The Universe of Discretion: Perfect Pose

High school was never my happy place.

I was the quiet, awkward kid who tried to blend into the background. But, ironically, trying to be invisible often made me stand out more.

Sometimes, this worked in my favor, like when it led me to my best friend, Vanessa. However, it also made me an easy target for Benjamin, who was far from being my biggest fan.

But then, everything took a turn.

I graduated as the valedictorian and got accepted into the most prestigious art school in the city. Suddenly, I felt like I belonged.

I wasn’t the odd one out anymore; I was Christian Taylor, the full scholarship student. I was the one who had left the admissions board speechless with a charcoal sketch of a boy under a weeping willow.

Despite my initial reservations, I felt like this was a place where I could be myself. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hide anymore, not even from who I really was.

“This semester’s final project will focus on the human form,” Prof. Foster declared with a flourish.

He gestured toward four individuals who entered our studio, clad in white bathrobes bearing the school’s emblem.

“Let’s welcome our models: Katherine, Stephan, Liz, and Jonathan.”

Katherine was a striking woman, likely in her early sixties. She had aged beautifully; her smooth, ebony skin would have made my mother green with envy.

Stephan was considerably older, probably nearing eighty. He had a kind gaze and a lean build.

Liz, I guessed, was in her early forties. She was slightly plump with long, frizzy red hair and vibrant green eyes.

But Jonathan was the one who stole the show. He was around my age, towering over six feet. His short, dirty blond hair and hazel eyes scanned the room carefully.

Prof. Foster instructed them to disrobe and assume their prearranged poses. I nearly gasped when Jonathan nonchalantly bared it all and perched on a bar stool, his legs drawn up.

I wondered what kind of sport had sculpted his physique. I struggled to look away, but I didn’t want to be caught staring.

He was breathtaking, and for that very reason, I knew I couldn’t choose him as my model. I opted for Katherine instead.

Her pose was a dream for any artist. Her hands were perfectly placed, and her extended legs displayed muscles that would have thrilled Da Vinci.

But I couldn’t focus. I wasted half a sketchbook trying to capture her elegance, but my attention was always split.

Jonathan became my fixation.

I didn’t dare approach him after class, so everything about him, except his body, existed as a fantasy in my mind. I imagined his voice, his movements, and even his social interactions.

My version of Jonathan was flawless.

I knew I had talent, and so did Prof. Foster, but he began to notice my lagging progress.

“Christian, you seem to be having trouble with this project,” he remarked after class one day. “I can’t quite put my finger on why.”

I glanced at him, then at my bright-red Converse sneakers. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him why I was distracted.

“You only have a week left to complete this project. Perhaps you should consider a different model,” he suggested, without any hidden agenda.

He was genuinely trying to solve my creative block, not hinting that I should choose the person who haunted my dreams.

Did he really have no clue?

Prof. Foster was right. My work with Katherine was subpar. But I knew it would be the same with any other model except Jonathan.

I had to muster up some courage and act professionally. He would be my muse, and if anyone asked, I’d say he reminded me of my brother. It wasn’t a lie; Porter had posed for me many times, just not in the nude.

Painting Jonathan was the most natural thing I’d ever done. His form flowed onto the canvas with ease. I soon realized I could look beyond my infatuation and capture the subtleties of his handsome features.

My brush traced every shadow, every flaw, everything I couldn’t capture with Katherine. Despite my progress, I was still lagging behind the rest of the class.

Oil painting required time and patience, luxuries I no longer had. Today was the last class, and I was on the verge of failing unless I did something drastic.

Prof. Foster agreed to my proposal, but with a penalty for late submission.

Now came the challenging part.

Snapping photos of the models was a no-go, so I’d have to rope in Jonathan for assistance. That meant I’d have to actually talk to him.

Damn it!

The Jonathan I’d created in my mind was about to be shattered.

“Jonathan,” I called his name, echoing through the hallway.

I managed to catch him just as he was on the brink of exiting the building. He spun around, giving me a once-over. My heart kicked up a notch.

“I’m Christian, from Prof. Foster’s class…”

“Third seat from the right, last row.” He extended his hand for a shake.

He’d noticed me? Damn it! Was this going to be a repeat of the Benjamin debacle? I’d spent countless nights crying over the torment my high school bully had put me through, but I’d never shared it with anyone.

I’d have to give Jonathan the benefit of the doubt because, without him, my project was toast.

“What can I do for you?” he asked after I’d been quiet for a beat too long.

“Ah, yes. Umm, I need your help,” I managed to get out despite rehearsing my lines over and over.

He stayed silent, waiting for me to go on.

“I had to change the subject of my portrait, and now I’m lagging behind the rest of the class.”

“You switched from someone else to me?” he asked, an eyebrow arched. “Why?”

Shit! Damn it! Why did he have to ask that?

“Because my brother draw— I used to draw my brother, and now…it’s, I mean.”

He watched my struggle, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Anyway, Prof. Foster gave me extra time to finish, but I’ll need after-hours studio time with you.”

“How much time?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“An hour, maybe two,” I said, praying he’d be on board.

What if he said “no”?

“The school pays me twenty dollars an hour. After hours, I’ll have to charge thirty,” he said.

“Sixty bucks!” I blurted out, taken aback. “I’m a scholarship student. I can barely make ends meet as it is.”

He gave me another once-over and said, “Okay, thirty bucks for the session, but we do it at my place.”

I mulled over his offer for a moment and realized I didn’t have many other options.

“Deal,” I said, extending my hand for another shake.

“Also, you let me use my phone while you work. Sitting still with nothing to do gets boring really quickly.”