down as I started to lay down the angles and outline of her body. She faded as a person, and became an arrangement of planes and curves as I worked.

Silently she regarded me. She was never the chatterbox type, one of the other reasons I like her. After a while she broke the silence.

"Will you draw my birthmark?"

She has a small birthmark on her face. By good fortune it isn't disfiguring, in fact it's intriguing and an obvious conversation starter to every man who casually flirts with her. I noted it when I first met her, then after ten minutes forgot about it when it became eclipsed by her personality.

"No, I'm not really going to be drawing your face."

"Oh." She was silent.

"Would you have wanted me to?" I asked, concentrating on her hip line as a talked.

She didn't answer. "Why have you never mentioned it to me? Everyone else does." she demanded, abruptly.

I shrugged. "There were always more important things to say.. Take off your underwear."

Silence again as she weighed up whether to obey. Then, looking impassively at me she slid her briefs down her long legs, and reached behind to unclip her bra.

She had good breasts, not a girl's breasts but they stood to a perfect natural valley. She was shaven, or waxed apart from a trimmed strip of blond hair over her sex.

The black underwear had spoiled the light. I was pleased it was gone. I shut down another part of my brain.

"Let's take a break."

She smiled briefly, then put on the robe and went to the bathroom, calling over her shoulder to me. "I want to see what you've done."

I looked at the drawing. Not bad. I'd need to work on the breasts now. I smiled to myself at the crude double entendre, and put the kettle on thoughtfully.

She returned and took the offered cup, looking at my work. "I'm impressed, Mr Bird Man."

"It's coming on. You okay? Warm enough?"

"Sure. I'm enjoying it actually. I'd never have thought of myself doing this. What will you do with the picture?"

"I'll exhibit it, if I think its good enough. Local art society; occasionally I've exhibited paintings at the exhibitions they put on. Sold a couple as well. That's a good feeling; means somebody is prepared to put down hard cash for something you've created. The ultimate compliment."

We eyed each other.

"Ready for more?" I asked.

"Sure."

Time passed. Summer rain battered heavily against the window, and the light changed. The room darkened at the approaching storm. I worked on the image of the woman exposed before me.

"Have you done this with other women?" she asked, lazily.

"Not like this. I've drawn nudes before, but in a class. It's not the same."

"Why?"

I hesitated. "This is more personal. Erotic."

Just the sound of the heavy rain on the window. The soft scratching of my pencil. Tension. Her eyes closed.

"Tell me." she breathed.

"Its odd... I'm drawing you now... and I just see form, shape... then, suddenly, it's more. I see you on the paper... it's... arousing... then I'm drawing again and you're gone..."

I picked up a blacker, softer pencil. The lines got bolder on the page.

Minutes passed. I watched her ribcage moving in and out more rapidly.

"Does it make you want to fuck me?"

I didn't answer. I put the pencils down and picked up a stick of charcoal from the box, flipping open a large sketch pad. I began sweeping out her lines across the page, fiercely.

Her hand moved between her legs.

My consciousness began to zone in and out between arousal and the art.

I was shocked at how hard I was.

"Yes." I muttered. "Yes, I want to fuck you."

Her hand began moving and exploring. "Tell me." she whispered

"I... " I couldn't speak.

I became absorbed in the vibrant, sensual flow of the lines on the paper. Her hard breathing mixed with the rain outside. Then her picture burst off the paper again and I raged hard for her.

Minutes passed.

"I want to fuck you, I've wanted to fuck you forever.."

Her eyes were closed and I cruelly engraved her nipples hard with a sharp edge of the charcoal. She was shape and form and angles again. I worked away savagely.

"Will you? I want you to... " Her mouth began to move silently as she slid and worked her fingers deeper.

I blacked in deep shadows using the side of the black stick. I began flicking my gaze between the paper and the woman in the darkening room. It became kaleidoscopic. I put down the charcoal and pulled off my shirt and moved towards her as she arched herself upwards to her hand, head thrown back in pleasure.

I stood over her, naked and hard. Then I bent to her and began drawing my hands over her body, mimicking the sweeps and lines I'd been making with the charcoal. I swept curves, caressed planes, felt curves and pushed deep, deep into the shadows. She moaned beneath me. I lingered, savouring the firm musculature beneath the soft flesh.

I pulled her to me, finally destroying her pose. I spread her and inhaled her and dipped my tongue inside her. She locked her heels into my back and hissed with delight as I pressed my tongue deeper. Soaked. As I greedily ate I could see her picture in my mind's eye and I couldn't taste her enough. Her hands gripped my hair and she locked me deeper; nonsensical pleadings mixing with the sounds of the heavy rain on the window as I slaked my thirst.

Then she writhed downward and began feeding on me, curling her elegant fingers around my cock and savouring it's weight as she carefully guided me between her lips, watching my ecstasy as she devoured me. We took turns with each other like that, using our mouths; not just sex but a hunger..

When I finally spread her open and penetrated her the room darkened and flashed and I became a god as we fucked; watching her perfect nails score deliciously into my stomach and chest in desperation as she convulsed again and again, riding the ferocity of orgasm.

I pondered the drawing. She stood behind me in the white towel robe, her chin resting on my shoulder.

"It's... intense..." she said, carefully.

I looked at the charcoal drawing before me, pensively. I broke into a smile.

It was bloody awful. I would carefully spray it with a fixative, mount it and then treasure it for the rest of my days.

You see; like I said - I really don't have the skill for charcoal..