Model of Masturbation

I was broke through most of college. I know that's not a particularly original tale, as most kids are broke in college, but with loans paying for most of my tuition and my part-time job paying for the rest, I had nothing left over for small items, such as food or shelter.

I was a good looking kid, tall, lean, with dark hair and soft features. I never worked out but always had a good body. My parents blessed me with good genes. Every time my bank account dipped near zero, I seriously thought of becoming a male stripper, except I can't dance, and I had made a promise myself to never wear a thong. There are some lines I refused to cross.

The idea of taking my clothes off in front of eager audiences, though, excited me. I've always been an exhibitionist, the first to take his shirt off in any situation. I enjoyed the looks I received from women, and the idea of turning them on turned me on more. Sometimes I'd jog around the campus a few miles, clad in only shorts, aware of the heads that turn when I run by, careful not to show that I am aware. When I'd get home, my cock would be throbbing against my leg, compressed by my tight boxer briefs. I'd barely have time to strip off my shorts before I'd be gushing cum. It was such a turn on.

Which is why I was intrigued when I saw the ad for a "live nude model" at the small art college in neighboring town. The pay was $100 for two hours work, and all I had to do was stand there. Plus, it was allowed me to indulge my growing fetish. I could not resist.

Two weeks later, I was in a bathroom, completely nude under a robe, staring at myself in a window. I had just thrown up from nerves, unsure if I could go out there. I had every vain, self-doubt, uncertain feeling a 21-year-old could have hit me, all at once, two minutes before I was to make my big debut.

I had met with Ms. Henderson earlier that day. She was a hottie, in her early 30s – typical art school teacher, with dark hair and tats and a soft body. She wasn't interested in seeing me with my clothes off yet – I had come prepared, as if this were a porn audition – she said it really didn't matter what I looked like. The class just needed a model.

Still, I worried about taking the robe off. I made sure I was extra trimmed down below the waist – not quite porn star bald but certainly well groomed. I ran two miles earlier and did a hundred crunches. I even jerked off in the morning, just in case. Although it didn't seem to matter at the moment. I found myself mindlessly jerking at my soft cock, trying to chub it up a bit, to avoid embarrassment. Hard, I am a thick eight inches. But at the moment, with my heart beating out of my chest, I was a soft two.

Knock at the door. "Are you ready?" a voice asked. I heard myself saying yes, briefly thought about just running away, then opened the door and walked out.

The hallway was cold on my feet, but all I could feel as my cock brushing against the robe.

Somewhere in between opening the door – accepting my fate – and walking down the linoleum, my mood had begun to change. That pit in my stomach that was fear was changing into anticipation, and as it did, I felt my cock respond.

"This is Jake," Ms. Henderson said, introducing me to the class. I did a quick scan. Twenty people. Five guys. Two blondes caught my eye to the right. A red head dead center. A hot emo girl was to my left, beside two sexy Asian girls. My concentration was slipping.

"Are you ready?" the teacher brought me back to reality. I nodded yes, grabbed the tie to the robe, let it drop. I was now at half mast, a respectable four-inches soft. I instinctively flexed my abs and chest and caught the eye of the emo girl to my left. She smiled, shyly, and I felt the last vestige of fear and embarrassment sweep away.

The teacher told me to find a comfortable pose. We'd be doing 30 minutes. Break. 30 more.

Since it was my first time, I tried something simple. Arms on waist, chest out, face forward – classic Superman pose.

The class began. I heard the noise of pencil on paper and watched their hands begin creating. I felt this rush of heat all over my body, as their eyes bore down on me. Staring at me. Judging me. I had never felt so naked in my life. Literally, of course, but figuratively, too, as if they could see beyond my flesh and into my mind, at all of the deviant sexual thoughts I had had about this moment, the last few weeks.

It was almost sensory overload, being this objectified. As a man, there aren't too many opportunities to release control like this. I watched their eyes as they studied me, tracing up and down my body. I shifted weight from one leg to the next, just to feel the cool air on my cock as it moved from one thigh to the other.

The red head was wearing a tank top and I could see, from where I was standing, a hint of cleavage. I began to picture her naked. I felt my cock start to stir more, and I shifted weight again, moving my glaze on. I felt a twinge of embarrassment about getting fully aroused in front of a class of strangers. Yes, part of me thought that would be totally hot, but it also felt so wrong. Truth be told, if the teacher had told me to jerk off in front of the class, I thought, I'd probably do it at this point.

The idea of jerking off turned me on more. Wrong call. I looked at some guy in the front row. Not being gay, this helped calm me down. Until I noticed the older woman behind him. She was probably in her early 40s, old enough to be my mom, but she had a beautiful face, with long legs supporting her curvy frame. She wasn't helping.

I heard one of the girls on my left giggle as my cock hardened. I felt the skin tightening, the balls throbbing. I thought of baseball and grandmothers and dudes having sex, but nothing was going to stop this hard on.

When hard, my cock is thick with the slightest hint of a curve downward. But it juts straight out, and now, full engorged to my eight inches, I could feel it pulsing out.

A few more giggles. I think I heard a gasp, which only turned me on more. The teacher tried to quite the class down. "This is human nature, folks. We're all adults here."

I wasn't sure how to react. I kept the pose. Tried to keep my face neutral, as if this were normal. Inside, I was both incredibly turned on and completely mortified.

It had been just 15 minutes – and I wasn't sure I could make it the full 30. I had never cum without me or someone else touching my cock before, but this was new territory for me. It was possible I could explode just by thinking about it.

The next 15 minutes went by slowly. I would start to go down, catch the eye of some co-ed, then get hard again. It was torture. I was counting the minutes down.

"Time," the teacher said before dismissing the class for five minutes. I grabbed the robe, pulled it tight. I started to apologize to the teacher, but she blushed and waived me off. "It's normal," she said.

Trying to avoid a second half performance, I headed to the bathroom for some relief. The men's bathroom had one stall and one urinal, and the stall was occupied. Time was ticking away. I saw a stairway door and slipped into it.

I walked down a flight. Stopped. Listened. Nothing. I was alone.

I untied the belt to the robe, grabbed my still hard cock, warm in my hand. I felt a little bad about jerking off in the stairwell. But I dismissed that thought as part of the job. I had to do what I had to do.

I leaned my head back, right hand firm around my cock, stroking. It felt so good after such an extended tease. My left hand went down, squeezed my balls the way I liked, before I shot my load. I rolled my eyes back, close ...

Then I heard a giggle.

My head whipped down. It was emo girl from class, at the top of the stairs, looking down at me.

I started to grab the robe and cover up, as if she hadn't been staring at me nude for the last 30.

"God, I'm sorry," I stuttered.

She was embarrassed. "No, whatever. It's cool."

"I don't normally do this. The bathroom was full. And, you know, I just needed to."

"No, I understand," she said. I was suddenly shy, avoiding eye contact. I started to move toward the door. It was the wrong floor – I needed to go back up – but anything to get out of there.

"Wait," she said. "I'll leave. You don't have to stop."

"I'm embarrassed."

"Don't be," she said. "I understand. It's got to be hard, no pun intended. It's probably better if you, you know, let it all out." She laughed. I laughed.

Maybe it was the surge of hormones or the near-orgasm or all of the Cinemax I had watched growing, but I grew bold. "You don't have to leave," I said, finally looking up at her. She had short black hair, heavy eye liner. She was wearing a black t-shirt with some Renaissance fair skirt. Boots. She was a petite girl with nice breasts and a flat stomach. I totally dug the look.

"Didn't you have enough people staring at you today?" she said, teasing me.

"Maybe," I said. "But I like it."

She thought about it, biting her bottom lip. "What the hell?" she said. "I'm an artist. This is expression. Beside, you're hot."

She sat down on the step, a few feet away from me.

"I'm not going to touch you, though," she said.

I nodded OK. Moving back, in front of her. I let the robe fall. I was no longer hard, and the addition of someone staring at me, for some reason, was not helping. I jerked at it, pulling at it like it was taffy.

"What's wrong? You had no problem earlier," she said.

"I don't know," I said.

"We have two minutes," she said.

"That doesn't help," I added, with a laugh.

"Mmm, baby, let me see that hard cock. God, it is so fucking big. Ha. Does that help?"

I knew she was acting. But. Yes. It did help. My cock began to grow, filling up my hand.

"Wow, I guess it did." She leaned in. "I have to admit, you got me so wet, watching you up there, your cock pulsing. Fuck, I just want to see you cum all over the floor."

Was she acting? I didn't know. Didn't care. Even if she was just faking enthusiasm, it was enough for me. I jerked my cock harder, faster. I grabbed my balls, pulling them tight.

"Come on daddy. Cum all over the place. I want to see it shoot out," she purred. I looked down, her eyes were staring at my cock.

"Fuck," I said. My balls tightened, I turned my cock to her right, letting the first stream shoot out, all over the back wall.

I heard her moan as I continued to pump, spraying thick, hot, white streams all over the floor and the wall. I made a mess of my "canvas."

My toes clenched and my eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I almost fainted from the shear power of the orgasm. I slumped back, against the wall, managing a "Wow."

We both sat there for a few seconds, before she broke the silence with a giggle.

"Well, that was easily the weirdest class ever."

"Thank you," I said. "I appreciated the verbal encouragement, even if you were faking it."

She stood up, grabbing her jacket. "Who said I was?" she asked, before heading back up and out of the hallway.