Exposing Myself in Public
...and getting a local girl's number
I am back in Rhode Island. Where I was born. Where I haven’t returned in 16 years. Where nobody knows I’m the Worst Boyfriend Ever.
I’m nearly broke again. Amazon won’t pay book royalties for 90 days after publishing, so late June. So unless I want to start robbing Wal Mart or starve I must find work. The thought of Being an Employee makes me want to Kill myself so of course I’m back on Craigslist.
I found another modeling gig. That girl from Boston said I was ugly but she’s wrong.
It’s called “Life Drawing” — sounds like a fancy way to say that they draw live humans. Presumably clothed.
I reached out to the Craigslist guy and told him my story. I’m traveling the country in a van, here’s my picture. He said come by the Bristol Art Museum on Saturday and I’ll give you $50 to sit for a half hour. Cool. You done this before? Uh… yeah. I’ve modeled before..
He instructed me to arrive Sunday “between 9 and Noon,” so I thought it must be an open house. A casual, community thing.
Like the dirtbag I am I arrived at 11:23 AM. I parked in some lot you’re supposed to pay for but nobody cares, it’s Rhode Island, so I just went inside.
I’m in an art museum. It’s a big old creaky air conditioned east coast house. I’m in a rush. There’s a girl behind the counter. She looks to be about my age or a few years younger. In physical reality I’m 26 but mentally I’m 14. I’ll guesstimate her age at 23. Tops.
I know I say this a lot, but she was so fucking gorgeous. She was brunette like me, with dark green-grey eyes, she was somewhat pale but not too pale, glasses, she looked like a younger version of my mother. She had a big white toothy smile which she could not contain as she spoke.
Our encounter was rushed, I was really tight on time, I asked her hey do you know anything about a drawing… modeling… class type thing around here?
She was flustered. There was no one else in the room. She said yeah… I think I know the group, it’s not this building but right down there, across the lawn, into that purple house.
I thanked her and moved to leave. I couldn’t stop smiling at her. She was just a little nervous and so was I. As I started to walk away I felt my self saying, out loud: “God, you’re so beautiful, by the way…” it just fell out of me. It was sincere. It was also true. I heard her thank me as I rushed out the door.
*
I ran across the lawn into the art house. It was a big spacious painting studio-classroom. The walls were white, the people were white, everything was white, it was full of friendly old Boomers chopping it up like longtime friends.
I grew some balls and asked around: is Glen here? I was texting with Glen.
It was true. I was texting with Glen, he told me a few days ago I could come in and model for $50 and if they liked me I could come back for longer sessions for $150. They meet every Sunday. They have done this for 18 years. They introduced me to Glen. It all happened so fast.
Glen was an older white-haired artsy looking man with a hideous black eye. In 3 seconds I forgot about the eye and he tried to orient me in the room.
The whole room was quieting and focusing on me. I felt like I was in Eyes Wide Shut.
Oh, he’s here! What’s your name? Have you done this before? Do you know how to pose? I.. um… I’m traveling the country in a van.. How long you here for? I.. don’t know..? Whatever. They said we got time for three 10s, I said what? Three poses, 10 minutes each. Oh okay.
They said “all right, undress” and I said how much do I take off? And they said Everything. All of it. Oh. I didn’t know this was modeling like that…
“You said you’ve done this before?” Well.. once, it was photography, i…
This was different. I was surrounded by 25 Boomers twice my age, all standing behind easels. The vibe of the room felt kind, nonjudgmental. I said: fuck it, sure, just another day... And stripped down until I was totally nude.
My dick was small because the room was cold. Sigh. Every person whose hand I shook was so much warmer than me. Adderall constricts your blood vessels, or something.
Anyways once I was nude they introduced me to Maude, this sexy kind church-looking Mulatto girl with nice big tits in a thin tank top. It’s June. I looked at her and just the tiniest bit of blood rushed to my now-exposed soft penis. Dear god, this would be the worst possible time. Thankfully the erection did not flourish.
An older Asian lady led me up onto a raised platform, maybe 3 or 4 feet in the air, with a small wooden stool sitting atop. They asked me standing or sitting? I was like Uh, sitting.
Glen, the crowd, and I argued about how I should position my legs until I found a natural pose. He said that’s great, perfect, just like that. I was sitting with one leg rested on the other, right shin on left knee, like how I sit when I’m writing. My face was turned to the right, to show off my good side to the crowd.
I tried hard not to make eye contact with any of the painters. I rested my gaze on a fixed point, a shadow in the corner of the room, and sat still as a statue like that for 10 short minutes.
First pose was done. I glanced at Maude again, looking right down at her breasts. Fuck. There are 30 people watching me. What the fuck is happening. I haven’t had sex in so long. They say I’m doing a very good job. I believe them. I’m meditating, counting breaths from zero to 100. I can’t tell if I’m nervous as hell or perfectly at ease.
My next two poses are standing, fully exposing my soft shriveled freezing little cock buried in a black bush of pubes I haven't trimmed in months, because I didn't plan for any of this and at the end of the day, who fucking cares.
There was nothing gay about it. There was nothing sexual about it, even, besides the little jolts I felt for Maude (who I later learned was the other model). It was art…
Everyone there seemed a little bit crazy, but that’s fine, those are the only people who interest me.
Soon the session was done. I stepped down from my podium and Glen showed me some portraits of me and I felt like Dorian Gray. He said I should come back next week. I said I sure will.
Everyone was really nice to me on the way out. I grabbed a cookie and some Cider. Maybe I belong here in Rhode Island after all.
He said there was another male model scheduled for next week but he’s done it so many times, you should take the spot instead. I said okay that’s great. He gave me $50 and I left with the crowd.
I went back into the museum, with the beautiful brunette girl, feeling rattled. She was alone again.
I said: did you know what kind of art they make in there? did you know what I was walking in to? Is that why you were smiling and laughing so hard?
I usually don’t bother people like this but today I was feeling brave. Remember I told this girl God you’re beautiful, this random stranger, like a half hour ago, as I left.
Now I’m back in the museum and she’s telling me: no, i had no idea… was it nude?
I said yes… i had no idea either… but it was awesome…
We were laughing again. I wanted to be around her more but I had no good excuse. I asked her is this museum free? and is there a restroom?
She said uhm well no it’s not free, usually, xD, but don’t worry I’ll let you walk around, it’s fine, and there’s a restroom downstairs. I smiled, thanked her, and took a free tour.
I tried to care about the paintings on the walls but all I cared for was the girl. I wandered until I couldn’t take it any more and went back downstairs to see her again. Families and Elderlies came and went, eventually she was alone and so I approached her one more time:
…
You know any good cafes around here? She was excited to tell me. Bitches love cafes.
I told her I’m on a road trip around the country in a van and I work in cafes. Not like, as a barista.. like I write in there.
I would not dare tell her what I wrote. This ugly blog hangs over my head like a guillotine but it’s also the meaning of my life. Whatever, I don’t have to expose myself so aggressively to every single person I meet...
She’s intrigued and takes a few steps with me to see the van through the window. Fuck, she’s got a nice body too. She’s a 10. I cannot imagine a better looking girl... Yes I know I’m sounding like the boy who cried wolf at this point, but I would not change a thing. She’s wearing a white shirt tucked into a dress, I could barely muster the courage to look down and get a better report of the body situation but I had seen enough.
This was a genuine cold approach. The vast vast vast majority of my romantic encounters over the past… 8 years… have started online. Because I hate to bother people in the real world.
But this girl was bored, she had nothing going on on her desktop screen and so when she gave me this shining review of “The Fish Pot” saying “it’s not too fancy, you could get in with what you’re wearing now!” I bravely interjected:
Then why don’t you go there with me, tonight? Get dinner with me. Come on..
I’ve never done this before in my entire life. My body count is over 40 but I’ve never asked a random stranger girl on a date like this, even once, ever. It was cathartic.
And she… was kinda into it. She told me “Hmm.. I would love to, but there’s a Guy I’m Living with… he actually works right over there, in that building across the lawn.”
The dude was in eyeshot. I laughed. I could not believe it. It was kind of romantic, their whole across-the-way setup. But she said it with a heavy dose of regret… dismay, as if she wished she did not have this “guy who she lived with” (she didn’t say boyfriend…) so I still felt like a winner. Even if she wasn’t going out with me, the fact that I asked at all made me feel like a winner, in this moment, today.
But then she kept talking to me. She invited me to come sit behind the desk with her and she told me about her life. I’m not going to type about it because in this moment I feel like too much of a human being... Actually, fuck it, she’s a remote Product Mommy on the weekdays and on weekends she sits behind the counter at this museum. Has a degree in Art History. Been on the East Coast her whole life.
She fixed her hair when I said I was born here in Rhode Island. It all felt like fate. She wrote down some food recommendations on a post-it note, and also her phone number, and her name, which is Alyssa. She asked for my name, which is Thomas. And then I turned to leave.
So now I just have her number. And I don’t know what to do with it.
What am I supposed to say, Hey, go behind your live-in boyfriend’s back and come out with me? I can’t tell you anything about the last 8 months of my life (oh also you’re on the blog btw) but go out with me? I’m nearly broke and literally homeless but go out with me? The gall of it all…
I don’t know if I should capitalize on this magic exchange by texting her sooner or make her yearn a bit by texting her later. But at least now I know, meeting girls in real life is possible, and I’m going back next weekend to do more nude modeling, and Rhode Island’s a good place, and you should never ever kill yourself.
Update: Nothing came of this. She had a boyfriend, who she lives with, at the end of the day. I tried.
Also I didn't go back to do the modeling again, because I was in New Jersey, needing to get some Substack Pussy.
Sorry for the disappointment, as always.
You acquired Stacy. Close your Substack and live the rest of your life in bliss