“You’re Sandra, the model?” I asked.

She nodded timidly. I was a little surprised. She had said on the phone that she had model experience, but she didn’t look like a model. She was very slim, with a small arse and small breasts, not at all like a model. To you it may sound as if she looked exactly like a model, but I’m an artist and artist models have curves. They are usually between thirty and fifty. Artists are looking for different things than a fashion photographer. Not that I thought she had any model experience in that area either: she didn’t have the face. She was pretty but ordinary.

“And you have modelled for an artist before?”

“I’ve ... no, not for an artist. I’ve done some pictures...”

I had expected something different and I was annoyed. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but my annoyance must have shown.

“Is something wrong? Don’t you think I look good?” she asked.

“You look very pretty but you see, I had expected a more mature model. More curves. You are...”

She interrupted me. “My tits are too small?”

“I haven’t seen them and in any other aspect of life I’m sure I’d love your tits, but for this particular project I need to ... underline the feminine features.”

I was really doing my best to be nice to her. Not only would I lose a day’s work in the studio, I’d also lose a day’s work at the construction site where I earned a living. I wasn’t yet famous enough to make a living from my art and I never believed in the myth about the staring artist. I needed food and clothes, not to talk about money to pay the rent.

“I promise I’ll be good. I can stand without moving for a very long time,” she said.

She looked at me with pleading eyes. She was young, in her early twenties. There was something about her, something cute and innocent. For another project, perhaps.

“Please. You can paint my tits a little bigger, can’t you? I need the job. I’ve just lost my job, and it’s difficult to get a job I can handle alongside my studies. Please,” she begged.

“OK, let’s take a look at you. Come on in,” I said.

I don’t know why I gave in. I guess I was hoping the day wasn’t wasted. She smiled jubilantly.

“Thank you. I’ll be good, promise.”

We went into my studio, and she looked around as if she was in Merlin’s cave.

“Are you shaved? I forgot to ask you on the phone,” I asked.

“Shaved? You mean armpits and legs? Yes, they are shaved.” she answered.

“And your pubic area?”

“What? No, I’ve never ... Why do I need to be, eh, shaved there? Can’t you just leave out the hair when you paint?”

“I’m going to do a series of sculptures entitled “Casts of a Woman”. I’m going to make casts of you, not paint you,” I said and added smiling: “The plaster bandages will stick to the hair, and it will be quite painful when I take off the cast.”

“Oh,” she said.

“It’s easily fixed. I have some disposable razors. Take off your clothes, and let’s see what you look like.”

She looked anxiously around. There were a couch, a few chairs, and a table.

“Here?”

“You can do it in the bathroom, if you prefer,” I said.

I pointed to the bathroom door, and she shuffled into the bathroom. I was beginning to regret accepting her. Working with inexperienced models could be so tiresome. A moment later, she reappeared, with one of my towels wrapped around her torso.

“OK, let’s see,” I said.

She removed the towel. Her tits were pretty small, but they looked like they were firm and would keep their shape when she was lying down. That might prove to be an advantage. Her hips were slim but not as slim as I’d expected. I tried to make up my mind: Lose a day’s work and save her pay or give it a shot?

“OK, I think you will do. Sorry, didn’t mean to sound that way, but I’m not exactly a millionaire, and I can’t afford to pay you if I don’t think you are right for the project.” I added when I saw her hurt expression.

“I understand,” she said.

“Good. Now, if you shave your pubic hair, I’ll prepare for the first cast,” I said.

She turned and was about to walk back to the bathroom, then turned to me again.

“Is it a real razor, you know, with razor blades?” she asked.

“Yes. You know how to use it?”

“No.”

“It’s dead simple. You just apply some foam and then shave off the foam. Then you get the hair as well. There’s a can on the shelf.”

“It’s ... sharp, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Sure. Take one of those wrapped in cellophane. They’re brand new and very sharp.”

She hesitated, tripping uneasily on the spot.

“I ... I’m afraid I’ll cut myself,” she uttered.

“It’s dead easy. I’ve used a blade for God knows how many years and I’ve only cut myself a couple of times and always when I was in a hurry and didn’t pay attention to what I was doing,” I said.

She still didn’t move.

“I don’t think I can do it. Will ... you do it?” she asked, almost whispering.

Hiring her was definitely a mistake, but somehow I felt sorry for her.

“OK. We’ve got to get this show on the road.”

She blushed while I applied the foam and as soon as I took out the razor, she closed her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I won’t cut you, promise. Maybe you should look at it and learn how you do it.” I suggested.

“I have an electric shaver,” she said. “I think it’s better if I look the other way while you do it.”

“Suit yourself.”

I was used to being around nude women. It was my job and I didn’t associate it with anything sexual. I guess it’s the same with doctors. It’s part of the job. Shaving her was out of the ordinary. A lot of things about Sandra were out of the ordinary. She was slim, young, and quite attractive. Sitting there between her thighs, cautiously shaving her crotch made it hard to maintain the distance between the model and the artist. There was something undeniably erotic about it.

I did my best to look at her through the eyes of the artist. She was a challenge, really. How would I best capture her delicate bodily features? She had an innocent but also very erotic appearance, and the more I thought about it, I realised that she might be perfect for the project. If only I could capture the innocence of her as a woman, as an erotic woman.

The shaving progressed and revealed that her labia and pubic mound, contrary to the rest of her, were fleshy and prominent. It would be essential to make the casts of her in a way that paid tribute to that part of her femininity. My thoughts were back on the right track, but once more I was distracted, this time by her scent. I could swear that my nose picked up a faint scent of arousal. Her breathing was a little quicker than it had been when I began shaving her. I dismissed the distracting thoughts. All the black hairs in her crotch were gone, except a few.

“I think you have to turn around. I need to shave around your anus as well.” I said.

Sandra got up, slightly unsteady, probably because she was tense and had been sitting in the same position for some time. She turned her back to me and I applied some foam to the area I needed to shave. It was only a few hairs.

“So! Just like a newborn baby. You can wash off the foam in the shower. I’ll prepare the bandages.”

She nodded and I went into the studio to prepare the first cast. Sandra reappeared with the towel around her. There was something about her face, her expression, something erotic yet innocent. I wasn’t going to cast her face, but it was just that expression I wanted my sculptures to convey to the spectator. She was a real challenge.

“I’m going to make a cast of your backside first. I use thin bandages that harden slowly, so it will take about fifteen minutes after I’ve applied the last bandage before I can remove the cast. The second part is the most difficult. The cast is very fragile, but you’ll have to lie down in it again when I make the front cast. I put the back cast in the sandpit over there to steady it, but you still have to be very careful,” I explain.