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The suit.

Let me draw you as I see you.


An Art Adventure
June 2020 - May 2021

A toast.

This may have been one of my favorite session requests of all time. It happened in quarantine, and I had been mostly starved for kink. The message in my inbox came from someone I’ll call sub n. He described a dynamic that he wanted to recreate. Many years back, he had been photographed nude by a woman who was doing a series on male nudes. He had posed for her, only to find himself in more and more intimate positions.

I knew instantly what this meant. My fingers tingled as I typed out a response. Put on something cute, I said. We have a Zoom date.

The day came. Watching him through a screen, I teased him about the clothing he chose: a three-piece suit. How safe.

I asked him to undress  no, slower, as if you were teasing me. To pose himself for me, showing off his chest, the way the light fell across his hands. To begin to touch himself.

I watched and drew. As he began to unravel, as his body opened to me, laid out across his sofa, dissected by my gaze, the intensity of my focus grew into a cold, hungry, clinical detachment.

“Did you want a portrait of yourself?”
“Why, yes — yes and no. I want a portrait. At the same time, it is a sort of unu
sual portrait I want…
At this moment the charcoal in my hands felt alive, and I thought what a pleasure it would be to draw the lines of this person, almost like caressing him. He had taken off his coat, his shirt, shoes, socks. There were only the trousers left.

-Delta of Venus, Anais Nin

Separate story. Early this summer, a very cute boy had taken me out for dinner. It had been an unseasonably warm night. He had invited me up to his apartment for a drink.

When we got there, I noticed immediately that he had a great home art studio set up in his bedroom. A small but comfortabe easel, a drafting table, his various endeavors scattered about the room. As we drank and talked, the conversation turned to our respective drawing practices, and he wanted to show me the new brush and ink set he had started using.

Why don't you just draw me? I suggested. I sat down on his bed. After he finished the first drawing, I gave a few light critiques. Pointing to his scattered lines I remarked that you could barely see the form of the body.

I took off my shirt.

“Draw me again.”

Astounded, he complied without hesitation. When this drawing was done, I was much harsher. This wasn’t right. The brushwork is much too rigid, as if you were using a pencil. Ink should not be angular and structured, it should be free and expressive.

I took off my skirt.

“Again,” I said.