Date: Fri, 29 Mar 2019 02:58:08 +0100
From: corey_grant@gmx.com
Subject: AJ Goes to Art School 4

AJ Kingsley wasn't quite sure where he was going.

"Class" -- that was for certain. Reaching that destination was an
imperative, something he absolutely must accomplish. But just where was the
room he needed to get to?

For the second time that day, the burly and well-built college man found
himself meandering through the cramped and narrow corridors of the Visual
Arts Building -- somewhere on campus that he, a sports science major and a
jock through-and-through, never expected to be.

Yet, his location was hardly the most unexpected thing about his present
circumstances. To be fair, it was within the realm of possibility for him
at some point in his life to end up in the part of the campus where they
quarantined all the artsy-fartsy weirdos; however, the exact way he was
there seemed far beyond what was ever conceivable before now.

Despite the young man's profound aversion to having his body be the subject
of random prying eyes and unwelcome curious gazes, he found himself in this
moment walking bare-ass naked in a public place -- and doing this just so
that he could go perform his role as a nude model for an entire classroom
full of fellow college students.

Rounding another of the tight corners of the Visual Arts Building, AJ was
relieved to see that he had yet to inadvertently flash any unsuspecting
passers-by, there being only one person ahead of him yet again: Francis,
the limp-wristed queer whom he'd previously begrudgingly accepted as part
of the package deal with his ex-girlfriend and who now, it seemed, he had
to accept as part of his present circumstance, his pink-shirted peer
serving as his guide. Still not understanding precisely why he kept
marching toward a fate he so anxiously wanted to avoid, AJ nevertheless
kept time with Francis, knowing the he needed to follow the art student in
order to arrive at the classroom where he would shortly be put on display
for everyone to inspect his bare flesh with artistic precision.

Owing to a still-not-shaken sense of mental fogginess -- coupled with how
swiftly they were moving through this maze of a building -- AJ definitely
did not know the way back from here. Going forward, it seemed, was his only
option -- something that only filled him with greater unease by the minute.

He was, after all, becoming more and more defenceless with every step he
took. Not only was he as naked as the day he was born while parading around
his college campus, but he was getting farther and farther away from the
things that could spare him from this predicament. Now quite lost in these
corridors, he had no idea how he would even get back to the room where he
had abandoned his phone, his wallet, his keys (both of the car and home
variety), and, most importantly, every single thread of clothing with which
he had maintained his privacy of body and his dignity of self only an hour
prior.

It was like he was on a ship adrift at sea, quickly losing sight of
shore. The dream of being saved -- of returning to safety and security --
was quickly fading inside him, while the reality of his fate became more
and more apparent. Helpless, a force beyond the young man's comprehension
continued to push him out into the terrifyingly unknown horizon.

As such, he wracked his brain, trying to figure out where the impulses that
drove him to this moment could possibly have come from.

All the things he had done up to this point were not just unlikely
decisions that one would call "out of character." No, his behaviour since
his first encounter with the art professor represented a complete and utter
antithesis of his character, so many of the young man's choices running
fundamentally contrary to his core sense of self.

The cool air tickling and teasing all the most intimate parts of his body,
the young man searched his mind for a reason for his exposure to be
occurring. What on earth could have possibly possessed him to abandon any
and all claims to personal privacy like this, to be strutting proudly
through a public place in nothing but his birthday suit?

Whatever answer AJ could have arrived at -- having exhausted the possible,
he was just now starting to accept the impossible -- he was cut short of
pursuing this line of inquiry further, his guide summoning him back to the
present moment by turning around and calling out in his lisping voice,
"Come on, AJ! Hurry up!"

It was less what Francis did just then as how he did it that set something
off inside of AJ. In addressing him, Francis had not looked him in the face
for even an instant, his eyes instead darting immediately where to AJ's sex
organ freely flopped about in the open.

The little homo must be loving this. AJ knew Francis had been trying to get
a look at the goods for years, having felt his eyes eating up his bare
flesh every time he had been convinced to peel off his shirt while others
were around. And then there was their encounter in the gym locker room a
few weeks prior when the little pervert had been waiting outside his shower
stall trying to sneak a peek (which now seemed rather trivial in light of
how the whole shebang was on display presently).

Memories such as these called to mind yet again how fundamentally out of
sorts this situation was. Prior to today, AJ's visceral aversion to other
men having any opportunity to size him up in a sexual way had kept his body
under wraps any time such a scenario could conceivably present itself.

"Yo, faggot," AJ gruffly retorted, the gloves having come off (along with
the rest of his clothes, it seems). "Eyes up top," he added, back
straightening and chest puffing out, intent on reminding Francis that,
despite his nakedness, the goods on display were still strictly not meant
for the art student's viewing.

"Wh... what?" Francis asked, apparently having been absorbed in the
spectacle he'd been observing, not fully having processed what AJ said in
that moment.

Now stopping for the first time since they'd started on their journey, the
face of AJ's guide started to shift from a look of being dazed to one of
alarm, evidently half-aware that AJ had conveyed some kind of "fightin'
words" to him.

Undaunted, still in his authoritative pose, AJ sauntered up to the
now-stationary Francis. The smaller man clearly intimidated -- AJ's
imposing form succeeding at asserting his authority even if he was bare-ass
in front of a fully clothed rival -- he peered down at Francis, now getting
the eye contact from him that a respectful interaction deserved.

"I said: `Yo, faggot. Eyes up' --"

But AJ was cut short of completing his reiteration to the
now-terrified-looking Francis, another voice interrupting the exchange.

"AJ!" an enthused baritone called out from somewhere behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, AJ spotted the source of this appellation:
walking towards them was a tightly-bearded man with a strong jawline and
salt-and-pepper hair, clad in grey slacks and a plaid dress shirt -- the
whole outfit made less dressy by the casual way in which he wore it, with
the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and the top button undone, allowing for
a hint of his chest hair to sprout out.

"Dr. Blake...?" AJ confusedly muttered, unsure of both why his former
Sports Psychology professor was in the Visual Arts Building and why the
psychologist seemed so very pleased to see him.

"And here I thought I was going to be late," Blake offered with a
good-natured chuckle as he neared the two.

While everyone else whom AJ had encountered since his complete disrobing
had greeted his x-rated appearance with shock or surprise, Blake seemed
quite nonchalant about the young man's state of undress, acting as though
everything about the situation were perfectly ordinary. Instead of
inquiring about why his former student was walking around campus in the
buff, the psychologist asked rather, "Who's your friend?" motioning toward
Francis.

"Uh... this is, umm, Francis," AJ said, his moment to reassert dominance
over the art student now passing as he struggled to determine how to react
to Dr. Blake's appearance instead. "He's... a friend of Jessica's."

Placing Francis in relation to Jessica instead of to Prof. Schwartz seemed
most appropriate since Dr. Blake was, in fact, the reason AJ and Jessica
had started dating. AJ being a sports science major and Jessica a psych
student, Sports Psychology was the only degree credit the two
shared. Although the two had cross paths before that point, the proper
conversation out of which their relationship blossomed came about from
their having been randomly paired as work partners in Blake's class.

AJ had, of course, encountered Blake since then, with the psychologist
being one of the few people over the age of 25 who could be found regularly
in the campus gym. While never exactly chummy, AJ and Blake had certainly
exchanged polite greetings and small talk from time to time.

More than this, however, Jessica had kept an awareness of Blake in AJ's
periphery, his ex-girlfriend having been the psychologist's research
assistant last year.

Although AJ would never admit it, Blake had always been something of a role
model for him. His role as his professor had meant little to the jock, AJ
having no love for book-learning. Instead, what he admired in Blake was the
man's dedication to physical fitness in so many ways.

After all, Dr. Blake's class had given him new insight into the nature of
athleticism: what motivated people to pursue physical fitness, what kept
people doing it, and what drove people like AJ himself to constantly push
for better and better and bigger and bigger in the gym. Never having been
much of a team sports player, but always a dedicated solo gym rat, it was
the insight AJ gained into his own unique psyche from Blake that first
sewed the seeds of admiration in his mind.

It was more than the psychology professor's dedication to fitness in the
abstract, however, that led AJ to hold him in such high regard. Rather, it
was seeing the man in the campus gym, surrounded by so many
twenty-somethings with all the easy advantages of youth on their side,
remain undeterred in pushing himself to achieve his personal best. In this
way, AJ sometimes thought he might be looking at a future version of
himself -- not in appearance, per se, but in attitude. In Blake, he saw
spiritual kin: a man who, regardless of age or capacity, remained dedicated
to perfecting his instrument.

"Nice to meet you, Francis," the psychologist said, extending his hand to
the art student. "Dr. Benjamin Blake."

Returning the psychologist's handshake, a look of recognition popped onto
Francis's face. "Oh, `Benjamin'? Jessica's mentioned you. She was your
research assistant until your project lost fund... err, until last year,
right?"

AJ took little notice of the funding-talk faux pas with which Francis had
almost stuck his foot in his mouth. Rather, hearing the name with which
Jessica had mentioned the man to Francis, AJ immediately wondered at what
point his former lover had gotten to be on a first-name basis with him. The
whole time they'd been together, she'd called him by the surname and title
with which they had both first come to know him: "Dr. Blake." Since when
was he "Benjamin"?

Dr. Blake being someone whom AJ held in high esteem, he was loathe to
follow his thoughts where they first pointed: to the inkling that his
ex-professor was banging his ex-girlfriend.

But Dr. Blake wouldn't sleep with a student, would he?

No... no, of course not. The man had integrity. If Jessica had come to know
him on a first-name basis, it wasn't due to any indiscretions on his part,
but rather thanks to his down-to-earth disposition. No doubt he insisted on
students dropping the honorifics when they weren't in classes any longer
and instead were working with him like any other colleague would.

Unperturbed by Francis's unintended dig at his funding woes -- wasn't
Dr. Blake, after all, always a "go with the flow" kind of guy? -- the
psychologist carried on, "Yep, I'm the slave driver she was always
complaining to you about," ending his self-deprecating comment with a wink.

"So, are you looking for her?" Francis asked, gazing at the psychologist
intently.

AJ had no doubt in his mind that the fruitcake beside him was checking the
admittedly handsome man out -- something which made him feel relieved, but
also somewhat rebuffed, the older man's attractiveness apparently being
enough to divert Francis's attention away from the fully naked gym-fit
college man on offer next to him.

"Oh, no," Blake replied with a dismissive wave. "I'm here for this one," he
added, motioning toward AJ.

"Me?" AJ asked, feeling all eyes land on him as his form became the centre
of everyone's attention once more. "Why are you here for me?"

"Well, I came to show my support, of course!" Blake enthused, grabbing AJ's
upper arm in a paternal gesture of encouragement (one which threatened to
become more of a sizing up if he held it any longer, seeming as he did to
squeeze AJ's bare bicep just a little too firmly). "I just think it's so
great how you're committed to de-stigmatizing nudism like this."

"Umm..." the young man vocalized, mentally weighing his options.

De-stigmatizing nudism? What the fuck did that even mean?

It sounded like the kind of Social Justice Warrior hokum that a meathead
like AJ wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.

But, then again... It was better than any other explanation he could
give. What alternative could he offer? That he's walking around a public
place buck naked because some weirdo art professor made him feel dizzy? If
he said anything like that, he'd sound either totally nuts or like he could
only come up with the flimsiest of excuses for what to all outside
appearances must seem like a perverted exhibitionist just getting his
kicks.

So, the college man decided to run with it: de-stigmatizing nudism it is.

"Yeah... that's it... that's what I'm trying to do," he said, conviction
increasingly finding its way into his voice. "It's real important issue,
you know, nudism and everything."

"Honestly," Blake began, "I think nudism is going to be the next civil
rights struggle. People like you should be able to live their lives
openly."

"People like me?" AJ swallowed hard at that, unsure of just how completely
he could embrace the full story the de-stigmatizing nudism angle would
entail. "Well, I don't know if I'd really say I'm --"

"Ah, don't try to be modest! It's really such a brave thing you're doing,
standing up for who you are." Blake offered enthusiastically, rubbing AJ's
bare upper arm yet again. "I really admire you for doing this," the
psychology professor effused, seemingly overcome with joy for his former
student's "activism" on the issue.

AJ was filled with profoundly mixed sentiments at that remark. Dr. Blake
"admired" him? When he and his clothing had first been parted, AJ had
foreseen only humiliation, certainly not admiration. As such, he felt an
unexpected pride swelling up inside of him, receiving such a comment of
respect from someone whom he himself held in high esteem.

But, at the same time... Was this what he wanted to be admired for? It did
not help him feel any less exposed to know that his nudity carried some
kind of social activism value with it.

"You know, if I'm being honest," Blake began, leaning in and keeping his
voice lowered in a conspiratorial tone, "I'm actually a bit of a nudist
myself."

Francis (whom AJ had forgotten was even still there) involuntarily
sputtered at Blake's statement, likely caught off-guard at how much the
scene playing out in front of him must resemble the intro to a gay porno:
an attractive father figure telling a young, naked muscle-man about his own
propensity for nudism.

Francis's response apparently reminded Blake that he and AJ were not
alone. The psychologist pulled back, putting a polite distance between
himself and AJ once more.

"But not like you are, of course," Blake quickly corrected. "I just mean at
home, for myself."

Translation: "I'm not a pervert like you, forcing everyone to take a good
look at my body. I'm just the kind of guy who likes to spend a lazy
Saturday morning au naturel."

Dr. Blake's statement stung. Where AJ had been momentarily uplifted by the
prospect of his predicament somehow making him more like a man he looked up
to, it turned out what his former professor actually meant that AJ was in a
league of his own -- not part of some mass underground nudist movement, but
instead a freak with whom at least some normal-seeming folks like Dr. Blake
might be able to partly sympathize.

"At least for me," Blake continued, "when I'm naked around other people, I
guess I kind of assume they're going to find something sexually exciting
about it. I could never do the kind of thing you're doing, being completely
naked in public and all. I'd just feel like everyone was looking at me like
a piece of meat."

Just leaving it at that would have been bad enough: the psychology
professor was telling an increasingly dejected AJ exactly what made him
(even as an "activist" trying to "de-stigmatize nudism") utterly different
from anyone who liked to casually unwind at home in the buff. Being fully
naked in a place where everyone else kept themselves respectably covered,
however, it was hard not to assume he was on display for others to take a
good look at something that would give them an erotic thrill.

But Blake did not just leave it at that; he did not just let the
implication hang in the air. Instead, he continued on to add, "I mean, it's
really a testament to how steadfast you are in your nudism, just how
comfortable you seem having this conversation right now. But, if I'm being
honest, it's hard for me to keep looking you in the eye while we're talking
and not down at your dick just hanging out in the open," abandoning all
pretence and directing his gaze right to AJ's member.

AJ felt himself burning with blushes anew, having been caught completely
off guard by his former professor suddenly gawking so openly at his
package. With all this talk of "de-stigmatizing nudism," AJ had started to
believe there was some chance for his state of undress to be read as
respectable. And Dr. Blake had been doing so well to act as though it were
possible for this to be a peer-to-peer encounter, his seeming eye contact
really just hiding quite well that he had been sneaking glances all along
at AJ's bare flesh.

Even while trying to talk to him as a fellow person -- as an activist whom
he "admired" -- Dr. Blake couldn't help but objectify AJ, now fully
admitting that he had not only been scoping him out while they'd been
talking, but had in fact been paying special attention to AJ's most private
parts. Like Francis, it seemed that the psychology professor felt the most
appropriate place for his eyes to land was not on AJ's face, but rather on
his exposed genitalia -- the only difference being that he had been less
obvious about it up until that moment.

Fortunately for the jock, everyone's gazes resting on the space between his
legs lasted only momentarily, their attention being called elsewhere
seconds later.

"Hey!" a male voice gruffly called out.

Thankful to abandon his navel-gazing (in a manner of speaking), AJ turned
to see the figure walking briskly towards him: a tubby man with a
five-o'clock shadow that did him no favours, wearing an ill-fitting blue
uniform and carrying terrycloth fabric in his hand. He recognized the man
as Malcolm, the security guard whom he'd encountered shortly before leaving
Schwartz's office.

Appearing thoroughly vexed, the security guard continued his
approach. "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?!" he exclaimed,
motioning toward AJ's body.

Holding the terrycloth fabric forward, Malcolm's parcel revealed itself to
be a robe of the sort AJ had hoped he would have been offered when he first
denuded himself in Schwartz's office. Now reaching the group, Malcolm
continued (somewhat out of breath), "You just better hope no one spotted
you like this, buddy. You can't just go walking across campus in your
goddamn birthday suit."

AJ wanted desperately to reach out and take the item that Malcolm was
offering him. It promised so much. Even if he had to remove it again upon
reaching his final destination, it would at least afford him for a few
minutes things that he now profoundly craved the return of: just a moment's
privacy or a semblance of dignity among his peers once more.

Yet, much like how every attempt he made at throwing his hands in front of
his most private parts had been met with utter failure, so too was this. AJ
found, yet again, that there was a traitor somewhere in his mind: the
impulse to accept the robe -- and with it, the privacy and dignity it would
provide -- was almost instantly subdued by a much stronger and much more
insistent thought telling him to retract his hand, not to take the
proffered item.

Malcolm's eyes briefly flitted to the half-movement of AJ's arms. His upper
lip raised in a display disgust, the security guard no doubt mistaking the
twitches there (which were, in truth, frustrated impulses to reach out and
accept the robe) for AJ instead flagrantly tensing his biceps in an attempt
to show off the musculature on display.

"Well, come on now, don't just stand there," Malcolm grumbled, his eyes
meeting AJ's yet again. "Put the damn thing on."

"Umm, well..." AJ searched his mind for a response, trying to find an
explanation for his apparent inaction that would not deprive him of the
possibility of still getting the robe in the end.

"Excuse me," Dr. Blake said, clearing his throat. "And just who are you?"

Withdrawing the garment (and dashing AJ's hopes), Malcolm turned his
attention to the psychologist.

"I'm Campus Security, sir."

"Right, okay," Blake replied, crossing his arms and nodding. "Then, aren't
you here to ensure this young man's security?"

"Well, I..." Malcolm began, his eyes narrowing in a way that suggested he
took Blake's comment to be a challenge to his authority. "I'm not just here
for him," Malcolm continued, "The rest of the campus population has a right
not to be subjected to some pervert's indecent exposure."

AJ winced at that, almost snapping back at Malcolm that he wasn't "some
pervert." But the young man caught himself, deciding it was best to let
Dr. Blake continue. After all, it seemed that his former professor had an
idea in the works for how AJ's sense of security could be returned.

"Oh, come on," Blake flippantly retorted. "You can't honestly believe he's
doing any harm."

"With respect, sir, other people don't want--"

Blake cut the security guard off with an impassioned interjection: "Other
people also don't want to be surrounded by women in head-to-toe cloaks, but
I've got two students in full burqas in my Intro to Psych class and I've
certainly never seen Campus Security accosting them."

Malcolm raised a hand as if moving to offer a comeback, but said nothing
upon opening his mouth. The security guard appeared stumped, unable to
directly counter Blake's point.

Malcolm providing nothing by way of rebuttal, the psychologist continued,
"We let some students cover absolutely everything up if that's what they
want to do, so why shouldn't we let AJ cover absolutely nothing up if
that's what he wants to do? This is a university, after all; students are
going to be exposed to things that make them uncomfortable. But it's AJ's
right as a nudist to do all the same things other students do, and we
shouldn't make him wear clothes to do them."

This being quite the opposite of what AJ thought Dr. Blake was going to
advocate for, the young man was absolutely aghast at what the psychologist
was actually proposing: not just that he should walk to Schwartz's art
class in the buff right now, but that his everyday college life could
(perhaps even "should") be lived like this, with every inch of him out in
full view while going about his daily activities.

AJ made to respond to this -- to make it clear that this was most certainly
not what he wanted to do -- but was preempted by the security guard's own
dismissal of Blake's point.

"This is ridiculous," Malcolm firmly stated, shaking his head as if he were
trying to rid his mind of the idea of Blake's proposal altogether. "I can't
believe I even have to defend why some fucking pervert has to put on some
goddamn clothes on a college campus," he added, his frustration abundantly
evidenced by the drop of his professional demeanour and the genuine anger
bubbling up through his expletives.

At that, the security guard moved to put the robe on AJ himself, stepping
behind him and reaching up to drape it over the naked man's shoulders.

AJ had not realized before then just how much satisfaction could be derived
from something as simple as the feeling of rough and scratchy terrycloth
rubbing against his shoulders, back, and buttocks. Of course, it was not
anything specific to the fabric that made it such a delight, but rather
what it meant: finally, the young man had returned to him some modicum of
privacy, something that shielded his body's intimate details from every set
of eyes that happened to land on it. Even without the robe done up and his
frontside still in full view, just having some kind of covering on one part
of his body filled the heretofore completely exposed college student with a
profound sense of relief: the threat of which he had been so acutely aware
was finally being combatted.

But AJ was wrong if he thought the only threat to fight was one external to
him. The young man mistakenly seemed to believe the only thing he needed to
fear was the world he was being led out into (one in which he was powerless
to prevent anyone's eyes from capturing any and every part of his
body). What the college man had yet to fully accept was that the
fundamental threat to his dignity no longer resided in the outside realm --
rather, a threat much more menacing than anything else he could encounter
in the world at large had taken root deep, deep, deep inside his own mind.

And so it was with great surprise to AJ himself when, mere seconds after
the textile caressed his skin, he violently thrust the robe off from his
body and returned to his backside the only things he would be permitted to
feel on his skin for any moment in the foreseeable future: not the warmth
of any garment nor the texture of any fabric, but only cool air and hungry
gazes.

It would be difficult to tell for certain who was most caught off guard by
the sudden force with which AJ cast off the robe.

Francis -- who had been passive witness to the psychology professor and
security guard's dispute over what to do with AJ's body -- was awoken into
action, instantly taking several steps back in alarm and emitting a gasp of
surprise.

Likewise, though Dr. Blake's position in front of AJ did not put him into
immediate harm's way, he also moved to give the towering muscle man a wide
berth for his unexpectedly violent rejection of the thing that would cover
his body from view. In light of AJ's size and stature, even getting caught
as collateral damage in the gym-fit stud's spastic movement could easily
result in unintended injury.

Being situated behind AJ, Malcolm was the only one of the three to feel any
of the physical effects of the jock's outburst -- although, thankfully for
the security guard, what collided with him was not AJ's strong back nor his
powerful arms, but instead the robe flying off AJ's body. Stumbling
backwards and almost falling flat on his ass, the security guard just
barely managed to steady himself against the wall behind him.

"Jesus Christ!" a flustered Malcolm exclaimed as he tore the garment away
from his face. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

AJ, of course, was just as shocked as everyone else was with the action he
had taken, being completely caught off guard by his own violent rejection
of the robe covering his rear. Bewildered, scanning the faces around him
which showed varying degrees of surprise, confusion, and fear, AJ let the
words from deep inside him simply flow out from his mouth: "I need to be
naked now."

The young man himself did not know from where the meaning of the words
came, nor why it was such an imperative. However, not wanting to appear as
a complete lunatic nor the pervert that Malcolm had interpellated him as,
AJ followed up with the only half-reasonable explanation he could grab hold
of: "I'm... making a statement... for, uh, nudist rights."

The faces around him, their looks of alarming fading, appeared to be buying
the explanation -- or were at least relieved to have some kind of reason
given to the violent spasm that seemed to have come out of
nowhere. Dr. Blake even appeared pleased with AJ's claim, his concerned
expression giving away to a smirk.

Realizing that this was working to ensure he seemed at least a smidgen sane
and decent, AJ continued (his voice shaky, but unfaltering): "Us nudists,
you know, we've put up with authorities trying to force us into covering up
for long enough."

"It's okay, AJ," Blake said warmly, his hand grasping AJ's bicep in a
(reassuring?) gesture once more. "I want you to know I support you 100% in
this."

Dr. Blake's words would likely have been comforting to AJ if he had
maintained eye contact the whole time he was relating them. But apparently
that would have been too much to ask for, as the psychologist's eyes
brazenly trailed down AJ's form before he had even finished his
statement. Taking just a little too long to study his former student's
exposed genitals yet again, Blake eventually tore his eyes away to glare at
the security guard and comment, "We should all support him. He's doing a
very brave thing, showing us who he really is."

"Christ..." Malcolm muttered, before throwing his hands up in a gesture of
defeat. "Fine, fine...We'll do it your way," he grumblingly added,
apparently having been cowed into agreement by AJ's display of force.

The meagre art student of the group having faded into the background,
Francis cleared his throat to call attention. "Does this mean we can
finally be on our way again? I have to take AJ to class," he said, the last
statement coming across with a poorly-contained sense of urgency.

Smiling warmly, Blake looked to the soon-to-be art model, "What do you say,
AJ? Still up for this?"

"I have to go to the class," AJ replied without skipping a beat, those
words leaving his mouth in much the same way his "I need to be naked now"
statement had -- him not quite knowing why he was saying them, just that
they had to be said.

"Great, great," Blake responded. "Francis, why don't you lead the way?"

As Francis turned to resume his role as AJ's guide, Blake directed his
attention to the security guard: "And why don't you take him up the rear?"

AJ shot glances to both Blake and Malcolm, trying to determine if he had
just heard what he thought he'd heard (but wanting to give his former
professor the benefit of the doubt).

Malcolm's eyes bulged and he coughed, "I'm sorry, what?!"

"I said, `why don't you take up the rear'? You know, as in `follow behind
us'?" Blake replied, unfazed. Clearly both AJ and Malcolm had misheard
him... right?

"Uh... right... Okay, yeah," Malcolm responded, shaking his head yet again
as though he were trying to shake it free of a thought.

And so AJ, fully naked once more and now flanked by an entourage in front,
behind, and beside him, resumed his journey to his inevitable destination:
Prof. Schwartz's art class.

The soon-to-be art model was fortunate to have so many guides now ushering
him on his way since, never having been to the Visual Arts Building prior
to today, he had no idea what precise route one would have to follow to
reach the classroom. Nevertheless, rounding the corner at the end of the
hallway they were making their way down, AJ encountered something he had
not expected.

While the Visual Arts Building's layout was a mystery to him, he had
assumed that the journey to class would at least stay within the confines
of its cramped corridors. So, it came as a great surprise when he
discovered he and his retinue were navigating toward two large metal doors
at the hallway's end.

"Where, uh, where are we going?" AJ asked, turning to Dr. Blake beside him.

The psychologist grinned coyly. "Are you feeling okay, AJ?" he
asked. "We're going to class, of course."

Naturally, AJ was not "feeling okay," but that seemed to be a less pressing
matter to address than the issue of where he was heading.

"But we're not going outside, are we?" an increasingly trepidatious AJ
inquired, eyeing the metal doors at the hallway's end with concern.

Blake chuckled before saying, "No, of course not!"

AJ felt a great relief come over him. Although still dreading performing
the role of a nude art model in front of fellow college students, he could
at least take comfort in knowing there was nothing else for which he would
have to brace himself -- that his journey was almost at an end and he could
leave in the past his fears over public exposure.

The tension, however, started to creep back into AJ's body when Francis
pushed open one of the metal doors and he spotted a wide open space on the
other side. At that, Blake added to his previous reply to AJ: "We're
heading to the Media Studies Centre."

Things clicked in AJ's mind, suddenly able to correlate pieces of
information that had remained disconnected until that moment. The
construction he had spotted down in the "historic" quarter of campus last
year -- now he remembered exactly what it had been for: the university's
much-publicized, state-of-the-art, multi-purpose Media Studies Centre.

Jock and sports science major that he was, AJ had as little reason to make
his way to the Media Studies Centre as he did the Visual Arts Building. But
the former was an edifice of which he was much more aware, the school
having been relentless in advertising its newest edition: a glass
monstrosity of twenty-first-century architecture, its open concept giving
to the students of today common areas and cool cafés where they
could pass their time.

If AJ had not been as fair-skinned as he was, those around him would have
at that moment seen that he was going as white as a ghost. He felt his
stomach drop and a cold sweat break out over his body as realized to where
he was being led, finding that -- no matter how hard he tried -- he was
unable to stop his legs from carrying him along in following Francis
through the threshold out of the narrow hallways of the Visual Arts
Building and into the wide-open atrium of the Media Studies Centre.

The petrified young man perceived a capacious expanse full of dozens of
fellow students milling about: walking along casually, studying at various
seats along the walls, standing in line at the packed coffee shop straight
ahead.

However, it took only a few seconds for heads to turn, eyes to widen, and
conversations to stop as countless gazes fell squarely upon AJ's buck naked
form.

Coming up beside him, Dr. Blake chimed in, "Don't worry, AJ. You can do
this." Laying a hand on the small of his back to encourage him to continue
moving forward, the older man concluded, "It's time to let people really
see who you are."