If your religion explicitly states you're going to Hell for seeing my dick, you should probably major in something other than art!

It's been almost a year since I started doing the modeling thing, and I have to say it's been quite rewarding.

And I've also made the mental transition from "OMG I'm naked in front of strangers" to "OMG it's 8:30pm and all I want to do is finish up this pose so I can go home and crash."

It's also given me a renewed sense of self confidence. Now you have to be comfortable in your own skin to stand up naked in front of a bunch of people you don't know, but it was always on stage in front of people. Like six to 10 feet in front of you. Until one fateful Saturday morning in November, that is.

I roll up to the classroom about 20 minutes early and the security guard points out the classroom. The first thing I notice is that the room is small. Very small. About half the size of the classrooms at the location I normally model in. The next thing I notice is that there isn't a stage like I normally had available. Nope, just a teeny, tiny podium about two feet high and maybe three feet square. And it was in the CENTER of the room. Not up front.

I was going to have people looking at my naked body from all sides! And about three feet away. Gulp!

And it went fine! Everything was totally relaxed, and the only time I got nervous was when my legs went to sleep and I was afraid I'd fall over. I even got compliments from some of the students, thanking me for modeling for them :)

On the subway ride home, I reflected on this and realized that art students have probably seen the naked form as often as some creepy, raincoad-clad perv in an adult bookstore. And since they're obviously cool with it, I should just relax and have fun. After all, I've noticed that the more involved I am in the class (picking up on their energy and responding accordingly), the more I think the students get out of it. Who wants someone busting out dull poses for three hours?

And then something weird happened to me.

No, I didn't get an erection in class. No, I didn't bump into someone who recognized me. It was far more... interesting. A few months ago, I got a call from the art school. They needed a model that very night. As luck had it, I had my modeling kit (just a duffel bag with a robe, flip-flops, a timer, a book, and some other miscellaneous crap) at work with me, so I told the model coordinator to put me down.

Upon getting there, I check in with the instructor and then get changed into my robe. When I got back to the classroom, she dropped what I considered to be a semi-bombshell: you see, one of the students couldn't be exposed to naked people. It was against her religion. So I cooled my heels while they brought in a clothed model to do the intro portion of the class while I waited outside. When they were done with that portion, the student in question would go sit in on another class while I went in to model.

Do you know how weird it feels to stand out in a hallway with people coming and going while you're in your robe? It may sound weird, but I think I would have actually been less self conscious naked. And I don't care, there's nothing you can do to make yourself appear nonchalant, cool, whatever when you're in your fucking bathrobe :)

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. I get yet another call to model the following week with the same professor. So when I check in with her, she asked me if I brought my shorts. Huh? Umm... no. I brought a robe and my birthday suit. Turns out the religious girl was in that class too and the model for that night was supposed to bring shorts to do the gesture poses. The instructor asked me kind of sheepishly (I think she was a little rattled by having to accomodate this student's needs at this point in the semester, and seemed a little embarassed about it) if I could pose in my underwear, to which I was tempted to reply that if this person had an issue with my naughty bits, she probably wasn't going to find my choice in underwear that much more acceptable. As luck would have it (sort of, since what I'm about to say also meant I wasn't getting paid for the night), there was a double booking, and the other model (naturally after I had already gotten changed) came with shorts, so he was clearly the model that was supposed to show up.

I was dead tired that night, and frankly needed the night off. But it got me to thinking who the hell enrolls in an art program and doesn't expect that, from time to time, penises and tits will be exposed? In the same room as you are. I'm really hoping this person is, I dunno, a fashion major or something, and just needs an Intro to Drawing class as part of some general ed requirement. I'm really hoping it's not some sort of Generation X/Y entitlement bullshit where the student thinks the class has to bend to her desires, and not the other way around. I just can't wrap my head around it. Shit, I knew people got naked for art when I was 12 years old reading art history books in the library (disclaimer: it didn't have to do with my love for art so much as my love for nekkid wimmin!). Not to mention you're fucking over the rest of the class who are paying good money (very good money. This school ain't cheap!) and expect to be able to learn and practice art the way it's been done for thousands of years.

I really hope this person, for the sake of her fellow students, decides to major in something, anything, that won't put her belief system in conflict with others. It just isn't fair to anyone.

A model opportunity!

I can't remember the last time I did anything wild and/or crazy.

I mean, something reeeeeally outside of my comfort zone.

Then, a few weeks back, I read a review on yelp where a yelper recounted her experience at a local art studio. Apparently they hired a nude mode and sometime during the session, the model totally lost it for a while and started to cry.

The thought hit me out of the blue: "Man, I can stand around naked. And I can not lose my cool either. I should try that."

That thought proceeded to leave my head, and right when I turned my attention to something else, it came back again.

"Hey, maybe I should try it!" Screw it! When the hell was the last time I did anything totally out of character? Well, there was that time in Denver when I ate a plate of fruit and yogurt for lunch.

All right: I'm not the most buff, studly person out there. But I remembered that I read an article a while back that said most artists tend to prefer to paint people that aren't perfect hardbodies... they get more experience painting different body types.

So I emailed my yelper friend the next day and asked how I'd go about getting started in the biz. She recommended getting in contact with a local artist that she knew. Armed with her recommendation, along with another one I came up with (more below), I started to make my availability known to the DC art world!

My first call was to the Corcoran Gallery of Art. A few years ago, a woman on Slate (maybe it was Salon) did a series of articles where she undertook a new and unusual job on a regular basis. One of her gigs was as a nude model.

The chipper receptionist transferred me to the model coordinator, and right then and there, I started to get nervous. I had successfully steeled my nerves during the initial phone call, but now I was feeling that familiar tightening of the chest and throat. Hmm... maybe she'll be out of the office and I can just leave a message (or hang up, most likely).

No dice! There was a real, live person at the end. So I introduce myself, state that I'm specifically looking to model nude, and would be willing to do whatever it takes. Understandably, her first question was what made me decide to pursue this, and decide to stifle my first response (post-quarterlife crisis) and go with what really drew me to the Corcoran: the Slate article.

She proceeded to laugh and I felt at ease. She said she got a lot of inquiries after that article ran, and apparently the author took some creative liberties in her recounting of the story. But she did say that she was interested, although the Corcoran slows down during the summer, so it might be a few weeks before anything happened.

I told her I wasn't in any rush, and frankly was happy to have the opportunity to have an interview with her at a later date. I also cautiously made mention of the fact that I'm not exactly Brad Pitt (well, maybe Brad Pitt if he discovered a lust for beer and burgers with blue cheese). She reassured me that it's all professional and that they look for all ethnicities, genders and body types: the world is diverse, and the artists need to be able to capture that diversity.

Relieved, I thanked her, agreed to forward her my contact info, and proceeded to call the artist that my friend recommended. Turns out she didn't really have anything, but suggested I contact someone in Georgetown who serves as a clearinghouse for DC figure models in general, nudes in particular.

I say goodbye and I hang up. Okay, nothing's gonna come out of that lead. She probably thinks she was talking to some weirdo or perv and just wanted to get me off the phone. Hey, it's a strange world. I don't blame her.

Fast forward to last Wednesday. I'm having a HORRIBLE day and am feeling really burned out. All of a sudden, my phone starts to ring. I don't recognize the number at first, so I let the VM get it. I turn back to my work and for some reason, the area code starts to sound familiar, but I can't place it (it was an out-of-state area code). Hmm... I'm definitely recognizing it. Could that be the artist I spoke with last week?

Naaaah! Probably some random caller with an information request. The "message" light starts to glow cherry red. Curiosity having gotten the better of me, I listen to the message.

It's the artist! Turns out she had a model cancel, and she was hoping I could fill in for her! It took me all of .5 seconds to pick up the phone and call her back.

She thanked me profusely, gave me directions, and told me kickoff was at 7. The rest of the day just dragged by. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions were rushing through me. I couldn't cancel now, even if I wanted to: she'd never get someone this short notice. I emailed my yelper friend (who I also knew from grad school) to thank her for the reco and proudly tell her I got my first gig. "I know," she wrote. "I got the email with tonight's information from Sarah (the artist)." Hoo boy! I wasn't counting on actually appearing in the buff in front of someone I actually know. Things are gonna get interesting...

So 7 rolls around and I'm in an old building that's now being used as an arts center. The yelper in question showed up, along with a few other people. I met the artist, Sarah, and after exchanging pleasantries, she handed me a bathrobe and said I could go ahead and get changed while the artists set up shop. I swear, it was the longest time I've ever had getting undressed. It's like time just stood still.

I'm in my robe and out in the studio now, and the artists are setting up. There's only a few people, so Sarah suggests that we'll wait a few more minutes. She initially wanted to do a standing pose, but my height plus the height of the podium thingy I'd be standing on made me way too tall. She opted for a sitting pose instead.

By this point, I'm starting to get a little antsy. It's like I'm ready for "go time!" People are setting up the lighting and the backdrop, and it felt like it was going on forever, that's how apprehensive I was. Then, the fateful call came out:

"Okay, it looks like we're all ready and I don't think anyone else is coming," Sarah said. "so why don't you go ahead and get into position?"

My heart skips a beat. I fumble with the stupid knot I managed to tie on the bathrobe. Jesus, what kind of f-ed up knot did I feel the need to tie tonight? Finally it comes loose. My heart's totally racing at this point. Sarah instructs me to put the robe to the side. I take off the robe and climb on to the podium and sit down on the chair they have for me.

And all of a sudden, I feel fine. I don't feel any pressure, fear, or anything. I'm just basking in the warmth of the studio lights. I know I have a job to do, and at this point all I'm focused on is trying to get into the position Sarah wants. That, and remaining still. I'm just happy that it's relatively warm inside, and that I'm not sporting wood or otherwise losing my cool. The only thing I was really concerned about as the session went on was that my feet were starting to get dirty (I think the studio doubles as a woodshop during the day, and since I was called last minute, I didn't have a pair of flip flops on me).

I should probably note that we weren't the only people there. Since it's a general-purpose arts center, there was a band rehearsing in the next room, and they'd come out every so often to grab something between sets. Sarah told me about this when she called me, but it was kinda weird sitting totally nude while complete strangers walk back and forth in front of me, especially since they weren't gawking or staring. They'd seen it all before...

How it worked was I'd pose for 20 minutes, take a 10 minute break, and pose for another 20 minutes. I'd repeat this for three hours. The first hour was easy, but it started to get surreal at one point, almost like an out-of-body experience. Seriously. Towards the end (after the band left) someone turned the stereo on to a classical music station. As the music started up, I got these really weird visions before me and started to imagine a French movie plaing with the opening credits rolling. I was staring down a tree-lined road as this random jumble of words flashed by.

During the breaks, I'd put on my robe and go over and check out how everyone's work was progressing. I was really impressed! One did a full-body profile, another focused on my midsection. One sketched my knees, and Sarah painted a head portrait that was incredible!

I was SORE when it was all over, though the $60 check helped limber me up considerably. I got some very nice compliments on my professionalism, and I can definitley see myself doing this in the future (in fact, I meet with the Corcoran on Tuesday). I was also on something of an artistic high, since there was some really good art that was created that night, including an uncanny head shot of yours truly! Really, it was a totally accurate image! I was happy that I was able to help, in some small way, such talented people for one night.

My friend and I climbed into a cab for the trek back to Arlington and I wisely took a few Motrin before heading to bed (I was still a little sore in the morning, but was fine when I got to work). I can definitely see this as being a fun side gig!