Curt knows this painter from school who needed a model. He volunteered me. “It’ll be fun,” he assured me.

The painter friend, Niah, was nice. She told me the theme of the painting was Squeeze, and what she was aiming for was kind of a spoof. What exactly it was spoofing I’m not sure. Anyway, the setting was this really narrow alleyway between two buildings. Probably less than three feet wide. I guess that was part of the squeeze, especially if someone tried to drive into it with a car or even a bicycle or a horse. That might have been interesting—to ride a horse into that alley.

What flashed in my mind was the time at summer camp we got to go horseback riding, and for some reason after we’d been riding for a while I had to pee really bad, and the motion of the horse made it worse and worse. I had a kind of crush on the counselor, who was in charge of the ride, and I was too embarrassed to say anything about needing to go to the bathroom, and eventually it got so bad I just went ahead and wet my pants. It was embarrassing even if no one noticed, and it was also such a relief. The funny thing, I don’t know if you’d really call it funny, was that not too long later, with my panties and jeans all wet, I started to get turned on, and this counsellor rode up next to me and asked me if everything was all right, and I imagined he knew what was happening to me, that I was a touch or two from orgasm, and just like that I came. I was helpless to do anything else. The guy just gave me a strange look, and after a moment, all flushed, I said, “Yeah, I’m good,” and he nodded and rode on ahead.

“You don’t mind being naked, do you?” Niah asked.

It took me a moment to register what she’d said. I had the weird feeling she’d read my mind about that horseback incident. I’d never told anyone about it but Curt. “Naked?” I said, stalling. I had to think about it for another moment. Even then I wasn’t sure, but I said I guessed not.

“Good,” said Niah. “I could probably guess what you look like nude, but it’s better to have the real thing.”

I suppose that made sense. “But where’s your painting stuff?” I asked.

She explained that she’d be taking pictures, and she’d use them to make the painting.

So after I got naked, Niah showed me where to stand and how to stand, and she handed me this pouchy rubber ball about the size of a large grapefruit or a small watermelon. I could tell it was filled with something like water. It was like a large water balloon but with thicker skin.

“Now there’s a pinhole in the bottom,” Niah explained, “and when I give you the signal you need to squeeze the ball, squeeze it hard until the juice comes out the bottom. But except for squeezing try to keep your pose.”

The pose had me standing with my butt pressed against the wall but bent forward from the waist but leaning back toward the wall with my head and shoulders.

“You look great,” said Niah. “I love how limber you are. Now squeeze.”

I squeezed. I squeezed as hard as I could but I guess nothing was coming out.

Niah stopped me and said maybe the hole needed to be widened. She took the ball and cradled it against her breast and poked a finger into the hole. “Mmm, nice and tight,” she said. She poked her finger into the hole a few times, and I couldn’t help getting the idea she was finger-fucking the ball. “There, that should do her,” she said and handed the ball back to me. When I turned it so the hole was on the bottom, already some of the juice, if that’s what it was, started dripping out.

“Okay, quick, get in the pose and squeeze,” Niah said, and I got in the pose and squeezed, and a whole bunch of whatever it was splurched out. Some of it got on my feet.

“That’s great,” Niah said. “See if you can get any more out.”

I squeezed some more and a thin stream came out.I could feel the drizzle of it on my feet. It kind of tickled and it was a little sticky, so I guess it wasn’t water.