ILLEROTICA

By: JGull

Settling into my seat and fidgeting nervously, I watch as the room begins to fill with girls. One after another they pour in through the double doors and sit around the platform in the center of the room. It's not the fact that the majority of the class are females that piques my attention, though this is odd since art classes generally attract more guys, it's the type of girls who are swarming in. Could this many sorority girls really be interested in drawing?

Glancing around the room, I look up at the dome ceiling and the skylight windows overhead. Snow is gathering on the lower half of the large curved windows. I've never seen a space quite like this. The platform stage in the center of the room is surrounded by a slightly lower half-circle pit for the artists to occupy. On the other side of the stage, opposite where I'm sitting, are large curtains leading to a private dressing room and behind me there are numerous lockers and a door leading to the instructor's office.

Noticing a nearby gaggle of giggling girls whispering to each other I pause my mp3 player and lean over nonchalantly to eavesdrop on their conversation. I know this isn't polite, but there's an odd vibe in the room. There seems to be a strange sexual charge in all of these girls and I want to know why.

"Are you sure this is the class?" says one of the girls.

"Yes, I'm telling you, I took it last semester and failed on purpose so I could take it again."

They all giggle again amongst each other and then resume their exchange as I pretend to be rummaging through my backpack for something.

"How do you know he's coming back this semester?"

"Victoria works in the office. She told me they're doing it again this semester. Him and Jake both."

"Oh my God! I can't believe they're both gonna be modeling for us."

Are you serious? This is what all of these girls signed up to see, a couple guys? Why is it that everything girls do has to revolve around men? So maybe they're good looking, so what? This course is supposed to be about learning to draw the human body, not going all weak in the knees over the models. There could be serious artists who wanted to take this class but couldn't because all these stupid girls took their seats before they could sign up. I almost didn't get in when I tried to sign up because of these posers.

"Ms. Swan?"

Turning to my right, glancing over my shoulder, I see the instructor, Mrs. Bernanke, looking down at me. She's a young woman, early to mid thirties, and has the look of a hippy librarian.

"Oh, yeah, Bella. Mrs. Bernanke?" I say.

"I was on the committee that reviewed your portfolio submission for acceptance. You've done some extraordinary work already. I did notice, however, that none of your subjects were human. Is there a reason for this?"

"Well, I um, I'm kinda shy and don't do well with people so I always draw things that aren't moving." I say.

"Things that don't move, or things that don't look back at you?" she asks.

I feel my face begin to burn and break eye contact, momentarily, looking down at the floor. Without warning Mrs. Bernanke takes me lightly by the chin and lifts my head, kindly coercing eye contact.

"You have an extraordinary talent, Ms. Swan. Don't waste it being insecure."

All I can manage is a meek "Okay" and watch as she crosses the room. Sure, be confident, Bella! Easier said than done. I'm 19 years old, have never even held a guy's hand and act like a spaz whenever I try to talk to people. I'm clumsy and extremely nerdy. I stammer when I talk and snort when I laugh. How could I possibly not be insecure? I'm not ugly, and I work out every morning by swimming and cycling, but I just look bleh. Very . . . homely. Nobody ever showed me how to use makeup or do my hair, so I just keep it tied back, and the idea of touching my eyeball completely creeps me out so I wear glasses. My wardrobe consists of sweatpants and t-shirts and I read romance novels. Romance novels, for god's sake! I'm going to be the female Steve Carell, I know it. Die a virgin like Mother Teresa, only without the following. And worst of all, I'm the biggest pervert alive. I think about sex all the time and I'm terrified that if I look people in the eyes long enough they'll be able to see all the dirty little thoughts I'm thinking.

"This is life drawing," says Mrs. Benanke. " Your syllabus is online and if there's something you want to know about the class, download and read it. You're in college now, I'm not going to read to you or translate it for you. Like the real world my deadlines are non-negotiable, so if possible turn assignments in early. If you come to me and tell me your grandmother has died or your car caught on fire and your portfolio burned in it, it will not matter one bit. Part of life is death and disasters. The world doesn't stop for us to adjust to it, we either adapt or perish. I may look the part of a hippy, but make no mistake, in my class I am Hitler and you all serve 'ze Führer'."

The guys in the class laugh out loud and I hear one of the girls to my right whisper to the others.

"What a bitch!"

"If you want an A, you're gonna have to earn it."

I'm in awe of this woman. She's so strong and confident. Must be nice.

"In this course you will be drawing live nude models."

Wait, did she say nude? I open my folder and fumble through the syllabus. It doesn't say anything about nude. Oh my God, I can't do this.

"The models will be both male and female and as we go along they will pose in very provocative positions. If you are uncomfortable with that don't return on Wednesday, you can still drop. I expect. No scratch that, I demand! I demand that each and every one of you behave in a professional, mature, and adult manner. If you wish to remain in this course you will respect the models. If you disrespect the models, me, or your classmates by giggling (as she says this she glances toward the girls to my right who all freeze in place), talking, or making inappropriate comments you will be removed from this class and prevented from taking any further courses in the art department. I am the chair of this department. Believe me, I can and will make it happen. I've done it in the past. Today I'll be introducing the models, they'll speak to all of you about why they chose to pose for us, and we'll cut class short today and meet again on Wednesday."

I feel my palms begin to sweat and my mind wanders as I imagine the various positions these models will be in. What do they look like? Will I be able to draw them? What if I can't focus. Oh my God, I'm going to have a stroke. While my mind races through a thousand pornographic poses per second and I daze off at the mannequins in the corner, Mrs. Bernanke continues.

"This is Nichole, Terri, Michelle, Jakob, and Edward."

I look up and immediately make eye contact with the most beautiful man I've ever seen and time stops. I feel my whole body twitch and tingle as his emerald eyes lock onto mine and penetrate my every thought. Everything fades away and I find myself staring dumbstruck at him, completely oblivious to the other 4 models in front of me. When I notice the corners of his lips turn slightly up, reality returns and slaps me upside the head. I must look like such a fool! Damn it! My mouth is literally wide open and my breath is quivering. To say this man is gorgeous would be an understatement. There are no words for him. Myths were written about guys like this. Religions were created for people to worship them in the ancient world.

Forcing myself to break eye contact the rest of the room returns from soft focus and I struggle to get the image his eyes have burned into my mind out of my head as I glance at the other models. They are all very attractive in different ways. Jakob is probably about 6'4, tanned with dark eyes, and around 230lbs, all muscle. His hair is long and black and he keeps it in braids like an American Indian, hanging over each side of his chest. Actually, maybe he is Native American. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, dark eyebrows. Definitely Native American. I wonder what tribe he's from?

I've had a fascination with Native Americans since I was a little child. The only memory I have of my mother is when we traveled across the country and stopped at a Reservation Trading Post. My mother bought me a dream catcher which hangs over my bed to this day. Little did I know we took the trip because she was dying from cancer and wanted to see the country before she passed. After her funeral my father climbed into a bottle and hasn't come out since. That's why I went to live with my grandmother at seven years old, but Nana has always been there for me.

Other than his Oakland A's Jersey, baggy Hip Hop Jeans, and hiking boots Jakob is a very clean cut guy, almost jockish. He is the polar opposite of Edward in appearance, who is a couple inches shorter than Jakob, maybe 6'2, and much thinner. If I had to guess I'd say he's around 190lbs, but very toned. He looks the way Rudolph Valentino would have looked if his hair were long and bleached bone white, dressing in a very sophisticated way and carrying himself in an almost regal manner while simultaneously coming off as curiously rebellious and street. On his head he wears a scull cap, allowing his hair to dangle behind him. His black dress shirt, slacks, and pointed-tipped dress shoes contrast his white fingernail polish, which stands out because he's wearing black fingerless cotton gloves. Over his bright green eyes are Jet-black Jack Nicholson-esque brows, and while his upper lip is thin, and sharp, his lower lip is puffy, pink, perennially wet, and utterly delicious looking. I momentarily imagine his mouth on my nipple, shudder, lick my own lips while rubbing my eyes, and then force myself to pull focus. On his chin he sports a matching bone white billy-goat goatee and on each side of his face his cheeks dip in, causing his entire mouth area to slightly protrude. I could sketch this man from memory already.

The three female models are all very pretty in a punk rocker meets Hip Hop model sense. What strikes me most about them is how similar they are in confidence, yet how different they look in style. Somehow they contrast one another well enough that it works. One is Asian, the second Slavic, and the third African American. Mrs. Bernanke is talking again and I try to concentrate on what she's saying, despite the fact that I can feel Edward watching me with that smirk on his face. Why is he smiling at me? Did he notice how I was staring at him? God, he probably thinks I'm such a dork and will tell all his friends about the stupid chick with glasses on the far side of class who stared at him with her mouth wide open like an idiot.

"As many of you already know all of our models this year are from the local band Illerotica. Edward is going to explain why they're modeling for us this year."

Great, now he's gonna talk to us. Should I risk looking at him again? I look around the room and realize that everybody else is. If I don't look at him it'll be even more obvious. I glance up and make eye contact as he begins talking, but he's looking around the room and no longer concerned with me. Just look at his forehead, like the teacher said in speech class earlier, he won't be able to tell.

"Like B here was saying we're all members of the Erotica-Hip Rock band, Illerotica. Erotica-Hip Rock is a genre of music we're inventing that is fueled by our own sexuality. We promote mutually open safe sex, and gender equality. We've combined Hip Hop and Rock and our lyrics are all about turning you on and getting you off."

Wow, his voice is so deep and smooth. He talks with a rhythmic cadence that sends a fuzzy sensation down the back of my head along my spine.

"I'm the lead singer, rapper and guitarist, Jakob plays drums, Nichole is on Bass and backs me up, Terri plays the Piano, and Michelle. Well, Michelle is our hype woman."

All of the band members laugh along with half the room who are apparently in on this inside joke that I know nothing about. Once again I'm on the outside looking in. Surprise surprise.

"We've volunteered to pose for this class to promote the nude arts. Nudity is natural, clothing isn't. Our society has become so perverse and inverted that we criticize what's natural and accept as normal what is unnatural. We are not our clothes and our bodies are not obscene. The vast majority of people want to live sexually open lives. They yearn for the freedom to walk outside in their yard naked without worrying whether or not their neighbors will have a heart attack. They want to fuck strangers and enjoy getting off with each other. But, they don't because society suppresses these urges in them and has created a culture of shame so that those suppressed urges can be used to make money. Until we are sexually liberated as a society freedom is nothing more than capitalized entertainment. Nudity and sexuality are condemned and then used for profit to sell everything from razors to jeans. Our goal is to educate people of the reality that there is nothing shameful about our bodies . . ."

Why is he pausing and looking at me?

". . . or our sexual urges. We are natural, they are not."