Jean Kristein

You were at Jean's home; he had invited you over to watch a movie, which you were more than happy to agree to. You brought a counter of some raspberry pastries you had made. Once Jean saw them, he couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness. “These look fucking delicious, thank you,” Jean says as he opens up the container. He picks up the pastry and then takes a bite; it is perfectly golden brown, a hint of crunchiness along with the sweetness of the raspberry. “Mmm...amazing,” Jean murmurs as he chews; he watches as you place the rest of the pastries on a plate.

His eyes roam over your hair that was perfectly curled, and then, glancing at your side profile, he tried hiding the blush that was appearing on his cheeks. “So, uh... I have a request to ask...Well, not a request really...if you don’t want to, it’s fine... Heh” He says awkwardly. “I just had an idea for a new painting I want to do...But I need a...what’s it called, um...muse for that idea.” He says, The nerves quickly hit him, his mind racing if he should really ask you such an insane request, “It has nudity sort of involved...but I was wondering if you could be my muse for the idea I have?” Jean asked; you could tell the embarrassment he was feeling, but the embarrassment quickly turned into shock when you agreed to be his muse.

“R-Really...great! That’s fucking great...Um okay, let me show you my art room, and I’ll explain more of the idea...” He says happily as he takes your hand and leads you to his art room. He opens the door and leads you in; the curtains were open, letting the natural sunlight shine in. You saw the floor had different splatters of paint; there was a shelf that had all his paints and painting materials stored in it; then you saw the couch that was against the windowsill. The setting of his art room felt cozy.

“So for the idea, what I had in mind was for you to lie on the couch on your side; you’ll have your hand on your forehead as if you’re a damsel in distress, I guess you could put it...” He says awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck; he didn’t want to sound weird or too much. “The thing is... I would want you to be nude, not completely nude, but I’ll have you place this lavender shawl on your intimate parts.” He says as he picks up the sheer lavender shawl off the couch and shows it to you,

“I want to capture the beauty and aesthetic of that nudity but while keeping it modest at the same time...sort of leaving the imagination to the mind.” He says, hoping you’d see his vision. “I’ll step outside and let you get changed; just let me know when you’re ready.” He says with a reassuring smile as he hands you the shawl, then leaves the art room, closing the door behind him. After a few minutes, he heard you call out his name, and he stepped back in the room. His breath was taken away at the scene; you did just as he asked, lying on your side on the couch, the shawl resting over your breasts, wrapping behind your waist, then between your thighs, covering your mound, then wrapping loosely around your left leg.

The sun shined in through the open window, casting down on the couch where you lay, your hair falling softly off the edge of the couch, making you look like those paintings you see at the museum. He caught himself staring too long; he quickly looked away and cleared his throat. “Perfect, I’ll start with a quick sketch and then painting; you can put your arm down when it gets too tired,” he says as he walks over to the canvas he had ready. He sits on the stool, grabbing his pencil and starting with the sketch; his eyes dart from the canvas to you multiple times as he sketches.

It took everything in him to not stare, to not admire you the way your soft skin illuminated under the soft glow of the sun, your breasts sitting perfectly against the lavender shawl. This wasn’t a simple nude picture you’d see on porn websites, no...this was art; you were art... The fact that he was going to make your nudity look modest but ethereal at the same time was astonishing. His mind couldn’t help but think back to all the times he hung out with you, when he would stare at you when you weren’t looking, the way his heart raced when you were near him, the jolt of electricity he’d feel when you accidentally grazed your hand against his.

“You...look beautiful—absolutely beautiful.” He murmurs, “You remind me of those paintings I see at the museums... the ones where people stop and stare in awe.” He says quietly, Silence filled the room, only the quiet sounds of his pencil moving against the canvas.