peter.author

Have you ever had one of those strange dreams where you find yourself with no clothes on in front of a roomful of strangers?   Scary until you wake up: but suppose it’s for real?

This thought flashed (no pun intended) through my mind as I reluctantly got up from my chair in front of the class of a dozen art students, removed my dressing gown (I had never before felt quite so attached to it) and went to stand in front of the class, stark naked, with only the enthusiastic voice of Trish, the art tutor, saying “We’ll try a number of short poses at first, Peter; is that alright with you?” to keep away the feeling of dreamlike unreality.

How on earth had I got into this position?   I had been a very respectable Civil Servant for 28 years, wearing a suit and tie to work, sitting in on stuffy meetings and the mere thought of taking off anything more than my jacket in front of strangers would have had me running for the hills.

Then I had the chance to take early retirement in my late forties.  It would have been silly to have continued to struggle into London from the suburbs every day if  my employer was happy to pay me to stay away permanently.    

After a while we moved to South West England where property was cheaper and I began doing odd jobs here and there for my own interest and as a source of extra money.  A Civil Service pension doesn’t go far these days if there’s nothing else coming in.

One evening four years ago I noticed a job ad in our local paper, placed by the County Council Education Department, seeking clothed and unclothed models for art classes for an hourly fee.   My wife agreed it would be worth applying if I felt brave enough to actually do it.  I wasn’t too sure but thought I could always decline if I had to and, anyway, I honestly didn’t think anyone would pay to see me with no clothes on - I certainly wouldn’t!

When I went for an interview a few days later, I got the distinct impression that they were somewhat under whelmed  by my potential and, when I heard no more, I was neither surprised nor disappointed.   In fact, I was rather relieved.

So I was shocked when, four months later Tim, one of the art tutors, rang me out of the blue to ask if I’d pose for his class for the next two or three weeks.  I felt nervous at the thought but at least he had explained that these sessions were to be  portraiture only and I would stay fully clothed.  Mind you, it was no piece of cake.  Try sitting completely still for forty-five minutes at a time whilst people chat amongst themselves about how you look or even come up close and peer intently at your face.

I got used to comments like “Doesn’t he look a bit like Richard Nixon, George Brown, God knows who” etc.  It was all part of the job.

I had never thought I would do anything like it and, even clothed, it was a challenge to be the object of such close attention for two hours at a time.  But the tutors and pupils were always grateful and it was rewarding to feel a vital part of the creative process.

So things went on for a year when the Education Department decided to bring their list of models up-to-date and asked me if I’d now like to pose “unclothed” as they tactfully put it, for life classes, both painting and sculpture.   Madly, I said yes but again nothing happened for a while and then I was asked out of the blue to go and model, nude, at evening classes in a nearby school.

The male art teacher gave me full directions and said he’d meet me outside as I wasn’t familiar with the big and rambling school but, on the actual evening, he wasn’t there.   It turned out he was ill and I found myself being introduced to his last minute replacement, a female art tutor.

Even more embarrassingly, Trish was extremely pleased to see me as she assumed I was totally experienced in nude modelling and, when I said this was my first time, her face fell.  But, I had promised to do it and said I’d go ahead, to her relief.

Now there is supposed to be a screen in the corner of the art room behind which the model undresses with a chair to leave clothes on but, of course, there was no such thing.   Trish asked if I’d mind undressing in front of the class who were still arriving; people were coming in and going out, the classroom door may have had blacked out windows but these were no help in maintaining privacy if it was opening and shutting all the time and the thought of hopping around trying to remove trousers, etc in the equivalent of Piccadilly Circus was just too much.  Fortunately there was an unused classroom next door so I managed to undress there, hoping it genuinely was unused that evening and that an embroidery class of elderly ladies wouldn’t suddenly walk in on me!

All too soon I found myself sheltering inside my dressing gown, sitting at the front of the class, pretending to be invisible and wondering just how slowly two hours would pass whilst Trish gave an opening talk.

There were about a dozen in the class; most were clearly retired as had been the case in the portraiture sessions, but there were also two young girls seated right at the front.  One was in her early twenties, I guessed, with bleached blonde spiky hair, looking quite the art student in old jeans and a paint smeared sweater.  That was OK.

The other looked like a schoolgirl; in fact, wasn’t she still wearing her school uniform?   Presumably she was old enough to be there but nevertheless….….

Then Trish finished and I found myself removing my dressing gown, slowly walking to the front of the class (yes, right in front of the two young girls, how embarrassing), and adopting my first two minute pose which involved turning my back to the class and leaning forwards with my hands on a chair.  

I think that class saw quite a lot of my bottom during those sessions (and, of course, I’m fond of it myself although I can rarely glimpse it).   Because it is important to resume exactly the same pose after a rest break in the modelling, it has even been drawn around by the tutor in charcoal before I could get up from sitting on a dust sheet.

Now, it’s not everyone who can say they have had their bottom drawn around in front of twelve strangers; close, intimate even, but still strangers!

Luckily I don’t blush easily but I still had to stare at objects on the wall, pictures, blemishes on the paint, coat hooks, anything, to try and disengage my mind from what I was doing.

Sculpture classes were more alarming as the students were encouraged to come right up and take measurements of my various proportions to make their work accurate.   I wondered how Michelangelo managed with David but I didn’t think I should pursue that thought.

Some of the students seemed to have come without having had their dinner and I can’t tell you how unnerving it is to stand or sit stark naked and see someone eating sandwiches and nuts whilst capturing one’s finer points for posterity.

Actually, after a while I quite enjoyed it and I even put my details on a  website for local models.  A newspaper picked that up and asked me for an interview.  The article, “White Collar Traded in for Birthday Suit”, was entirely fair even if the young lady reporter did ask me if I thought I was having a mid-life crisis!   I think perhaps she was right!

Sadly (or fortunately) hardly anyone we knew read the article……..

After that, I went on to take my clothes off in front of  classes near and far (well, within a dozen miles anyway) and really found it quite empowering to stand naked in front of complete strangers who had paid to see me.

I read a newspaper article the other day tut-tutting over some young ladies, well educated and at university or just left with good degrees, who have chosen to become pole dancers, taking their clothes off in front of an audience and dancing for money.  The lady reporter couldn’t seem to grasp why they should want to do that, even if it was well paid.

I could have told her!

THE END