Kira sat behind her canvas, bashful as the model disrobed. The voluptuous red head sat casually on the chair. Her breasts hung heavy, her areola large and pink, with a small soft nipple. Silently, she studied the model, her breasts a stark difference to her own which were tiny and perky.
Her focus traveled down the model’s round tummy, to a mound of red hair. Then the model tossed her leg over the arm of the chair exposing her vagina to all the students. She sat confidently and carelessly exposed. It seemed almost a crime and a sin to be so uninhibited, but to Kira and the rest of the students, the model’s brazen pose sparked inspiration.
After each studied the model taking in their own notions, the paint brushes fluttered over the canvas, swirls and dabs of paint contained every color of the rainbow. At the end of class, the instructor marched around the students, occasionally twisting the twirl of his mustache, but mostly with a dignified stance with his hands clasped behind his back.
He stood by Kira and studied her painting. “Her flesh is pale almost white.”
Kira gazed up at the model and then to her instructor as if in trouble.
“Yet, her hair her pubic hair a fiery red. Your paint strokes dance delicately over her breasts and the vagina,” the instructor said. “What was your interpretation?”
She twisted uneasily on her stool. “Despite her sex, her body and heart is innocent,” Kira replied. “She hasn’t been touched in her heart.”
Her comment gained the attention of not only the instructor, but the model and her fellow students. “And what makes such a young woman such an expert?” the instructor challenged.
“Because my heart is not innocent. My mind is guilty. I feel love far more than my body has known,” Kira responded strongly.
The instructor cracked a grin and patted her on the shoulder. “And a lucky man he is.”
Setting her paintbrush down on the palette, she lifted her eyes to the other students. Not sure of the fool she had made of herself, but she didn’t care. She looked over the painting of the nude and wondered how she would explain it to her parents.
Her focus traveled down the model’s round tummy, to a mound of red hair. Then the model tossed her leg over the arm of the chair exposing her vagina to all the students. She sat confidently and carelessly exposed. It seemed almost a crime and a sin to be so uninhibited, but to Kira and the rest of the students, the model’s brazen pose sparked inspiration.
After each studied the model taking in their own notions, the paint brushes fluttered over the canvas, swirls and dabs of paint contained every color of the rainbow. At the end of class, the instructor marched around the students, occasionally twisting the twirl of his mustache, but mostly with a dignified stance with his hands clasped behind his back.
He stood by Kira and studied her painting. “Her flesh is pale almost white.”
Kira gazed up at the model and then to her instructor as if in trouble.
“Yet, her hair her pubic hair a fiery red. Your paint strokes dance delicately over her breasts and the vagina,” the instructor said. “What was your interpretation?”
She twisted uneasily on her stool. “Despite her sex, her body and heart is innocent,” Kira replied. “She hasn’t been touched in her heart.”
Her comment gained the attention of not only the instructor, but the model and her fellow students. “And what makes such a young woman such an expert?” the instructor challenged.
“Because my heart is not innocent. My mind is guilty. I feel love far more than my body has known,” Kira responded strongly.
The instructor cracked a grin and patted her on the shoulder. “And a lucky man he is.”
Setting her paintbrush down on the palette, she lifted her eyes to the other students. Not sure of the fool she had made of herself, but she didn’t care. She looked over the painting of the nude and wondered how she would explain it to her parents.
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