'Stop, Beau.'
'It's nothing,' he said, growing serious again. 'We'll keep it a secret between us,' he added. 'Why don't we do it right now? There's no one here to disturb us,' he said, and began to unbutton his shirt.
'Beau . . .'
With his eyes fixed on me, he stripped off his shirt and then stood up to unfasten his pants.
'Go lock the door,' he said, nodding.
'Beau, don't . . .'
'If you don't lock it and someone does walk in . . .'
'Beau Andreas!'
He stepped out of his pants and folded them neatly over the back of the lounge. He stood only in his briefs, his hands on his hips, waiting.
'How should I pose? Sitting? Knees up? On my stomach?'
'Beau, I said I can't . . .'
'The door,' he replied, nodding toward it more emphatically. To move me faster, he tucked his thumbs into the elastic of his briefs and began lowering them over his hips. I jumped out of the chair and rushed to the door. The moment I heard the lock click, I knew I had let it go too far. Was it only because I didn't know how to stop him, or did I permit it to happen, want it to happen? I turned and saw him standing with his shorts in his hand, holding them in front of himself:
'How should I pose?' he asked.
'Put your clothes back on this instant, Beau Andreas,' I ordered.
'It's done already. It's too late to turn back. Just start.'
He sat down on the lounge, still keeping his briefs over his private parts. Then he nonchalantly brought up his feet and sprawled out, facing me. With a quick gesture, he raised his briefs and draped them over the back of the lounge. My mouth gaped.
'Should I lean on my hand like this? This is good, isn't it?'
I shook my head, turned away from him, and sat down quickly in the nearest chair because my pounding heart had turned my legs to marshmallow.
'Do it, Ruby. Draw me,' he ordered. 'This is a challenge to see if you can really be an artist and look at someone and see only an object to draw and paint, like a doctor separating himself from his patient so he could do what has to be done.'
'I can't, Beau. Please. I'm not a doctor and you're not my patient,' I insisted, still without looking at him.
'Our secret, Ruby,' he whispered. 'It will be our secret,' he chanted. 'Go on. Look at me. You can do it. Look at me,' he commanded.
Slowly, like one hypnotized by his words, I turned my head and gazed at him, at his sleek, muscular torso, at the way the lines of his body turned into each other. Could I do what he asked? Could I look at him and detach myself enough to see him only as something to draw?
The artist in me demanded to know, wanted to know. I rose and went to my easel and flipped over the page to work on a blank one. Then I took the drawing pencil in hand and looked at him, drinking him in with long, visual gulps and then turning what I saw into something on the page. My fingers, trembling badly at first, became stronger, firmer as the lines took shape. I took the most time with his face, capturing him as I saw him in my own mind as well as how he looked to others. I drew him with a deep, strong look in his eyes. Satisfied, I moved to his body and soon I had the outline of his shoulders, his sides, his hips, and his legs. I concentrated on his chest and his neck, capturing the strong muscle structure and the smooth lines.
All the while he kept his eyes fixed so firmly on me; it was as if he were a mannequin. I think he was testing himself as much as he was testing me.
'This is hard work,' he finally said.
'You want to stop?'
'No. I can go a while longer. I can go as long as you can,' he added.
My fingers began to tremble again as I moved down the drawing to the small of his stomach. Now, with every turn of the pencil, I felt I was actually running the tips of my fingers over his body, slowly working my way down until I had to draw his manliness. He knew I had reached that point, for his lips tightened into a sensuous smile.
'If you have to come closer, don't be afraid,' he said in a loud whisper.
I dropped my eyes back to the easel and drew quickly, sketching so fast I must have looked like someone in a frenzy. I didn't have to look up at him again. The image of his body lingered on my eyes. I know I was flushed. My heart was pounding so hard, I don't know how I continued, but I did. And when I finally stepped back from the paper, I had drawn a rather detailed picture of him.
'Is it good?' he asked.
'I think so,' I said, surprised at how really good it was. I couldn't remember drawing a single line. It was as though I had been possessed.
Suddenly, he rose and stepped up beside me to look at the drawing.
'It is good,' he said.
'You can put on your clothes now, Beau,' I said, without turning away from the drawing.
'Don't be so nervous,' he said, putting his hand on my shoulder.
