Date: Fri, 19 Oct 2018 06:15:12 +0200
From: corey_grant@gmx.com
Subject: AJ Goes to Art School 3

Malcolm Wallace poured himself a cup of coffee, knowing that it would only
be the first of many he'd be relying on to stay alert for the long night
ahead of him.

As he picked up his mug and took his first careful sip of the
still-steaming bitter brew, he glanced at the clipboard sitting atop the
desk in the centre of the Campus Security office. Furrowing his brow, he
muttered the document's title under his breath: "'Security Escort Request',
huh?"

Skimming the page, Malcolm noticed the form had only been submitted that
morning -- explaining why he hadn't been informed of this before
now. Nevertheless, at least a few minutes' advance warning would have been
nice: when he'd arrived moments earlier, all his co-worker for the evening
had only told him there was some "paperwork to look over."

According to the form, someone in the Visual Arts Building needed a
security escort in only 10 minutes' time. What if he had dallied before
turning to what was obviously a time-sensitive document? He wondered -- not
for the first time -- if Raul was just not taking this job seriously, if
his coworker was just borderline illiterate, or if he was some combination
of the two.

It struck Malcolm -- again, not for the first time -- that it was an unfair
world where he and Raul were peers instead of Malcolm being the other man's
supervisor. Yet, although that was hardly the only unfairness he faced in
life, for some reason he never could quite accept that genuine merit and
hard work were not always rewarded as they should be. Circumstance, it
seemed, always ruled the day.

Fifteen years on this campus and ten in the same job had, little by little,
made Malcolm a deeply jaded man. His time as a student here had earned him
a criminology degree -- and more student debt than he would ever
conceivably be able to pay.

Long gone were the days of a bright-eyed young man with his whole life
ahead of him.

While Malcolm may still be in the same place, he was hardly the same
person. Where a receding hairline and a paunch forming around his waist
marked him as fifteen years older than the boy who first stepped foot on
this campus, it was the hardness with which he greeted the world that truly
signified the change in him. No longer did he see the twenty-somethings who
populated the school as friends with whom he could grab a beer and recount
a story about a crazy weekend. Instead, they were now his foes:
troublemaking children without a care in the world -- their juvenile
optimism wearing on his nerves and their blossoming bodies mocking the
youth that left him a little more every day.

Keeping the time in mind, Malcolm regretfully chose his professional
responsibility over his small comforts for the time being -- his caffeine
boost, while much-needed, would simply have to wait. With Raul already
doing his rounds, it fell solely to Malcolm to make good on the security
escort request laid out on the form in front of him.

Straightening his tie and doing up the button on his uniform that had come
open (not quite wanting to admit to himself that it proved stubborn not
because the shirt had shrunk in the wash, but because pounds were creeping
on to his midsection), Malcolm set off on his way to the Visual Arts
Building.

Knowing the layout of campus like the back of his hand, he read through the
form in greater detail by the dim light of the setting sun as he took the
short walk on autopilot to his destination.

Ultimately, what the document revealed to Malcolm was very little, many of
its optional spaces left blank and its filled-in portion noting the pickup
and drop-off locations for his would-be ward and little else.

While the ignorance was irritating, knowing any more details about his job
this evening was, strictly speaking, unnecessary. The standard protocols
and procedures of security escorting were familiar to him, as this was not
Malcolm's first time acting in this capacity. He had been a security escort
for invited guests on several other occasions -- none of which proving to
be anything exciting.

In his experience, most of the eggheads on campus thought their guests much
more important than they really were, believing that "controversial"
figures would genuinely have to fear for their safety for some reason or
another. In reality, however, this job usually meant only tagging alongside
some minor politician to a sparsely-attended speaking engagement somewhere
on campus.

Nevertheless, upon entering the Visual Arts Building, Malcolm found himself
pondering just what "high-profile" guest would have business here in
particular.

As he rounded the first corner of what many described as the building's
maze-like corridors (no match for someone who patrolled this campus more
often than he cared to remember), a few ideas came to mind:

A graffiti artist like Banksy, perhaps, fearing law enforcement reprisal
should his identity be revealed?

A political dissident of the Ai Weiwei sort who'd managed to attract the
ire of some foreign dictatorship?

A Yoko Ono type who'd pissed off some big name celebrity's rabid fans?

Rounding the second corner, he tried to think if he'd seen or heard
anything recently that would give him a hint at what to expect.

Had there been posters up about some event?

Even if there were, he figured, they likely had nothing to do with his task
tonight. The request form, after all, seemed to have been submitted
last-minute, suggesting a spur-of-the-moment guest more than someone whose
visit had been long-planned.

Taking one more turn, Malcolm suspected he was almost at his destination --
the voices he heard echoing down the hallway were more than likely coming
from the room he needed to reach.

As he approached, the security guard caught sight of the plaque adorning
the half-ajar door which confirmed his suspicions: Room 127 - Sebastian
Schwartz - Chair - Department of Visual Arts

While the information gleaned from the plaque came as no surprise (getting
lost was simply not something Malcolm Wallace did), one more step presented
him with a scene that was wholly unexpected.

Now looking directly into the room, Malcolm was struck by an unusual
tableau.

To the left, a young woman -- quite a knockout, he couldn't help but think
-- perched on the edge of a desk and holding what looked to be an electric
razor in her hand. Unlike the rest of the room's inhabitants, she
immediately noticed Malcolm standing in the doorway and gave him a playful
smile before looking back to where the action seemed to be taking place.

To the right, a young man -- "faggy" probably being the most apt (albeit
impolite) descriptor -- was seated and fully engrossed in the scene that
formed the main event. Apparently oblivious to anything other than what had
(understandably) garnered his full attention, he cleared his throat and
posed a question to another figure in the room: "Umm, Prof. Schwartz?"

The silver-haired dandy sharing centre stage with the real focus of
attention was no doubt the one whom the young man was addressing,
confirming this by turning his own gaze away from the room's principal
focus and to his eager pupil.

It was small wonder that neither the pink-shirted student nor the
blue-blazered professor noticed Malcolm standing in the doorway -- in fact,
it was more surprising that the young woman in the room had turned her own
gaze away from the main event long enough to register that Malcolm was even
there.

After all, next to the expertly dressed older man stood an expertly built
younger one. Yet, where Schwartz was a sea of colours and fabrics, the
sight captivating everyone's gazes was all flesh tones and furs, seeming
not to have a single stitch of clothing covering anything on him.

Catching sight of the young man in profile, stock still and making no
effort to impede anyone's view of him, Malcolm apprehended a male body in a
way he never had before.

In spite of himself, he perceived the form before him as beautiful.

Not beautiful in the way women were, of course. No, not at all. There was
nothing in the least feminine about this sight.

But there was something so pleasant about it; about the flow and ratio of
the lines from broad shoulders and prominent pectorals down to a tight,
narrow waist, curving back out into an ample buttocks supported by firm,
strong thighs; about the healthiness of a flawless fair complexion; about
the suppleness of an athletic body blooming at its prime; about the
manliness the calm confidence of this form attested to.

"I understand that models occasionally will get involuntary erections..."
Schwartz's seated student began, "but, uh, is it, umm, typical to ASK a
model to become erect while posing? Wouldn't that move us into 'the
territory of the sexual' which, as I think you said, could distract from
the 'beauty of the male form'?"

The sheer peculiarity of this question broke Malcolm from his trance.

Erections? Just what kind of thing was going on here?

More importantly... had he just checked a naked guy out?

No... No, of course not. He was just sizing him up -- a perfectly natural
thing to do.

Schwartz gave his student an animated replied, obviously delighted by the
inquiry: "A fine question, Francis! I was merely throwing out a
hypothetical -- more of a joke than anything else." Glancing over at the
"model" and then back at Francis, the older man added with a wink:
"Although, you never know what might happen."

His student gave a nervous laugh before the girl on the desk finally broke
down this scene's fourth wall. Clearing her throat and calling the art
professor's attention, she motioned to toward Malcolm with the statement,
"It looks like we've got a visitor."

Where before the beautiful (no, not "beautiful," Malcolm thought... that
word couldn't be right, could it?) man at the room's centre had held
everyone's collective attention, this was now directed at Malcolm instead.

The most peculiar response to this shift in attention came from the young
man himself. While everyone else merely gave a casual turn of the head to
glance in Malcolm's direction, the bare-ass youth at the room's centre
(who, a moment ago, had seemed so relaxed) was suddenly all spasms and
twitches.

At first, it seemed like he was moving to cover himself -- only to stop
this movement quite suddenly and immediately jerk his hands back to his
side. The whole motion had entirely the opposite effect from what it seemed
it would at first: instead of the young man covering his genitals from
sight (he had, in turning to see Malcolm, shifted his position enough to
bring those into full view), what his bizarre hand movements actually did
was direct Malcolm's eyes squarely to his fully exposed package.

Just what kind of pervert was this guy, anyway?

Just what the fuck was that stunt, faking that he was going to cover
himself just to trick another guy into getting a good look at his wang?

Certain of his heterosexuality, the security guard had zero interest in
checking out another man's one-eyed snake. He immediately averted his gaze
after laying eyes on it, trying to find absolutely anything else in the
room to focus on.

His eyes landing on Schwartz now, the security guard was as honest with him
as his professional decorum would allow him to be.

"Well, this is, uh..." Malcolm paused a moment, wondering how to phrase it
diplomatically (in spite of how very uncomfortable he was made by that
pervert's the brazen self-exposure, his job here was to function as a
security escort, not to cast judgement on what kind of bizarre shit these
werido artists get up to), "... not exactly what I was expecting."

"Ah, marvellous, you're here!" said an animated Schwartz as he motioned
Malcolm into the room. "Come in, come in."

Malcolm did as he was told, all the while actively trying not to let his
eyes be drawn back to the buck naked exhibitionist who formed the natural
focus of attention in the room's centre.

This was not an easy task, as five people in a mid-size office space left
little room for Malcolm to navigate into. In an effort to avoid getting
flashed again, he found himself mostly looking at the floor -- whereupon he
noticed some other things he hadn't expected: discarded shoes, socks,
jeans, a hoodie, and a pair of boxer shorts.

Obviously, the now-naked man must have come in here wearing something, so
it was not the clothes in and of themselves that were unexpected. Rather,
it was the way they seemed to have been carelessly thrown around all
corners of the room instead of, say, carefully removed and folded in a tidy
pile.

To Malcolm's mind, there came only one explanation: a full-on striptease
must have occurred.

Was this strapping young man was a stripper by trade? It seemed plausible
-- likely, in fact. Who else but a stripper would be as comfortable as this
guy seemed to be with letting it all hang out in the open so brazenly in a
room full of otherwise fully-dressed people? That kind of thing had to come
with the territory, Malcolm figured.

Or maybe he was just a pervert, playing at being a stripper to get his
rocks off? If that stunt with the hand motion -- feigning that he would
cover up his junk just so he could trick Malcolm into getting a good look
at it instead -- told the security guard anything, it was that this guy
obviously loved exposing himself to anyone who was willing to take a
gander.

Maybe the good people around him -- who, with their conservative button-ups
and modest fall sweaters, seemed like a respectable bunch -- had merely
asked him to undress for the purposes of being an art model, not expecting
him to play it up with a striptease?

And, probably, they had not objected once it started: Schwartz and Francis
were pretty clearly a couple of fruits and, as for the girl perched on the
desk, well, no hot-blooded woman would turn down the chance to see a man
who looked like that put on a little performance.

With this train of thought, Malcolm's feelings were quickly turning to
revulsion. This cocky, conceited fucker obviously knew he had the goods
people wanted to see and obviously enjoyed toying with their gazes, teasing
them with his fit form when he got their attention.

Isn't that what he'd done to Malcolm only moments ago? He now resented it
immensely -- how dare this punk play with his curious gaze like that! If
another guy's eyes are gonna land right on your oak tree and acorns, you
cover the fucking thing up -- and you definitely don't try to make him take
a better look at it!

But, before Malcolm could fully work himself up into a quiet rage, his
attention was brought back to the scene in Schwartz's office (of which he
was now a part).

"Who's our new friend?" the young woman by the desk asked, looking to
Schwartz for an answer.

Malcolm, however, jumped right in, pleased to focus his attention on her
(yes, focus on the gorgeous girl in the room like any normal man would --
yes, this is where his gaze should be falling -- yes, he should have been
looking at her long before now, taking in her glowing skin and hourglass
curves instead of ogling some pasty gym-rat's bloated brawn).

"Malcolm Wallace, miss," he said with a nod, not wanting to go over and
shake her hand lest he have to get even closer to the pervert between
them. "I'm with Campus Security," he added, attempting to sound confident
and calm even though the situation was starting to make him feel both
unnerved and ticked off.

"'Campus Security'?" she mused, looking over at the half-open door. "Ah, I
guess we shouldn't have left that open..."

"Oh, he's not here because of that," Schwartz offered with a chuckle and
dismissive wave. "He'll be escorting our VIP here to class," he continued
in a playful tone, his hand motions directing attention back to the nude
figure in the middle of the room.

Desperately hoping that he wouldn't be tricked into looking at his package
again, Malcolm reluctantly focused on his ward (trying to look as much as
possible only at what was above the shoulders).

As he'd expected, he found that the art model's face was undeniably a
good-looking one: appealing in its symmetry; captivating in its strong
features; pleasing in its fair, even skin tone; and all the more striking
when framed by locks of raven hair.

Thankfully, however, this visage did not move Malcolm as the youth's full
form had a few moments ago. Above the neck, the young man was "handsome,"
yes -- but handsome things appealed to nothing as deep within Malcolm as
beauty did.

Nevertheless, while these good looks met with the security guard's
expectations, the expression on the young man's face did not. There was no
arrogant, shit-eating grin, but instead an uncomfortable grimace and a
tensed brow.

This expression did not fit at all with the scenario Malcolm had pieced
together in his mind. Why would an exhibitionist with a captive audience
look so... Angry? Nervous? Afraid? The exact sentiment conveyed by the
visage was hard to pin down, but it certainly did not seem to be a good
one.

Maybe he thought Malcolm was here to end his fun? Yes, that had to be
it. This freaky fucker had been over-indulging in a fantasy, but now here
was reality again. Malcolm was not going to egg on this peepshow like the
others must have done; rather, he would lay down the law.

There were rules here, after all. This was a school, not a strip club! Even
if this exhibitionist had been invited to campus to act as an "art model,"
there were still standards of decency to uphold.

"We just need finish getting AJ here prepped for class and we'll all be on
our way," Schwartz informed Malcolm, stealing the security guard's
attention away from his analysis of what the young man's expression
communicated.

The young woman in the room joined in. "Oh, that's right!" she started,
crossing the room over to Francis. "I guess you'll be needing this," she
added playfully (as though she were in on some private joke), handing the
seated student the electric razor she'd been holding.

"Oh, right..." Francis said hesitantly, inspecting the razor. "I,
uh... Well, umm, is there any specific way you want me to shave him,
Prof. Schwartz?" he asked, looking to his teacher for direction.

"Well, with the razor, of course!" replied Schwartz with a good-natured
chuckle, eliciting a only nervous smile from Francis and a tired groan from
the young woman.

"You're, uh... planning to shave him in here?" Malcolm asked, only
half-believing that these weirdo artists thought they could do
this. Asserting his authority as the one to lay down the law in a situation
that seemed to be getting more and more absurd, Malcolm continued: "With
all due respect, Prof. Schwartz, I definitely don't think it's appropriate
to have your students shaving a naked man in your office while we all
watch."

Schwartz immediately glared at Malcolm, catching him off-guard with how
quickly he'd gone from his jovial joking to a stone-cold seriousness. He
seemed to study Malcolm's face, making the security guard feel nervous
(though strengthening his resolve to project an image of self-assured
authority).

"You're right..." Schwartz began quietly and pensively. "You're absolutely
right," he continued as a sly smile crept back upon his face.

The professor eagerly turned to his students, suddenly energized.

"Malcolm here has got me thinking," he began. "As we can see --" Schwartz
took a couple steps closer to his model (the young man recoiled, but the
motion seemed to stop at the hips, his feet keeping him in the centre of
the room) "-- AJ is definitely no 'man-scaper.'"

The professor waved his hand down AJ's body like game show assistants do
when displaying a showcase prize. He motioned especially to the thick, dark
fur carpeting the young man's chest, then to the sparser hair on his
abdomen, then down to the unkempt bush resting just above his --

Malcolm caught himself before looking all the way down, swiftly directing
his attention away from the bare-ass youth who was putting his body on
pornographic display and back to the fully-dressed lecturer who was putting
on a respectable, scholarly performance.

"Yet, this is to be expected. After all, if we're being realistic, it is
highly unlikely to find male models whose personal grooming works perfectly
for the artist's intentions."

"So," AJ began, speaking for the first time since Malcolm had arrived.

The articulation caught Malcolm off-guard -- in fact, everyone in the room
seemed a bit surprised by it. Perhaps they, like Malcolm, had forgotten
that AJ was not just a form to gaze upon, but was also a voice to listen
to. Unlike Michelangelo's David, this figure could respond to those who
studied it.

"That means you're not shaving me, right?"

AJ's words were half-way between a question and a statement. There was an
uncertainty in his voice, but also a gruffness. It was a tone Malcolm
recognized: it said that the speaker could remain civil (it was a question,
after all), but was also willing to break someone's nose if that was the
way to get the reply he wanted.

Schwartz smiled wickedly at the young man. "Oh, my dear boy, you still have
much to learn."

The older man let those words hang in the air a moment before answering
AJ's question directly. "Of course we have to shave you!" he added, as
though AJ's question had been a ridiculous inquiry.

"But," Schwartz turned back to Malcolm, "as I started to say, what you got
me thinking is this: why not use it as a teachable moment?" He paused again
for effect, perhaps to let everyone in the room put the pieces together
themselves before he filled in the blanks. "We'll do the prep in front of
the class!"

"Wait, what?!" AJ exclaimed, his eyes bulging.

Snapping his head back around to meet AJ's gaze, an irritated Schwartz
yelled out, "Quiet, boy!" -- using a tone more befitting of a master
commanding his dog than one man talking to another.

AJ's eyes narrowed, but, to Malcolm's surprise, the towering muscle man not
only tolerated being spoken to in this manner (he had expected violence,
not obedience), but actually appeared to acquiesce to the much littler man
looking up at him.

AJ grumbled for a moment before seemingly giving up on articulating his
feelings -- settling on an angry snarl instead of angry words (or, for that
matter, angry actions).

Turning back to his students, Schwartz instantly switched back to a civil
tone and continued. "As I was saying before that uncalled for interruption,
what occurred to me is this: shaving AJ with class involvement is a perfect
opportunity for some 'experiential learning' -- that is, teaching those
honing their skills not simply how to artistically capture a model they
see, but how to MOULD a model into something they can work with."

"Prof. Schwartz," Malcolm interjected, calling the middle-aged man's
attention.

In a no-nonsense tone, the security guard continued: "Much like it's not
appropriate to have your students here shaving a fully naked man, having
your class take part--"

Schwartz cut the security guard off, meeting his gaze. "-- is actually what
you were thinking I should do. Right, Malcolm?"

At the moment the professor's eyes met his and those words came from his
lips, Malcolm felt deep down in the pit of his stomach there was something
deeply wrong with this situation. It was not a matter of rules or decency
being violated anymore, no. Something about this felt like it was violating
reality itself...

But he also knew the professor was right, of course. That was exactly what
he meant, wasn't it? Yes... it must have been. It seemed obvious now.

He had to admit that it would be appropriate if students shaving this young
man took place not in some office tucked away on an obscure corner of
campus, but rather was done out in the open in a classroom -- somewhere
with obvious educational value.

Trying to regain a sense of authority despite his lingering uneasiness,
Malcolm replied: "Yeah.... Yeah, exactly. That's what I meant. If you're
going to shave him, it will have to be after we get him to your class."

Content with Malcolm's response, the art professor then stepped even closer
to AJ -- making it clear that he was unintimidated by AJ's puffed up chest
and snarling expression by entering well into the naked young man's
personal space.

Although AJ once again leaned away from the professor, it was almost as if
his feet were rooted to the ground. While he moved his legs and shifted his
weight occasionally, AJ had more or less remained standing in the middle of
the room this whole time, as though an invisible force somehow kept him in
centre stage.

"Francis, I understand that you know AJ here outside of his volunteering to
be our model?" Schwartz inquired.

"Oh, well, yeah... but mostly just through Jessica, really" the seated
student offered uncertainly, motioning to his friend.

Not missing a beat, Schwartz continued: "No doubt you already knew before
today, then, some of the details of AJ's bare torso." He motioned along
AJ's upper body to emphasize his point.

"Well, actually..." Francis hesitantly began, "If I'm being honest, I kind
of knew AJ had hair on his chest, but I've never really looked very
closely. I mean..." He seemed to search for the right words before
continuing. "Well... he's not exactly the kind of guy to just walk around
shirtless."

He looked to his female friend. "I mean, you said it yourself, Jess. AJ's
not really comfortable, well... showing a lot of skin?" Francis finished,
unable to make the final words into a firm statement in light of the "naked
truth" standing directly before him.

Jessica's full lips produced a lopsided smile. "Yeah, you're right. I did
say that."

She looked over to the security guard, adding more details to the story for
the sake of the odd man out: "AJ and I were an item for about three years,
you know."

Malcolm was hardly surprised. With Angelina Jolie lips and a chest that
announced its plentiful endowment with her every movement, Jessica was
definitely a head-turner. It only made sense that a beautiful woman like
that would get scooped up by an even more beautiful --

"And during that entire time," she continued, "I don't think I saw this
fucker even take off his shirt in public more than a couple of times."

Her smile became a wry one as she threw up her hands in (mock?)
exasperation. "Hell, come to think of it, in three goddamn years together,
I don't even know if I ever saw even him fully head-to-toe naked."

She turned her attention to AJ, her expression transitioning into a full-on
sneer when she laid eyes on her ex. "Christ, all that time you spent at the
gym, making yourself into every woman's wet dream and I -- your fucking
girlfriend -- I had to settle for stolen glances and furtive touches under
the covers."

She shook her head, no doubt wondering what could have possibly motivated
her to put up with it for so long. "And all because it seemed like nothing
in the world could possibly make you more anxious -- no, wait...  'Anxious'
isn't the right word..."

She paused to reflect a moment, then smiled sharply and almost spat the
words she found: "Nothing in the world could possibly make you more AFRAID
than the idea of being vulnerable... of being defenceless against prying
eyes for even one fucking second."

She looked her former lover up and down slowly, drawing out that "one
fucking second" of her own prying eyes now feasting on every inch of his
bare flesh.

"So, yeah, I didn't think AJ was a 'naked' kind of guy..." Jessica said,
turning back to Francis. "Looks like I was wrong."

While AJ's alabaster complexion was no doubt usually a feature that only
helped him -- the unblemished canvass making his bodily beauty all the more
enthralling -- it did him no favours now. The profuse reddening of his
cheeks at that moment was entirely unmissable and unmistakeable.

Malcolm figured the young man's reaction could mean two different things,
as aspects of his overall countenance seemed at odds with each other.

On the one hand, AJ might be flush with anger. After all, it looked like he
was literally biting his tongue to refrain from snapping back at Jessica's
comment. His narrowed eyes and flat lips suggested aggression... And
perhaps Malcolm would believe the young man was simply displaying anger if
the rest of the picture was not telling him otherwise.

Instead of appearing threatening (and, being barrel-chested and almost a
head taller than anyone else in the room, that should be an easy thing for
him to do, even if his nudity made it all a bit comical), AJ's overall
appearance conveyed something different.

He appeared threatened.

And the reason for the threat, Malcolm concluded, was obvious: this young
man had been caught in a lie.

Where for years he had apparently feigned some phobia as the reason for
depriving his lover of the bounty of his body, now the truth was out for
all to see: he obviously loved to show the whole thing off. With his
well-developed, athletic form on full display in centre stage -- making no
effort to cover himself in the least -- what other explanation could there
possibly be?

Clearly, AJ's alleged "fear" of nudity had just been an excuse.

More likely, the guy was not just a closeted exhibitionist, but a closeted
homo. If a drop-dead gorgeous woman like Jessica could not persuade him
simply to undress in three years together, yet a couple of fags prompted
him to do a full-on striptease moments prior, it seemed clear that what
excited AJ was exciting only other men with his body.

His ex had caught him in a years-long lie -- discovering that he was not
only a pervert, but also probably gay -- and she was having none of it.

She was not made weak by the visual feast he now put out for her to finally
enjoy. Instead, she had confronted him.

If this was a fight or flight moment, perhaps his intense glare was meant
to say that he would fight, but the rest of his body betrayed what he
really felt and who he really was: hot blushes and cold sweats told
everyone that, at that moment, he was no more than a terrified little boy.

With last every inch of him in full view, there was simply no hiding his
form's nervous squirming, or the sheen of sweat forming on his skin (and,
given that he was butt naked in a cool room, what else could this be from
but blushing hot with embarrassment?), or the way his little buddy had
clearly retreated into --

Schwartz cleared his throat, breaking Malcolm of his train of thought
(horrified to realize he had just been studying this nudist freak's dick to
confirm that he was more humiliated than hot-headed).

"As I was saying..." Schwartz looked to his audience, making sure they were
paying attention to him again. "Francis, it seems that I was correct,
although perhaps not as much as I thought. Regardless, my point stands: you
knew that the model you'd be working with would arrive with some hair on
his torso, even if you did not know as well as you do now the intimate
cartography of this landscape's forests," he said, motioning to the young
man's pectorals before shifting his hand into one that pointed right at
AJ's pubic bush.

Reluctantly looking at where the professor's pointer finger directed
attention, Malcolm noticed that it was no more than a half an inch away
from making direct contact with AJ's pubes -- and the art model moved
immediately and violently to push the hand away. However, Schwartz withdrew
it before contact was made, seemingly unfazed by AJ's volatile reaction.

"Even someone such as yourself," Schwartz resumed, "who might know
generally who the model is that you're working with, could be caught off
guard by how he has chosen to groom himself in more typically 'private'
areas."

"Or not groom himself," Jessica added with a scoff.

Paying no mind to the young woman's interjection, Schwartz continued:
"Nevertheless, we are lucky to have found a model who has not made himself
a slave to the trends of the day. AJ's naturalness is something we should
all appreciate."

Schwartz glanced again at AJ's pubic hair and paused just a moment too
long, perhaps appreciating it as he had just encouraged everyone to do.

"So..." he slowly began again, reluctantly removing his gaze from AJ's
crotch and turning it back to the faces of his audience, "while our model's
present lack of grooming obstructs our view of several of his body's
intimate details far too much for our purposes, we are quite fortunate to
be able to choose how to trim and style him. If we do this carefully, we
can retain the impression that his form simply grows this way of its own
accord -- as if no grooming has taken place at all -- while still
preventing his body hair from covering any of the hard-earned musculature
of his torso or hiding any of his..." Schwartz paused and eyed AJ's crotch
again before finding his words: "... shall we say, 'modest endowment' from
anyone's view."

"Speaking of your class, professor," Malcolm interjected, feeling deeply
uneasy with this prolonged attention being called not just to another man's
body, but another man's crotch specifically. "Since it seems like your prep
here is done, we should be on our way," he concluded, eager to move this
along and end his involvement in this increasingly bizarre scenario.

"Ah, of course, of course," Schwartz replied, moving to his desk to
retrieve the satchel by its side. "I still need to gather my notes, but why
don't you head there now?"

Schwartz looked to his seated pupil and added, "Francis, you can show AJ to
the classroom, right?"

"Of course, professor," the young waif replied (his voice somewhat flat, as
though not quite understanding what he was saying). "I'll..." Francis stood
and surveyed the room, seeming to get his bearings. "I'll show him to class
now," he said with slightly more conviction than before, now moving toward
the doorway and adding, "Come on, AJ."

To that, the art model gave only a grunt of displeasure (seeming in that
moment less like a modern Homo sapiens with the full power of speech and
more like a dim-witted caveman -- his nudity only bolstering that
impression).

"Sorry, what?" asked Francis, his eyebrows knotted in confusion.

"Come on, boy," Schwartz called over from his desk. "Speak up."

With a cough, the words exploded out of AJ's mouth: "Hold up!"

The art model paused a moment -- as if he were surprised that words had
successfully emerged from his lips -- before continuing somewhat more
tentatively, "I know we talked about this yesterday, but now I really don't
think--"

"Don't think you have any more time to waste?" Schwartz threw out, cutting
the young man off mid-sentence. "Well, that's why should be on your way."

"Listen, buddy," AJ began, back straightening as he adopted a more
authoritative posture. "You're not --"

"Going to hold you up anymore?" Schwartz added in (beginning, of course, to
strain credulity with how obvious it was that he was putting words in AJ's
mouth -- why on earth the imposing muscle man tolerated such condescending
treatment being anyone's guess). His stare now icy cold as he locked eyes
with his model, Schwartz continued: "Go to the class, AJ."

Francis trailed toward the door, throwing in a "Come on, AJ, we don't have
all day" as he sauntered into the hallway.

However, despite the urging of both the art student and art professor, AJ
remained passive, save for a couple minor twitches and jerks in his legs.

Still locking eyes with AJ, Schwartz added in firm and commanding voice (a
tone unexpected from a man so slight in stature and so flamboyant in
dress), "NOW."

Although he had seemed up until the moment to be rooted to his spot in the
centre of the room, AJ was quick to suddenly relinquish that territory at
Schwartz's behest, moving swiftly to follow Francis out of the room and
into the hallway (almost as if an invisible force carried him along).

Waltzing past Malcolm toward the doorway, AJ's backside came now into view
-- and the security guard found himself entranced once more, studying the
lines of a divinely designed mechanism that was, in form and moving, so
express and admirable.

Malcolm did not know the names for the muscles in the back that raised and
rippled as the young man walked -- and he stopped caring what they were
called when his eyes drifted lower and took in the bouncing globes that sat
below them. It hardly seemed fair, the gift of a body which grew strong and
firm in chest, arms, back, and legs, but grew so round and perky in the
buttocks.

Surely, this youth had been blessed. While his well-developed musculature
bespoke his dedication to physical fitness, no exercise routine could
produce that kind of distribution. The result of the sweat broken in the
gym and the genes expressed in the end (or, rather, "in the ass") was
deeply enviable, producing a male form that balanced being hard and strong
in one place and yet so soft and supple in another.

As AJ's body disappeared from view, Malcolm's reverie was broken. He
chastised himself immediately, both for apparently checking out the naked
man yet again (it must be envy, right? it couldn't possibly be lust...) and
for shirking his duty.

Now doing a double-take and adopting his professional mindset once more, he
was incredulous at what he had just witnessed: that pervert walked out into
the hallway (and presumably intended to walk across campus) completely in
the buff!

"Did he just...?" The security guard looked to Schwartz. "Don't you, you
know, have a robe or something for him?"

The older man lit up, apparently delighted by Malcolm's inquiry. "Why, I do
indeed!"

Looking to Jessica (how had Malcolm forgotten this beautiful woman was
here? how was it that that pervert kept transfixing him instead?), Schwartz
called over, "Could you fetch that from the basket by the bookshelf, love?"

As Jessica retrieved a plush, pristine garment, Schwartz looked to Malcolm
again. "Normally, our models wear the robe we provide both to and from the
classroom, putting it on as soon a they've undressed, removing it only for
a brief time in an appropriate setting, and donning it again immediately
afterward," Schwartz explained. "But, I'm afraid AJ's sole condition for
volunteering as a model here is that he'd wear no robe at all," he
concluded with a defeated shrug.

Jessica carried the item over to Malcolm, handing it to him. "We tried to
talk some sense into him before you arrived. Even just tying a towel around
his waist or something..." she began, glancing over to Schwartz with a sly
smile creeping onto her face.

As Malcolm took the garment from the young woman, she looked back to the
security guard and continued, "But, he was VERY insistent. He refused
everything we tried to talk him into wearing for decency's sake -- hell,
even for safety's sake! He wouldn't even put shoes on for the walk to
class."

Schwartz cleared his throat and added in, "AJ is quite serious in his
commitment to total nudism."

"With due respect, Prof. Schwartz," Malcolm began, "Regardless of what kind
of... 'lifestyle' your model chooses, there are rules against this kind of
thing."

"Ah, of course, of course," the professor said, nodding and walking over to
Malcolm with a paper in his hand. "Although, just so you're aware, he did
sign a waiver."

Taking the document from Schwartz, Malcolm began to inspect it. "Well..."
he mulled it over, not entirely comprehending all the legalese. "It's not
like a waiver can make public nudity legal, professor. It just absolves the
university from any responsibility."

"Ah, right, a fair point..." Schwartz calmly replied. "Although, it seems
that it does make all of this into AJ's choice and not our responsibility,
doesn't it?"

Instead of answering the art professor's question, Malcolm posed one of his
own when his gaze finally landed on the signature at the bottom of
page. "Wait... 'Adam Kingsley, Jr.'?" his eyes shot up, meeting
Schwartz's. "As in 'Mayor Adam Kingsley'? THAT was his son?!"

While the junior evidently differed from the senior in countless ways (the
tallness, the burliness, the nakedness -- Mayor Kingsley was much more
slight in stature and usually quite smartly dressed), the family
resemblance was suddenly so obvious. The city's charismatic mayor had movie
star good looks -- no small part of which thanks to features his son had
apparently inherited: ice-blue eyes with chiseled features and a cool
complexion accented by thick, dark hair.

"Ah, I'm afraid I don't know..." Schwartz offered with a slight shrug. "But
I would assume there is a relation to the mayor, yes."

"I'm sure AJ would be happy to tell you both all about his father," Jessica
offered in, a smile on her face that did not quite reach her eyes.

At this mention of AJ, Malcolm looked back to the doorway -- and realized
that both the art model and the art student were apparently long
gone. Stepping out of the office and glancing both ways, the security guard
perceived only an empty hallway.

Their endpoint was certain -- Malcolm knew exactly what destination the two
had targeted. But, in this maze, the ways of getting there were
countless. Which direction had they gone in?

Just where on campus was that pervert flashing unsuspecting bystanders now?

"Well," Schwartz said, coming out of the room just behind Malcolm. "I
suppose we should be on our way."