Whenever I see naked men, I always wonder what it would be like to live in the wild. Imagine being Jane Porter alone in the jungle when Tarzan jumps out of the trees, nearly naked, muscles rippling beneath his bronze skin as he tears a lion off you. As you lay breathless and bloodied on the ground, you watch him tear off the lion's jaw with his bare hands, his back glistening in the moonlight. He is tall and thick and strong, with those wide shoulders that flex as he hurls the growling beast into the underbrush. His loincloth hangs dangerously low, revealing a glimpse of his manhood dangling there. He throws his head back in a deep growl. He is engorged now with the adrenaline.
It takes a moment for him to remember you there - you, lying weakly, now pushing yourself up feebly agaisnt the base of a tree, trying to crawl away, your heart racing in your chest. He rushes up to you with rough curiosity, brings his face to your neck as he sniffs you deeply and licks your wounds the way he was taught to in the wild. You whimper, "no," but the word dissolves into a hot breath. The feel of his tongue against your skin sends shivers down your spine, up over your breasts and tingles your nipples. He licks those too, his warm mouth engulfing them, his hardness against your thigh. A grunt. He is an animal and he wants you now. He will take you. He grabs your wrists with his thick hands and pushes you down.
Suddenly there is the loud rush of paper. Right. I forgot I was in Human Figure class. The model turns himself over on his bench, lifting his hips to expose to me the glorious intersection of his ass crack and his penis. His long and girthy organ leans seductively over his thigh. He looks me in the eye. Am I not beautiful? he seems to ask. I bite my lip and ponder the thickness and length of him. I've never seen an uncircumsized one before. It's strange, the vague shadow of a head wrapped in a delicate skin. But then it blossoms, the pink emerges, and I imagine the thin wrinkle of it against my tongue, the smooth round top pressing firmly against the roof of my mouth.
I flip the page on my easal. Too much time wasted thinking. Need to scribble something fast. Gottheim steps up quietly behind me.
"Oh my!" she says, leaning over my shoulder. "What an interesting position."
We both stare for a moment. She smiles and walks away.
1 comment:
Lmfao the end of this had me laughing so hard with Gottheim XD "Oh my!"
Objectively speaking I think this is a really interesting topic for a piece of microfiction (yay using terms from my prose class all the way over here!). I love the structure most of all I'd say, it being framed in the context of a human figure class. It's great how the first line suggests that the narrator is seeing a naked man, but gives no indication of why she might be seeing one, and the reader wonders if, in fact, she is even seeing one at all or just imagining it. By the time it comes around to the rustling paper you're just like "Wtf - paper? Is she reading the book?" And then you realize that she's staring at the model and it all comes together quite neatly. Without that particular context it might seem like a typical daydream worthy of an erotica novel, but it gives it depth this way.
Maybe sometimes the descriptions were a bit too blatantly sexual - if there was a way to imply the erotic undertones without stating it right out? Maybe you could play with the language and see how much you can say without outright saying it? :P
Also I really liked how the narrator can't resist having daydreams no matter what - it starts with the exotic Tarzan fantasy, and then goes into the real life one ;)
The ending actually worked really well too. It's exactly something Gottheim would do and so it's true to life, but literarily it's a really effective interaction, because it kind of implies that the teacher might feel the same way as the student when she looks at naked men, expanding the narrator's experience to a universal appreciation of the glory of man as a sexual entity. It's a good place to end. Good stuff ;P
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