The Little Sketching Group

Methinks I have mentioned from time to time the existence of The Little Sketching Group (LSG). The LSG was formed just after the turn of the century by my photographer friend Harry and consists mostly of older males and a few females, many of whom are customers of Harry's photography business. The LSG was seen to be necessary because though the local Newburyport art galleries provide some opportunities for sketching enthusiasts to sketch live models, they are often a part of organized art classes and are in any case rather strictly controlled. Harry's friends complained of ugly models, cold studios, hot studios, poor viewing angles and not enough pussy. That is opportunities to sketch pussy, not to get some.

So Harry proposed an arrangement where he would start sponsoring sketching classes at his photography studio. This would solve the problems of heat, cold and viewing angles. He asked me to provide the pussy. For sketching purposes only, of course. I agreed and became principal model (chest puffs out) along with carefully selected guest posers including my cousin Eefje, a popular Dutch import, my sister Robin while she was pregnant, my sister Molly while she was both pregnant and not pregnant and one of Harry's daughters, not pregnant and claiming to be a virgin which excited the artists. Everything worked out very well and we continue to meet every month after a decade and a half.

My first experience with posing for sketching was with my sister Robin, a very competent artist, which to me means if she does your portrait people can actually tell that it's you. In addition to portrait work she liked to work from the nude and I enthusiastically obliged. We were not, of course, the only ones in the house. There was the matter of my three brothers. But I handled the situation with panache and on the approach of any of them with their lacrosse buddies I feigned indifference and remained naked. I mean you have to get dates somehow. I saw Tom Demoulin looking at my naked body and I looked back at him hoping he'd take off that sweaty shirt. Later, alone in my room on my bed he did. Well in my mind he did. He wasn't actually there but the thought of him being there was all I needed along with two fingers on my right hand because I was really horny and it was just glorious and he really did see me naked out in the yard. It's not my fault he had a girlfriend and was otherwise unwilling to screw his teammate's sister but you can see what attracted me to sketching.

Anyway I had been working with my photographer Harry doing catalog work for some time. Some of the legitimate catalog work involved things like sports bras and bikinis. At some point we began to consider doing exhibition work which meant dispensing with the bras and bikinis. The money was better. Harry showed me samples of what we could do, mostly bare boob and bare bum shots. Nothing he showed me was in any way near explicit. Showing off my girlhood was not on the agenda. At least not in good light.

I was anxious to get started. I don't have big boobs but being a jock you can bounce a quarter off my tummy or my bare ass and I'm reasonably pretty so we figured nude photos of me might sell. We decided that as soon as I became legal we would go into business. Frankly, I couldn't wait and in fact we got started a little early, a few bare back shots and some bare ass stuff. At first he offered me pasties for my boobs and tape for my pussy and there was a robe handy if I wanted to cover up in between so he could bring the shots up on his laptop and show me. I eschewed the pasties and robe but I did tape my snatch early on so I wasn't actually naked.

My friends asked me if I was embarrassed to take off all my clothes for a photographer. I wasn't, I was half Dutch after all, and I had read about another model, Siri Erickson, who had posed for Andrew Wyeth from 1967 to 1972. She was quoted as saying she found no embarrassment or awe about posing nude for Wyeth saying he would get totally involved in his work and it was as if you were a tree. That was Harry, except with a camera. I was no different than the white birches in his yard though I admit I always gave a little shiver when I first heard the shutter open in any shoot that I had to strip for. But pretty much I stood there in solitary ecstasy as Harry fired away and my nipples hardened to stone and my girlhood got damp enough to leak down my leg as he told me to put my hands behind my head to grab some hair or move a tad side to side to get a little more tit or bum into his shot.

It was easy. The topless stuff was never any problem, he never noticed my tits and I didn't mind showing them, such as they were. My mother has big boobs and so do my sisters but I was kind of short-changed. For most of the bare ass stuff I could just lower my panties. After a while I ditched the snatch tape and stripped all the way. When we graduated to full nude I was comfy completely naked. He'd compose the shots with a carefully placed thigh or a flower pot. Harry said when he was young all nudes were done like that, unless they were done overseas. Even today in Jennifer Lawrence's movie Red Sparrow when she sits naked in front of the group with the guy who assaulted her in the shower six feet away there's always something obscuring her snatch. But she has great tits so see the film.

Finally we did full on nudes, no real spread leg stuff, but you could indeed see my pussy. Whenever a girl models nude there is always the question of how much, if any, pussy to actually show. Harry had the skills to make me look naked as a jay bird without showing my bunny hole either head on or, if that, in focus. In fact I did want it in at least a few shots to preserve for posterity, my sisters and girl friends and maybe a few selected guys, what I looked like straight out naked, so a few really obvious snatch shots were called for.

Some people I know who know I've posed nude think that in order to really say you've posed nude you have to show snatch. Sometimes maybe, but definitely not always. There's economics. I was shaved clean so any crotch shots were very explicit and the legitimate galleries would not hang them for sale nor would some people buy them. So we stuck to tits and ass mostly. Harry could get good money for a portrait where I only showed boobs and/or my ass. Real pussy shots he kept for his private clients and he had enough that amply displayed my mountain flower but he sold those himself, cutting out the gallery fees so everyone went home happy and my genitals are now a part of art history.

Anyway Harry began exhibiting some of his photographs of me in the local galleries. A few caught people's attention, including some in which I was nude. Also at that time one of the River St. galleries was renting out space for posing sessions for sketching classes and some of Harry's photo customers suggested to Harry that I might make a good sketching model. Harry sensed an opportunity to increase photo sales by popularizing his model.

Accordingly, one Thursday at mid-day Harry and I kept an appointment with the sketching class director to check out the venue and find out what was required. Harry would always do the talking about money, me being uncomfortable talking about getting paid for taking all my clothes off. The director, a woman of about sixty explained that the summer classes for which they needed models were work sessions, as opposed to instructional. This meant that during class she would give instructions to the model but none of any consequence to the artists. They presumably would know what to do and their task was simply to do it with my naked body providing the inspiration.

I knew nothing of sketching. I had learned on the internet that a typical session involved groups of poses lasting as little as thirty seconds and as long as thirty minutes. This was indeed what the lady had in mind, some thirty second poses, then one minutes poses, five minutes, ten and half an hour efforts. The goal was not to produce a likeness of the model but to work on and appreciate form and movement. We would probably work for two and one half hours with the shorter poses occupying the first two hours and then do the half hour pose. I would of course be naked except during breaks when I had to cover myself. No wandering around the studio in the nude like I did at Harry's. I was to wear no jewelry except studs. She asked if I had any tattoos (I don't) and said she preferred models with pubic hair (I have none and didn't plan on growing any).

We inspected the posing premises, a fairly good sized room on the second floor above the old gallery, there being a new gallery on the end of the building nearer Plum Island. It was in that new gallery in which I had stood, unrecognized, a day earlier watching people examine nude photos of me which adorned a small corner of the gallery walls. The sketching room was a tad shabby looking, I thought, crowded with the kind of stuff one might expect to see in the attic of an art gallery.

Anyway, the model posed in the middle of the room on what might have been a coffee table covered by a sheet. I hoped a clean sheet, as she must at some point recline on it in the nude. As I would be posing in the middle of the crowd it occurred to me that at any given time a number of the artists would be staring at my bare ass. This seemed a tad rude but I was later informed that after each pose I would rotate ninety degrees thus affording a changing view. On either side of the posing platform were long tables at which a portion of the artists would sit. Past these were so-called donkeys, small individual seats with lectern type things attached upon which the artist could rest their sketching materials. Further back stood easels behind which artists would stand and then tall chairs upon which more people could sit.

Being used to photography I was more struck by the differences than the similarities. Here the model's appearance mattered little, except maybe for tattoos (no) and pubic hair (yes). One could be tall or short, fat or thin, pretty or not. It didn't seem to matter whether you washed your hair (I do) or made up (I do some). It didn't matter whether you had large tits or small (we covered that above), a big ass or not (smallish) or nice legs which I think I do from running. Not everyone is photographed nude but being nude was required here (of course my sister required it too when she sketched me).

The lighting was uneven and not very bright and the background was hopeless. The orientation of one's body was different for every artist and when I lay down some people were looking at the top of my head or my feet or right at my ass. In photography there are constant interruptions. Adjusting the hair, adjusting the light, move this way or that, mild cursing (Harry), repeat. Download the results, look, point, more mild cursing. Repeat. In sketching one assumes the pose and if it's anywhere near right holds for whatever time is required. That day I wore a short black dress with spaghetti straps which just covered the bottom of my ass, no bra so my nipples showed prominently, black thong panties and flats. All this to show off my legs, my best feature, and my behind. At any rate I guess I looked promising because finally the woman asked Harry to leave the room so I could strip naked. I told her I had no intention of stripping unless someone I knew was present and so was rewarded with a dirty look from her and Harry was rewarded with the chance to see me naked for the nth time. I pulled my dress over my head, took off my thong and left my flats on. The lady inspected me with a clinical air and seemed happy. Harry seemed indifferent which is usually what happens.

At any rate I was hired and Harry and I repaired to Michael's Harborside for a late lunch. We sat outside though they had those big plastic things down to protect against the wind. I consumed a large burger and fries which one can do at eighteen and not get fat. Always the gentleman, Harry offered to buy me a beer even though he knew I was underage for drinking though wise enough at eighteen to decide whether I should strip naked in front of a crowd of strangers at sketching class.

We talked business after eating. The woman would not pay much, not a surprise to anyone who has ever done figure modelling. I did not have to grow pubic hair, a plus since Harry knew all his older male customers enjoyed the shaved look, something unknown to women their age. I would probably do just one session here, Harry would invite all his customers who would, we hoped, appreciate my wholesome good looks as well as my tits and ass and we would form our own group. Ten days later I did my session at the gallery and met many of the men, and two women, who were interested in a new group. Next day Harry called me and told me we were all set and explained the arrangements.

Group members would pay a fee for each session and have complete control of what happened except for my insistence on a no touching rule and the discouragement of anything like a full on pussy pose. Harry would take all the photographs, as opposed to the sketches, and sell direct to his customers, cutting out the gallery fees. We would meet at Harry's where the artists could smoke (outside), drink (in moderation) and eat (probably not in moderation). We would do three hour sessions once a month and Harry would pay me directly. I need only do the requested poses and remain naked during the breaks, chatting happily with the artists. That was Harry's idea, not the artists, but it seemed a sure way to encourage continued attendance. Despite the no touching rule I did tolerate the occasional pat on the bum in a spirit of good fellowship.

We were all anxious to begin but the artists wanted a few days to line up a few more pigeons to help share expenses. All moneys would go directly to Harry to help maintain an air of respectability. They also needed to assemble drawing stations, similar to the donkeys, easels and tall chairs I saw at the gallery session. Harry provided a posing platform and good, photo quality backgrounds. The artists would gather in front of the platform so each would have a good view of the model. Harry would take photos as the circumstances permitted and he would consider requests (for photos, that is).

Most sessions would be conducted as portrait type affairs where I would assume individual poses for extended periods of time, rather like a model sitting for a traditional painted portrait. It was assumed I would pose in the nude. I could refuse any pose I wanted but aside from the aforementioned pussy poses and maybe inserting things in me I couldn't think of anything I wouldn't do. Bondage was okay but the no touching rule meant we would have to import a rigger. Whereas my sister was to be included as a permanent guest artist, Harry and I figured she could rig.

When we first started in 2003 cell phones were not as ubiquitous as they are today, in fact the iPhone did not exist. But as time passed it became necessary to ban phones from our sessions to protect the integrity of Harry's photo sales. Up until about 2005 I think he was still using film. The switch to digital allowed a lot more freedom in what he could do as he could make as many exposures as he pleased in a short period of time, inspect the results right away and post edit them afterward though of course he almost always got the exposures right and we had good backgrounds. Cutting the galleries out of the process allowed us to do more explicit stuff than they would show, though Harry always did a good deal of his business to private clients so he had always been able to accommodate his regulars.

At any rate one Thursday night in June 2003 we has our first session. We had about two dozen artists including my sister and two other women. The age range was about twenty to eighty-five but with a median age of maybe sixty, leaving out my sister who was younger than I. Parking was a bit of a problem and car pooling became common. Many parked up near Benson's Ice Cream in the church lot, which I found amusing given what we were all there for, and car pooled from there. People provided their own food and drink and took their smokes (tobacco only) outside. The studio was of course well lit and maybe a tad warm even with the windows open after a warm June day as it stayed light outside til almost nine.

Whereas Harry was going to take photos I needed to do some kind of show prep. I showered and washed my hair at home and did my own make-up. Normally Harry's daughter would fix my squeaky clean hair and do my make-up as the lighting required but she was not available. I checked out my body. Topless sunbathing at our camp had taken the pure white edge off my boobs but they still stood out a little pale against my suntanned body. My bum was it's usual snow white self. I dabbed a little perfume behind my ears, on my neck, between my tits and at the top of the crack in my ass.

I needed to dress properly beforehand. Unlike the photos one sees in porn sets, one doesn't start clothed and strip, at least it's not very efficient because the clothes leave marks that take as much as half an hour to disappear and we cared about these marks for the photos Harry wanted to take during the sketching session. Post production would help, but Harry liked it right the first time. So for photos you pretty much have to start as naked as you're going to be so I wore a simple shift with no undies.

As I mentioned pubic hair was not an issue. I'm as bald as a cue ball down there. Being shaved makes it easier to wear bikinis and once you get a guy into the sack, being bare down there lets the guy see what a girl really looks like down there and education is of course a good thing. Plus my experience is he's more likely to go down on you if he can see what he's eating and knows he won't end up with hair in his teeth. And as I mentioned, Harry's older clients don't often get a chance to see bald pussies so shaving helped keep attendance up.

Some folks came early to get a good spot though everyone really had an acceptable view. I wanted to be as naked as possible as long as possible to help insure happy customers but I felt like I needed some kind of critical mass of guys before I stripped so it wouldn't look too personal. You'd think finally getting naked would be a big deal after all this but it wasn't. I took off my flats, pulled my dress over my head and tossed it down and there I was, naked as the day I was born and a lot hornier. I chatted happily with an assortment of people until it was time to begin, my nipples so hard they hurt and my mountain flower well watered.

So we started. Fairly simple instructions, just sit on a high stool, pull your hair back off your shoulders, chin up, elbows back, tits forward, a little break here and there and all the while I was so horny I could have screamed. Being naked for just Harry was one thing but being naked for up to forty-five guys, mostly, was quite another. Each time two minutes after we began I was so wet I figured they could see it in the last row. But no doubt most of the males, at least, figured wet pussy was good pussy. Good, since I just glistened down there.

I often wondered if they could smell the scent of sex on me when standing next to me on breaks. Every one expects girls to get wet when their bodies think they are about to get laid or when they're with someone they like. It happened to me when I in a situation where I felt helpless. Being surrounded by a bunch of guys at summer camp. Being caught without my clothes on. Being made to take my clothes off. Being tied up or held down. Some things I did on my own that made me wet. Stripping and looking at my body in a mirror. Going out in a little bikini. Undressing where I knew someone would see. Stripping for a photo session and being photographed nude or close to it was a welcome addition and now there was sketching.