For weeks she’d been imagining the painting she would commission as a surprise for her husband. She’d find an artist who could work discretely, and that artist would have to be very good. Which would mean a large fee, so she’d have to come up with the money. She’d have to find the time to pose. But mostly, she’d have to come up with the courage to sit for the kind of painting she had in mind.
She imagined a somewhat risqué picture, just suggesting but not explicitly showing her sexual charms. Maybe she could show herself in a seductive but not totally revealing way. Maybe reclining on a sofa. Nude, of course, but perhaps with a wrap over over her shoulders to allow a hint of her breasts, maybe let just one nipple peek out, and possibly a hand casually resting between her legs to shield her pussy. But there would still be plenty of skin. She imagined the finished painting hanging in her husband’s study, maybe over the fireplace, where he could privately lust for her whenever she wasn’t there, to make him the envy of his friends who come by for their weekly poker night. The painting would be large, almost life-size. It would be elegant, as befits a successful career woman.
Angela and George had been married over twenty years. They were both in their forties and established in their careers, she as an airline pilot and he as a successful restaurant owner. She was away a lot, but when they were together they enjoyed over-the-top sex whenever her schedule allowed a few days together. They had two grown kids, both married and living in other parts of the country.
As she thought about her family, she considered her plans for the painting, realising that occasionally the children would visit and see it. But the painting would show nothing really sexual to embarrass her in front of the children, or to make them feel uncomfortable seeing it. Of course they knew their mother must have tits and a twat; they just wouldn’t exactly see it in the painting. She felt good about her plan, and now addressed the challenge of finding a suitable artist.
She visited some galleries in town featuring local artists and took note of the quality and styles of their work. She got contact information for a few artists whose work she liked and that the gallery curators thought might be available for a commission. As she was about to call the first one on her list, she suddenly felt embarrassed over what she’d be asking for–a respectable professional woman asking to pose nude! And even if the conversation went well and one of the artists agreed to the work, she’d be lying naked in his or her studio for many hours. Well, she’d have the wrap over her, so she wouldn’t be totally naked.
Getting up her courage, she called the first one. Before she even got to the nude part, this artist said he was too busy to take on new work for at least six months. So she worked her way down the list, eventually finding one with a private studio and who might be a good fit. This one even had a French name: Pierre, and Pierre even specialised in boudoir-type portraits! They arranged to meet at his studio the following week for an interview. She mentioned she wanted to be partially nude, so Pierre recommended that when it comes time to pose she should arrive not wearing tight clothing or undergarments, and to bring a robe.
Angela spent the next few days studying the paintings on Pierre’s website, sneaking time between her flights. Those next few days also found her experiencing a heightened anticipation about posing nude, even though her intimate parts would be partially covered. But, would she be naked to Pierre’s view until she covered her breasts? What about her pussy, until she placed her hand there? And her bush, which was now full–should she remove any of it? Maybe just trim it? All of it? Would it matter? What if she became aroused? Would it show? Would anyone else be in Pierre’s studio, like an assistant? These questions spun around in her head, instilling fear and confusion. But she was determined to go through with it, as she really wanted this gift for her husband.
She was home for a few days, and took time to coyly ask George what parts of her body he liked the best. At forty-five and even after two kids, she was a very good looking woman. She carried herself with the confidence that only successful and self-assured women can pull off. She measured the space over the fireplace in his study.
She had to fly on the next two days, including an overnight, then the day for her initial visit to Pierre’s studio arrived. While in the air she’d concentrated on her flying, but now her mind turned to what it will be like posing almost naked, and how much flesh she would dare show. Should she bring her own props? What about hair and makeup? Some tasteful jewelry? She knew that by dwelling on all these small matters she was really avoiding the main issue of taking off her clothes. She’d be naked.
Not sure if she’d remain clothed for this first meeting, she showered, trimmed just the edges around her bush, picked out some small items of jewelry, set her hair up into a tasteful twist to reveal her neck, and found a small satin shoulder wrap to cover her breasts. Then she drove herself to the address just outside of town, that Pierre had given her on the phone. For the entire drive she was aware of her arousal at the possibility of soon being nude, and was glad she wasn’t wearing panties that would just get soaked. Her summer dress was so short that her bottom was directly on the leather seat, and she could feel her juices pooling there. Arriving at the modest country house, she was careful to wipe the wetness off the seat before sliding across it to get out of the car.
She gathered her things, straightened her dress, realised how wobbly her legs felt, imagined being naked inside this house, tried not to imagine being naked inside this house, and considered getting back into her car and speeding away, never to return. She took a few deep breaths, mustered the courage to proceed with her plan, and stepped up to the door. No doorbell, but soon her hesitant knocking was answered by a friendly woman a few years younger, who introduced herself as Josephine, greeting her in a slight foreign accent. Angela accepted the invitation to come inside, but now with a stranger’s eyes on her she felt very naked without her underwear under the thin dress. She loved the erotic feeling, but was terrified that the younger woman might notice the fluid she knew was just now running down the inside of her thigh. It was embarrassing enough that her nipples made two sharp little bumps under the thin fabric.
Josephine showed Angela into the studio, where Pierre was thumbing through a sketchbook. He looked to be about fifty, sported the sort of beard expected of an artist, and as introductions were made Angela learned that Josephine was Pierre’s fulltime mistress and sometime model. Looking around the studio, as soon as Angela noticed the modeling platform where she’d be naked, she felt the trickle of juices reaching all the way down to an ankle. Angela was mortified when Josephine offered her a tissue, and felt little relief when Pierre assured her that this was acceptable and to not be concerned. They had noticed! Would she able to go through with this? Should she just run out the door right now?
Drawn between modesty and her determination to surprise her husband with an intimate portrait of herself, she chose to stay. In spite of her humiliation, the portrait won. The three sat down in one corner of the studio, Angela taking a low comfortable chair facing the other two, who took the sofa. Conscious of her lack of underwear, she kept her knees together, although she realised the irony that she might soon be out of her dress anyway. Most of the discussion was about what sort of portrait she wanted, but Pierre and Josephine took this time to set Angela at ease. They turned to be a very pleasant couple who would take things slowly, and Angela liked them right away. Maybe being naked here wouldn’t be so bad. Gradually becoming more relaxed, she noticed that her legs had loosened and her knees had drifted apart. She coolly eased them back together.
The artist and his mistress were in a long term relationship. He created the art, she managed the business. He occasionally taught classes in his studio, and, when needed, she was the model. They made their home together upstairs.
After some casual conversation, the three of them got down to business. Angela explained the airline’s demands on her time, which days she helped her husband in his restaurants, the fee for the painting, and by what date she’d like to have it finished. She arranged to come back the next evening for her first sitting, but Pierre suggested that before leaving today she should try a few poses, still clothed, just so she could see what it’s like to sit still and so he could make some quick sketches of her general shape and outline. As soon as she lay back on the divan set up on the modeling platform, she realised that in her short dress her pussy was open to view. She’d chosen the short dress because she thought it would come off easily, but right now she was supposed to be clothed and here she was, flashing a beaver shot across the room! She apologised for what she thought might be a breach of etiquette. Remembering how she’d originally imagined the portrait, she casually laid her left hand across her thighs, but not before she felt a rush of excitement and a surge of fluid. She felt so wet! Where was Josephine with the tissues now? Pierre politely turned away after handing her a small towel.
This time, rather than be humiliated, Angela decided to initiate an open discussion about the outward signs of her arousal, explaining that she was highly sexual and wet most of the time. Pierre again assured her that he was okay with it, so she decided to just go with the flow, literally. Next they discussed her questions about the shoulder wrap to partially conceal her breasts, any jewelry, and her pubic hair. He reminded her that this was her portrait, and she could present herself however she wanted. He suggested that she think about what parts of her body she was most pleased with, and Josephine, now back in the studio, offered that she should pose the way her husband likes to see her just before he makes love to her.
While Pierre busied himself with some brushes, Josephine asked about Angela’s pubic hair. Without showing it again, Angela told Josephine she had a full but slightly trimmed bush, and as a grown woman she didn’t want the look of a pre-teen girl. So Josephine suggested she keep it that way until they got into posing, to see if she’d like to trim it further.
Now with all her questions answered, price and schedule set, Angela bid her new acquaintences adieu until their meeting the next day. She felt fully at ease with both Josephine and Pierre. Though they had both gotten glimpses of her pussy, Angela still wondered how she would feel being fully nude. Tomorrow would tell. But she was still embarrassed that her arousal had been noticed.
That night Angela and George made slow and passionate love with each other. They spent the next morning lounging around naked, and she secretly noted how he responded to the various ways she positioned herself and which of her parts his eyes dwelled on most.
After George left to tend one of his restaurants, Angela showered, grabbed her robe, and left for the studio. Today she’d be posing nude. She was glad she’d taken the time yesterday to get to know her artist and his helper. She was still a little nervous as she parked and knocked on the door and was shown in to the studio. She felt a tingle in her pussy as soon as she spotted the easel supporting the canvas that would soon start to display her naked image.
Angela, Pierre, and Josephine sat down to discuss the pose. Angela sheepishly revealed the orientation of her body that her husband seemed to favor: leaning back on pillows with her legs forward. Setting some pillows on a soft flat surface resembling a bed, they asked her to show them that position. Still in her dress, she climbed up onto the bed and leaned back on the pillows, She put one hand up on the pillow and rested the one with her wedding rings on the inside of one thigh. Now she was told to get down, to be replaced by Josephine taking up the same position. Pierre had Angela stand in his own place by the easel so she could see what the pose looked like. After adjusting Josephine’s arms and legs to emulate Angela’s, they achieved the pose that Angela thought most enticing to her husband. Pierre took a few reference photos and Josephine hopped down.
Now Angela knew that nothing more was going to happen until she removed her dress and reclined, nude, on the bed. She’d have to strip off. But she didn’t know how to do it. Just whip the dress over her head, right in front of Pierre and Josephine? First ask them to look away? Go outside and come back in naked? Sensing her confusion, Josephine suggested she go behind the screen set up in the far corner and come out wearing the robe. So that’s what she did, except that crossing back to the bed she felt very conspicuous. She stared at the bed, fiddled with the belt of her robe, looked all around the studio, then felt her knees about to give way and knew she’d best lie down fast. She steadied herself onto the bed, still with the robe around her. She smiled sheepishly as Pierre and Josephine waited for her to, literally, disrobe. They all just looked at each other, waiting.
Angela felt very slick between her thighs and wanted to wipe herself off before showing herself, so she used the excuse that she needed to pee. That also would buy her a few minutes. After visiting the toilet they had pointed out, she returned to Pierre and Josephine, pretended they weren’t there, took a deep breath, and let her robe drop to the floor. Now she was naked. Her heart was pounding. Her pussy was flowing. The world was spinning around her, but she knew where she was. Ignoring the flow of her juices, she stretched out on the bed and rested for a moment, before telling herself she was now a nude model and needed to act like one. Pierre directed her in placing her torso and limbs correctly, until she was in a comfortable pose. She reached for the satin sash she’d brought for draping over her breasts. Josephine helped her arrange it to expose the side of one breast, with its nipple making a sharp point under the fabric, the nipple of the other breast just peeking out from the edge of the sash.
As this was her first time posing, Angela wasn’t used to keeping still, and each time she shifted the sash slipped off her nipples. Finally PIerre suggested she put the sash away, and he could paint it in later. He went on to explain that even if it stayed in place it would keep him from properly rendering the shape of her breasts under the fabric and the painting would lack depth. Angela reluctantly agreed, but within minutes she came to appreciate the freedom and excitement of exposing her breasts to the air. And, to Pierre, but she had to put that thought away.
So now she was lying there completely naked, exposing much more than she’d planned. Without the sash her breasts were fully on display, with her nipples tight and extended from arousal. Her vaginal opening was somewhat obscured by pubic hair, and her left hand hid her labia and the shape of her vulva. Maybe she should consider letting her breasts show in the final painting. She’d consider that later. For now she had overcome her some of her shyness of being naked, and resolved to enjoy the uniqueness of the situation. Pierre had told her the painting would take at least six sittings of two hours each. She’d be lying here nude for twelve hours or more, so she might as well enjoy it. She was already enjoying her nakedness and began thinking of ways to make the painting even more enticing for her husband.
Josephine noted Angela’s abundance of pubic hair and suggested that some be removed. She said Angela might want to keep only the hair that her hand would cover; that way she’d keep enough to maintain the dignity of a mature woman yet not interrupt the smooth clean lines of her portrait. So Angela agreed that before coming back the next day she’d remove most of her pubic hair. Exhausted from an hour of posing but mostly from the intimate discussion of her privates, she called it a day and left. That evening she told her husband she wanted to shop for a bathing suit and that the new styles might require that she trim her pussy. He offered to help, and the two of them created a romantic but mostly erotic event to get the job done. Only a small area just above her vaginal opening remained covered with her lush, thick pubic hair; her labia and surrounding skin were now totally bare.
All the next day she marvelled at the clean feeling around and under her pussy, and loved the flow of the car’s air conditioning coming up under her dress on the drive to the studio. She spread her legs as wide as she could and still be able to operate the pedals. She was a few minutes early, but found the house open. Letting herself into the studio, she was surprised to find a nude Josephine on the modeling platform, surrounded by half a dozen artists being instructed by Pierre. They were just finishing up a scheduled class. Pierre invited Angela to stay and observe the remaining few minutes of the session, so she took a seat. She studied Josephine’s form, and in her mind she compared the smooth appearance of Josephine’s pubic mound with the small but thick patch remaining on her own mound.
Josephine’s labia were fleshy and prominent, unlike her own lips that suggested flower petals. Josephine’s slit was a closed crease, unlike her own that was usually slightly open. But Angela would use her hand for modesty.
After being introduced to Angela as a new client, the students left and she was alone again with Pierre and Josephine, who by now had wrapped her nakedness in a robe. After the three of them rearranged the furniture, Angela slipped out of her dress and went directly to the pose, skipping her robe. At first she kept her legs together, then finally opened her newly coifed pussy to their view. Under the safety of her left hand, her bare lips were partly open. If she decided to show more, she could decide later; meanwhile they could proceed with the rest of the painting.
As Angela tried to hold her pose, Pierre noted that she seemed tense and rigid, and the tenseness would come through in the painting. He suggested she find ways to relax so her portrait would project the calm demeanour she’d want her husband to see. Pierre had her break the pose and get up to walk around the studio without her robe just to loosen up, while he and Josephine went outside. A while later they resumed the pose, but Angela was still stiff, so they ended that day’s session and agreed to meet again in four days, after Angela would be back from a couple of cross-country flights.
Back home from flying, Angela received a phone call from Pierre suggesting a possible way to deal with her tenseness from being nude: she could just throw modesty to the wind and pose for his sketching class the next day. That would break down all her barriers about being naked, and she might then feel freer in her portrait pose. At first Angela refused, but then agreed to at least discuss it. She learned that the poses would all be “gesture” poses of her own choosing. She’d hold herself in one position for about a minute, then shift to some other position for the next minute, and so on. She’d be naked, but by choosing her posture and how she held her limbs she could control how much or how little to show. And the whole session would be only fifty minutes with a ten minute break in the middle. Pierre said he’d used this device with other private clients and it worked well. For the sake of the portrait, she agreed to try it.
The next day, she entered the studio and nearly lost her breath as she found eight strangers setting up easels around the modeling stand, the stand where in a few minutes she’d be naked and open to their critical gaze. They ranged in age from young adult to retirement, some as young as her own children, others as old as her parents! They would all see her naked! This was making her tense, not relaxed, and she looked at Pierre for some sort of assurance. He introduced her to the students, who didn’t really need to be told that she would be today’s model, and at the sound of the word ‘model’ Angela felt the tightness of her nipples harden. She was directed to the changing screen, and she emerged a few minutes later after exchanging the dress for her robe and wiping the wetness from between her thighs. And she thought, now what?
Pierrre held his arm out to accept the robe, and after staring at him for several heartbeats she undid the belt, wiggled out of the robe and handed it to him. She was now naked in front of a handful of strangers and their instructor! And they all had clothes on! Years ago she and George took holidays at a nudist resort just to see what it was like, but this was different. There, everyone was naked and nobody noticed her; here she was the only person without clothes, and everybody noticed her–that’s why they were here! She just stood, legs clamped together, not knowing what to do, until Pierre urged her onto the platform and asked her to stand any way she wanted. In a daze, she stepped up, faced the middle easel, put one arm across her chest and the hand of the other over her bare labia, no longer hidden by pubic hair. She tried to avoid eye contact with anyone. The sounds of the students’ pencils scratching on paper made a roar in her ears. Her every sense was heightened. A minute later she heard the ding of a timer, and Pierre gently asked her to make a new position. So she switched arms! The timer sounded again, and this time she knew she’d have to come up with something better, so she faced away but reached around with one hand to cover her bum crack. She still felt very tense. She knew she’d have at least a dozen more gestures before the break, so started sorting out what would be next. So she tried lifting her arms, which finally revealed her breasts and her erect nipples. She realised this wasn’t so bad. Next, she tried sitting on the straight chair someone had left on the platform. She felt a little looser and let her legs open slightly. She found herself breathing more steadily. After trying out several positions on the chair, the bell announced it was time for her ten minute break. As she reached for her robe, Pierre invited her to walk with him to each easel as he critiqued the students’ work. She was impressed with the quality of their sketches, and felt good seeing how attractive they had made her look on paper. She was proud of her proportions as the different artists had interpreted her. Before she realised, it was time to resume her posing, but this time she knew what she’d do. She had a plan.
She handed Pierre her robe, stepped up on the platform and, recalling the tennis lessons she’d taken years earlier, held an imaginary racquet and ball and took the stance of a tennis player about to serve. Next, she knelt like a runner waiting for the starting signal. After another minute, she stood up, arched her back and raised her hands like a volley ball player, legs demurely parted. Now making eye contact, she continued with sports-themed poses: This was easy. Forgetting that she was naked, she felt like she could do this all day. A baseball player at bat, a fisherman about to cast his line, a yoga pose with her newly bared lower pudenda on full display, and, finally, as the timer sounded to mark the end of the session, a winner holding up an imaginary trophy.
As the students applauded and thanked her for modeling, she smiled, got down off the stand and began walking among the easels. Until Pierre, pleased at how relaxed she now seemed, reminded her that she could put on her robe.
The students packed up their kit and left Angela, Pierre, and Josephine in the studio, ready to resume work on her portrait. They asked how she felt, and she responded by shedding her robe and triumphantly taking her position on the divan. She didn’t fuss about what was showing and what to hide. She just relaxed against the pillows and let her body tell her what was comfortable. Josephine found some small cushions to put under Angelas’ knees to support her legs, and adjusted the pillows behind her head. Angela felt dreamily comfortable and relaxed, and realised she might even drift off to sleep while Pierre painted. Two hours later they woke her, saying they could fill in the image of her face, with eyes open, later. The rest of the painting was off to a good start.
After four more sittings, spread out over that many weeks, the painting was completed. The oil paint needed time to dry, so Angela wouldn’t be able to present it to her husband until then. Even though Pierre kept her from seeing the final painting she was very pleased with what she’d seen of the various stages so far. Meanwhile, she just couldn’t wait to surprise her husband when he would come home one night and find it hanging in his study!
When the paint was nearly dry, Pierre asked Angela if she’d allow him to exhibit it at a gallery opening where he was to show several of his latest works. It was scheduled for an evening when George would be busy at his restaurant, so Angela would still be able to surprise him with it a few days afterward. Angela could attend the opening, which would be the first time anyone other than the artist himself had seen the final painting, displayed in an ornate frame Angela had chosen. She agreed to the picture being shown, and anticipated seeing it herself for the first time.
The evening of the opening arrived. Josephine advised her that, given the setting and the sophistication of the expected attendees, she should dress as spicy as she dared. So Angela dressed in an elegant long black evening gown that was bare between her breasts down to her navel, and slit up to the waist along each leg, and high heels. With this dress she could wear nothing underneath, so she shaved off the remaining patch of pubic hair so that only bare skin would show in the event that the lower part of her gown shifted. She smiled to herself at the private joke that this was to be an ‘opening’. She drove herself to the downtown gallery, by far the most upscale art gallery in the city, possibly in the region. The advance publicity drew art critics and patrons from a wide area. Angela turned her car over to a valet and was greeted inside by a minimally dressed Josephine. The two women made their way through the gaily chatting crowd, to the far wall where several easels supported Pierre’s newly completed paintings.
Centered among the paintings was one large work, draped in velvet and thus hidden from view. Angela figured this must be the portrait of her, since she didn’t see it anywhere else. It seemed very large, and she started realising that soon it would be unveiled, meaning that a very large life-like image of her, nude, would be on view. For all to see. In fact, she herself would be seeing it for the first time. Had she covered her pussy decently? Would her nipples appear too aroused? Would her expression be that of a devoted lover or a of a wanton whore? Too late now, but she wondered if there were any people here tonight who knew her. Had she gone too far in trying to please her husband with an enticing image of herself? She knew he’d like it, but she hadn’t really intended putting her image on public view. Why had she agreed to let Pierre show it? While turning these thoughts over in her mind, she felt her nipples stiffening. She stole a glance of herself in a nearby mirror and saw the very obvious points her nipples formed under the thin fabric. Well, at least there wouldn’t be panties needing to be wrung out.
She was jolted out of her thoughts on hearing her name announced, asking her to come join Pierre beside the veiled canvas. As she strode across the room, she felt her thighs easily sliding past one another, wet with her juices. The thought of all these people around, about to see her painting, moved her close to orgasm. She walked carefully and steadily, taking only small steps so as to hold off the orgasm. As she took her place alongside Pierre, he introduced her as the model for the painting he was about to unveil. As he reached for the cord, she felt the climax creeping up on her, and held onto the backrest of a nearby chair to steady herself. He pulled the cord and the velvet dropped to the floor to expose the painting, causing loud and enthuisastic applause from everyone in the gallery. Under the sound of the applause and while they were all distracted, she quietly gave in to the orgasm she could no longer hold off.
“…The featured painting at last week’s opening was a nearly lifesize image of a very attractive middle-aged woman, married, as evidenced by the depiction of her wedding rings, and clearly identifiable to any who may be fortunate enough to know her, by the smile and sparkling eyes. The painted scene showed the subject languidly reclining, her upper body supported by lush pillows set behind her, her right leg stretched toward the viewer while her left leg is bent away from her right, knee raised and foot flat on the cushions below. This arrangement of her legs affords a wide and very inviting view towards, and even into, the unconcealed mysteries between them…
“…The pleasing nakedness, desirability, and untamed sexuality of this courageous woman is surrounded by framed photos of her husband and children on one side, and an airline captain’s cap on the other. As in any first-rate portrait, the face is where the viewer’s attention goes first. But then, at least in this excellent painting, attention is drawn to the generous display of bare skin, highlighted by the curves of the breasts, rendered so well that they appear to extend from the surface of the canvas, offering ripe nipples yearning to be touched, perhaps by a tongue. Soon the viewer’s eye is drawn to the juncture of the liberally open legs inward to the slightly open vagina, as if to invite the viewer into its mystical folds and the unfathomable depths within, perhaps to lightly caress the flirtatious little clitoris, just peeking out as though not wanting to miss out on the fun. The wetness of the flower petal-like folds is deliciously apparent, with a slight trickle of shiny fluid escaping from within, forming a silver pearl waiting to drop. The hand resting lazily on the small but luxurious patch of pubic hair crowning the womanly mound hides nothing, but adds a note of playfulness rivaled only by the delightful little anus, winking at us from underneath. The viewer is given plenty to feast on, thus one must constantly choose among her bright smiling face and eyes, her magnificent breasts yearning to be caressed, and the invitation beckoning from between her open legs. The painting, taken as a whole, is a glorious celebration of womanhood at its, or her, best. It is a generous gift to any viewer. And the subject is to be admired, or rather, worshipped, not only for her beauty but even more for her bravery in sitting for this exquisite painting…”
(Those two paragraphs were the words of the leading art critic, published in the following week’s art and culture supplement.)
The applause died down just as her private climax subsided, and she composed herself enough to join Pierre in an embarassing but well-received discussion of the painting and its creation. She still hadn’t had a chance to really look at what everone else had been looking at, but as questions and comments came up about various parts of the painting, she needed to look at those parts. That’s when she first saw that her pussy was shown, even her clit! Apparently, she’d been so relaxed while posing that her legs had flopped apart, enough to open her lips. She saw that her hand didn’t cover anything, in fact her fingers were lost in the dense thicket of her pubes! Even her wetness was there, and she now saw what everyone else was seeing: the whole inside of her pussy, shiny and pink and dripping! And her tits looked like they were lifting right off of the canvas! And somehow, Pierre even managed to get her asshole into the picture! She was glad she had shaved so carefully, even back there, but seeing all this, her mind was crashing back and forth between utter humiliation at being displayed, and overwhelming appreciation for the beauty of what she was seeing and genuine gratitude for Pierre’s mastery of his art in portraying her so wonderfully.
Now she didn’t care if anyone here knew her. Every woman had tits and a twat, even the women here tonight; she had just been given proof that hers, even at her age, were worth looking at, so let them look! She was proud to be the subject of such a beautiful work of art. She bravely answered the patrons’ questions about what it was like to present herself in such a vulnerable pose, telling them that at first it had been intended for her husband only. They asked her for photographs, so she posed beside the painting, she on one side and her artist on the other. She made the same smile that Pierre had captured in the painting, but let the similarity end there. Except that she paid no attention to the folds of her gown shifting where they may. Again, she was glad she had shaved.
She asked for a phone and called her husband to turn the restaurant over to the manager and come, right away, to the gallery. She couldn’t wait another minute to give him his surprise.
As George arrived and approached the painting, Angela hid behind it and jumped out as soon as he got close enough to really, really see it. He was overwhelmed to tears, and embraced his wife tightly. Stepping back so he could take in the full sweep of the canvas, he insisted that it hang in the private dining room of one of his restaurants, but Angela really wanted it to be in his den. Losing the argument, he commissioned Pierre on the spot for a second painting, just for the restaurant.