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“Okay students. Unfortunately Esther wasn’t able to come to class today, so we’re having a new model for you. Something a bit different.”
Mr Schneider looked far more excited than he should have. Standing in front of the podium dressed in skinny jeans and a loose grey knit, he clasped his hands together and continued his introductions.
“Today’s model is a dear friend of mine…”
Paul took his time attaching a new sheet of paper onto his easel with a serious face. He really enjoyed drawing Esther. The Frenchwoman's feminine curves, the slightly sagging breasts, and the width of her hips. Her petite face, framed with silvery strands of curly hair. He had already drawn her a dozen times, in varying poses and enjoyed trying to capture her essence on the paper. He knitted his brows and returned his concentration to his art teacher.
“...it will be a great opportunity for us to learn to draw a totally different body type, not that of Esther, Birgitte or Stefan. To study the human form, to weigh the aesthetic beauty against the biological complexity. To gain the ability to catch the perfection of form with a pencil and to reveal its magnificent machinery...”
Paul really valued the teaching skills that Mr Schneider had, but sometimes he talked a lot of shit.
"Please give a warm welcome to Oliver!"
The room erupted in applause and it was impossible to miss the spontaneous oohs and aahs. Paul peeked curiously around his easel from his usual spot near the side of the stage, to get a glimpse of the mysterious man that had just entered the room. He enjoyed drawing women and was not sure if he was excited about the sudden twist. There was a glimpse of white bathrobe and legs. And some more legs. And a bit more.
Definitely not Esther.
"Thank you for coming," Mr Schneider said, fussing around Oliver like an excited puppy meeting their owner after a workday. Was Mr Schneider really fangirling? He was married with two young kids, as far as Paul knew.
Once Paul finally got a proper view of their model, his breath hitched at the sight of the majestic creature that towered over even Mr Schneider. His eyes scanned the body hastily, almost like it was a potential danger and he'd need to plan his escape. There were those never ending legs and wide shoulders that gracefully carried the slender but strong upper body. Then there was a shaved head and well kept beard. Based on Paul's own primal reactions he might be in danger, especially with how the mysterious aura that enveloped the man was making Paul's head spin a little.
"We'll start with quick warm up sketches, as always."
Looking probably ridiculous, mouth hanging open in amazement, Paul was forced to mask his nervous bark of laughter with a cough.
I'm going to need a bigger piece of paper.
A smoke.
And an ice bath.
Knowing what would happen next Paul looked down at his shoes, at his water bottle and his cuticles. The room was getting hotter at an alarming pace. He looked left and right, anywhere except the podium. Other students were already holding onto their sketch pads and waiting eagerly with serene half smiles plastered on their faces for the robe to be gone and the first pose to be ready.
"I want you to study the proportions carefully. Just try to focus on the form, and explore the line and tone. Your three minutes start now."
The room fell quiet except for the rhythmical dance of a dozen pencils on paper. Well, a dozen minus one.
Shit.
Paul hastily flipped his sketchbook open, eyes landing on a week old sketch of Esther. He missed her familiar and safe body now. Picking up his favorite woodless graphite pencil with shaky hands he slowly lifted his eyes.
Okay, here we go. Just another model.
The Thinker by Rodin was the pose, one of Mr Schneider's all time favorites, something that everyone in this class was very familiar with. The sight made Paul's breath hitch a lot more than it should have. Yes, as a photographer he had learned to appreciate the beauty of the human body, male or female, but his reaction of drooling over their new model wasn't professional at all. Blood thumping in his head he began drinking in the smooth lean body with his eyes he swallowed hard, then placed the tip of the pencil blindly on the paper.
Unlike Esther who often veiled herself and her private parts with little scarves or indistinguishable nude panties, Oliver sat there unashamedly naked, in all his glory. A loud sharp crack echoed in the room as Paul's pencil snapped in two from the sheer pressure and the pieces landed on the floor with a rattle.
"Everything alright there, Paul?"
He saw Mr Schneider put on his glasses and look at him expectantly from where he was seated at the side of the stage.
"Yeah. Fine."
Mr Schneider's eyes pierced him, staring him down, clearly having heard the unnaturally high note of his voice that resembled that of a teenager.
"Okay class, you have one minute left."
Paul stared at the empty sheet of paper with ears burning red, then picked up a new pencil and cursed inwards. With a soft hand he placed the pen on the paper, focused on the spectacular example of the human body and let intuition lead his hand.
With a few rough long lines and a couple of curves the left side of Oliver's lean upper body began to take form on Paul's paper. Some quick shading made the exceptionally well formed deltoid and lean trapezius come to life.
Paul's breath hitched as he looked at his paper. Who cared about Esther anyway?
--
"Any coffee left?"
A mug landed next to Paul's on the counter with a clank. He didn't really need to look up to know who it was when he saw the slender arm that he already had memorized all too well.
Stomach suddenly full of butterflies Paul pressed the power button, and the machine woke up with a slurping sound. Glancing over his shoulder his eyes landed on the tanned, shaved chest that peeked from the neckline of the white terry bathrobe.
Right, he's tall, look up.
"If you wait a few minutes, then yes."
Paul fiddled with his mug, rocked on the balls of his feet, and wondered why it was so hard for him to act like a normal human being at times.
"I liked your drawings," Oliver said from behind his back tentatively. "I really liked how you're able to create such stunning pieces with just so few lines. It's so different from everyone else's work."
"Oh, thank you Oliver." Paul was afraid that his grin was probably way too cheesy. Luckily his mug was the only witness.
"You're welcome Paul," Oliver said, and made Paul freeze after hearing his name. "Christoph also seemed to like your drawings a lot. I think you're his favourite too."
A lump was forming in Paul's throat. He swallowed hard and spun around trying to look nonchalant.
"You're really being too kind."
"Nonsense."
Oliver was leaning against the doorframe that separated the tiny kitchenette from the art studio. He looked friendly, a bit withdrawn, but very sincere. Paul's eyes catalogued the face close up, the bone structure, the salt and pepper beard, the grey eyes that were attentively monitoring Paul's every move.
"Christoph told me that you also do photography."
He had a nice voice too.
"I do. Or well, it’s really my main job. I do freelance gigs, mostly commercial projects. But what I really like is photographing people, doing more artsy stuff." Paul hoped he didn't sound too eager, but he often found it hard to contain his excitement when photography was mentioned.
Oliver took his time scratching his beard, which made it hard for Paul to read his face and expressions. "Anything I might have seen?"
Paul cocked his head and started to think. Oliver didn't look like an engineering guy who might have seen the marine gas turbine pictures that he took for an annual report in January. Nor paid attention to the baby food campaign that came out just weeks ago.
"I don't know if you heard, or like that kind of thing," Paul started as a disclaimer but decided to continue when he glanced at Oliver who looked back earnestly. "I was part of an outdoor exhibition last summer. It was the pride month show here in Berlin."
"You mean the one at Gendarmenmarkt? One Society? Wow!" Oliver dropped his hand from his beard and looked genuinely in awe, eyes blown wide open. "You had your pictures there?"
"Yeah," Paul blushed from the attention, even though he was still very proud of that exhibition. "Mine were Till Lindemann the poet, Richard Kruspe the musician and Christian Lorenz the history professor to name a few. You saw them?"
"Of course I did," Oliver exclaimed, grinning excitedly and stepped closer. "I love photography, trying to learn it myself. Actually I went to see the exhibition with Richard - he's an old friend of mine, we used to play in a band together when younger."
Suddenly it was Paul's time to be amazed. "You know him? Richard?"
"Yeah. Played guitar and bass with him. And now I teach classical guitar at a music school."
"I can't believe this. I play guitar too, mostly for fun these days." Paul's hands were all over the place from sheer exhilaration. Besides the looks, Oliver seemed like a great guy, almost scarily similar to him, a soulmate. "Don't tell me you surf too," Paul joked as the coffee maker began to gurgle to indicate it was almost done.
Oliver reached for his mug and stopped to look at it for a little too long before their eyes met again. "Would it freak you out if I said yes?"
--
After the break the time really flew by. Paul drew various poses of Oliver with such a positive energy and a smile that already made his cheeks ache. He learned how Oliver's waist curved towards his buttocks, memorized the roadmap of veins on his inner arm. He counted the perfect abs and was teased by the fine trail of hair that led down and down and down from his belly button.
"Okay, it's the time for the last pose of the night."
Paul watched how Mr Schneider leaned closer to Oliver who was seated on the edge of the stage, sipping water from a bottle. There was clearly some kind of a negotiation going on. Oliver backed up a bit on the stage, crossed his ankles, then pulled his splayed knees closer to his upper body, and wrapped his long arms loosely around them.
"You'll have twenty minutes, so there's no hurry." Mr Schneider adjusted a spotlight behind Oliver that highlighted one side of him and cast deep shadows elsewhere. "I recommend experimenting with the shading this time - use multiple techniques. Go crazy!" he said and walked back to his spot by the doors.
Students were rustling their papers and digging through their bags for the right equipment. Paul looked at Oliver, who sat relaxed on the stage, head tilted towards him. Their eyes met and Oliver smiled almost shyly, pressed his chin against his shoulder, eyes not leaving Paul's.
"Okay, your time starts now."
Paul was paralysed. Those grey eyes were drilling holes in him and he felt so naked, even though he was the one with clothes on. He moved to stare at the blank sheet of paper, blood rushing all the way to the tip of his ears.
When he finally looked back at the stage, the eyes had not moved a bit. It would be the longest 20 minutes of his life.
Please stop staring.
No, wait. Don't.
All the students around him were busy sketching. Heart pounding wildly in his chest, Paul gathered all the courage he had, met Oliver's eyes again, bit his lip and then flashed Oliver the softest smile he had.
It made air sizzle from electricity and the whole world was spinning at an accelerating pace, but their eyes remained locked.
Was that okay?
Suddenly the most genuine joy lit the grey eyes and made the corner of the bearded mouth twitch uncontrollably. And it was all that mattered.
--
Paul found it incredibly hard to concentrate on doing the final clean up. He was scatterbrained and kept fumbling and dropping things because his eyes kept checking on Oliver who was doing a final round among the students with Mr Schneider.
"Shit," Paul cursed when he accidentally pinched his fingers in the mechanism of his easel. He practically ran to the storage room with it, earning a few confused looks from the other students.
Next he began to dismantle the stage in a hurry. Oliver was already dressed in a hoodie and drop crotch pants and talking with Mr Schneider, and Paul wanted to be ready as soon as possible, not to miss him leaving. He flipped the stage structure on its side, unlocked the wheels and began hauling it to the storage room.
I need to talk to him.
Just minutes later he was done and rushed back to the room. Everyone else was almost done packing up, but there was no Oliver in sight. The realization hit him.
Gone. He's gone.
Mind echoing with the disappointment he returned to his spot and began gathering his materials. Maybe he misunderstood everything and drove Oliver away with his clumsy flirting. Why did he even think it was okay to try to turn the sudden crush into something more? There are some things he should just learn to keep to himself.
Ashamed of his actions he wasn't in the mood to join Mr Schneider and the other students in the usual post class chat. Instead he shoved the pencils unnecessarily hard into the case. He ripped the leftover tape from the last drawing with an annoyed huff, and managed to tear the paper from one corner. No matter how good the piece turned out and how perfect the model was, his mood was in a freefall.
He opened his drawing folder and started pushing the papers in when a piece of coloured paper fell out.
Strange.
Leaning down he picked the paper from the floor and flipped it around. There was a handwritten note. Paul stared at the text like it was written with some foreign language that he didn't understand before the realization began to sink in. He brushed his thumb over the letters and felt the smile return to his face again.
Draw me like one of your French girls.
033 75 11 04 71/Oliver