Nude Model

I was staying in a hotel in a suburb of Paris.  It was a tedious business trip and the suburbs of Paris must be the most boring place in the world to be stuck. With nothing to do the early evening I was leafing through a magazine looking for something to do.  It was a sort of listings come happenings publication thoughtfully which I’d found left there by some previous guest.

It provides a list of the “in” places to go, but I’m not really an “in” place person.  However it had been left open at the Petites Annonces – Personal Ads.  I was just looking at it out of. curiosity – yes curiosity I was not looking for the advert which ran “jolie fille sexy recherche rencontre hot sur Paris” (pretty, sexy girl looking for a hot date in Paris) and I did not answer that one (honest). 

Then I noticed a section headed Photos - Modeles which seemed to consist mainly of photographers looking for lady models willing to pose for photographs - “artistique et nu” was how they were described.  Well “artistique” means not surprisingly “artisitic” and “nu” means “nude” – so they were looking for girls willing to take all their clothes off for the amusement of gentleman photographers.  Nice work, as they say, if you can get it. 

And there was one advert circled.  I can’t remember the exact words but it was something like:

'Jeune Femme photographe vous accueille dans son studio pour les photos de toutes sortes.'

I knew photographe meant photographer, not photograph like you might think, so it meant 'Young lady photographer welcomes you to her studio for photos of all types'.

And it gave a telephone number.  What was “all types"?  Was it the same as “artistic and nude"?  Should I ring up?  Should her whoever she was if she wanted nude models?  I imagined her - Young, sexy, pouting, French!

Was she looking for nude models?  Would I be the sort of model she wanted? Would I dare do it? Should I give her a ring and ask?

Probably not was the answer to that!  But it struck me as something which might, I supposed, make for a different sort of evening and on an impulse did just that and I phoned the number.

A girl answered the phone introducing herself as Juliette.

I gulped, tongue tied.

"Je me demande..." I garbled in French...  'I saw your advert.  I could.. I mean… are you looking for nude models?”

There!  I’d said it.

"Yes... of course... can you come round now..."

The conversation was of course entirely in French, which I can sort of get by in, which I am rendering into English for the convenience of all.

So she was saying to come round now and giving me an address, and the next thing I knew I’d made an arrangement to go. 

You might ask why I did it. Partly it was because I the idea appealed to my vanity, partly because it seemed rather exciting and daring, but mainly because having phoned up and felt I had to go through with it.  Anyway – I thought – I could always just not turn up.  But she’d told me to come to her studio, which by a strange chance (and I’m not making this up) was  in Montrouge, not ten minutes walk from the hotel.

I thought I could just walk along there and see what it looked like.  I could always turn back if I got cold feet.  So I set off straight away and walked there thinking it over as I went along. 

Too late now to back out as I had found the house without difficulty.  It looked like an ordinary terraced suburban dwelling, nothing to suggest a photographer’s studio.  I walked past the door several times, nervously deciding whether to press the doorbell.  Then I thought “What the heck!”  I rang the bell and announced myself in the speakerphone  “J’arrive” came the reply.  The door was opened by a striking tall, dark haired girl, or rather woman, I should think in her late twenties.  She was wearing black slacks and a rather tight white blouse over an ample bosom and she was a “jolie fille sexy” if ever I saw one! 

I was a bit non-plussed as I had been expecting a studio and I muttered that I was looking for Juliette.

“That’s me - Juliette” she said (She spoke French all the time but to avoid tedium I will just give the English translation, however you must realise I am struggling in a foreign language in all the conversations.)

She invited me in, and there I was.  I had imagined this would be a photographer’s studio but it was nothing of the sort.  This was her front room.

She looked at me up and down for a few seconds and said (and I can remember the exact words):

“Ah bon!  Déhabillez-vous”.  Déhabillez! Did she mean deshabillez - Take your clothes off! (you’re supposed to pronounce the ‘s’ habiller is not an aspirate ‘h’).

She stood waiting and I suddenly realised that I was going to have to go through with it.  There was no going back.  I was in the middle of her front room, and I was going to have to strip naked.  I couldn’t get out of it now – I couldn’t just say “Oh I didn’t understand. I’ve got another appointment– Good Bye” – that would have made me look stupid.  So I just had to get on with it.

Then, as if it was obvious, and perhaps sensing my reticence she smiled and said  “Nous sommes à Paris monsieur”.  The “monsieur” sounded strangely formal considering the circumstances.

Oh well I was going to have to do it.

And not quite knowing what to do next I looked around.  Where was I to get undressed?  Surely there must be some sort of changing room, or a screen even.  She could hardly just expect me to strip naked in the middle of her front room could she?  Oh yes she could. 

“Where do I get undressed” I asked

“Just take your clothes off here”, she repeated “and to put them on the chair”

I was just to stand there and take all my clothes off in the middle of her front living room.
. 
I sat on the settee and took my shoes off and I waited.  Then perhaps sensing my embarrassment she turned her back while I undressed.

I sat down and took off my shoes.  That was it I’d committed myself.  Once I’d started to strip I’d have to continue.

And that’s what I did.  One by one my clothes all came off and when she turned round there I was standing in my birthday suit, displaying my penis to her (I hoped) admiring gaze. 

That is the trouble with being a man when you are in the nude.  Unlike a girl who can demurely keep her legs together, as a man I was now being forced to display my penis. And I wasn’t at all sure by now what sort of pictures she was going to get.

Should it (that is to say my penis) be demurely hidden, or on full display and more worryingly (and I’m sorry if this is a bit rude but I’m just telling it as it was) was she going to get it up or down.  It may seem strange but that’s exactly what you worry about in that situation.

I looked around.  I was in a front living room with a rug in front of a fireplace, a settee in red leather, and a statue of the Venus de Milo.  In an alcove was a computer. 

This wasn’t a photographer’s studio.  This was her front room.  I looked back at her.  She was holding a digital camera to take the photos and I suddenly got a feeling that this was strange for a photographer (digital cameras were quite unusual at that time).  And then it struck me.  She wasn’t a real photographer, I was standing completely in the nude in the front room of a housewife amusing herself

She suddenly announced  “Are you cold?”

Lest you think from this that she was complaining that on surveying my penis she had found it shrunk, this was not the case.  In fact she was asking the question because she’d noticed I had gone from blushing to shivering 

Not surprising with nothing on you might think, but the fact is I was not shivering with cold, I was shivering with embarrassment.  The funny thing is that if you had asked be the question hypothetically I would have said that I would have had no objection to being seen with no clothes on.  I regarded myself as matter of fact about such things. 

But this is what happens when you find yourself in the nude in front of a stranger. I suppose embarrassment about our own nudity is something so built in that we can’t help it.  And here I was in a strange house with a “jolie fille sexy” I’d only just met, and somehow was ending up standing there in front of her in the all together showing her my penis.  What made it really embarrassing was that I was completely nude and she was fully clothed - it was just like one of those peculiar dreams where everyone is dressed and you’re not. 

When you think about it this is one of the reasons why people enjoy looking at a real Ive nude.  It was not just that she was enjoying looking at me in the nude (which I suppose she was), she was enjoying my embarrassment at her looking at me in the nude.  That is after all the essence of a lot of amusement – seeing other people’s embarrassment (as well I suppose as seeing other people’s naughty bits).

And I freely admit it - I’d never felt so embarrassed in all my life and there was nothing I could do about it. 

Anyway now I was going to find out exactly how “artistic” the pictures were to be.

Sorry if some of these descriptions are explicit, but I think it’s best just to use straightforward words to describe anatomical parts (and anatomical parts will have to be described).

She asked me to stand beside the statue, and I stood back to the camera.

“Now face the camera”, she said

Now for the full frontal.  Well we were in Paris. 

I waited for her to say something.  Perhaps to arrange things so as to cover my well… you know… private parts, but she just looked and said “Good.  But smile and be more sexy, move your right leg slightly forwards, stick your hip out, that is more sexy,” all the time I was being told to be more sexy.

She clicked the camera.


Not quite artistic – they were sexy photos of me in the nude.  I couldn’t smile though.  I was honestly too embarrassed.

Anyway, if she wasn’t happy with state of my smile she didn’t seem worried. I must say she seemed to be enjoying herself, and I suppose if we can bring a little happiness into the world (even if it’s only by letting a girl have a good look at you in the nude) it is a small achievement to