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the life of a model

Campbell - Frank College at 8:15 a.m. was still just waking up on this sunny spring day. As the world got green one could best appreciate that the campus landscaping was beautiful. Grassy hills and lawns gave the effect of pastoral spaciousness even though the campus was actually pretty small. Abstract sculptures placed here and there added to this effect. At this time of morning, the long sleepy shadows of bright sun threw every little rise into sharp relief. With the dew on the grass and the newly sprung flowers here and there and the singing of birds, it seemed like the world itself was new and fresh. And actually a little chilly, though the sun was warm and in a couple of hours it would be almost hot.

Only a handful of classes began as early as 8:00, and there were few people walking around at this hour. Those walking past the Student Union, if they looked up and a little to the left of the academic quad, would see the white abstract metal sculpture of a giant chair, with smooth rounded curves. And on top of this chair was a naked girl, legs spread and looking down at a small group of students in folding chairs with sketch pads.

Tami Smithers, her beautiful skin covered with goose bumps, shivered a bit as a slight breeze came out from a shadow somewhere. Sitting up on the giant chair like a little naked midget, about five feet above the ground, she was obediently following instructions, spreading her legs as far apart as she could, almost a split, on the cold metal, her back leaning against the cold curved back of the chair. Also per instructions, her hands were on her inner thighs, spreading her bare, shaven pussy lips as far apart as she could, and her gaze was directed right into the faces of her watchers, with a small smile. Also per instructions.

The students, heavily clad in sweaters and sweatshirts, looked up intently at the naked girl’s gaping-open pussy and then down at their sketchbooks. Sitting in the very front was a young man with a wide, doofy smile, looking intensely into the reddish darkness of the girl’s cavity, then trying to make eye contact with her, but her gaze was resolutely dull and not focused on anyone in particular. To one side stood Professor Brignon, in a stylish sweater over a flannel shirt, trim jeans, and fluffy moccasins, by turns walking around to look at the sketches, and then standing up next to the model and pointing to her crotch, which was almost at her eye level. Her thick, melodious French accent was easily heard over the singing birds in the early morning quiet. “Notice again the standing out of Tami’s clitoris, how it forms a shadow over the side of her lips now that they are bare. . . ”

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