My Promiscuous Amsterdam

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

The studio had been so quiet that I was afraid to breathe. Here I was, naked as a new day with a dozen pairs of eyes attentively glued to my body…

When I arrived at four o’clock following my last class, I stood in the doorway silent, almost hoping that Roelf wouldn’t notice me and I’d just slip away without having to fulfill my side of the agreement I’d made with Jackson. But Roelf did notice that I’d arrived and ushered me inside to a room where I could change into a robe—a purple silk that smelled stale of sweat and liquor and cigarette smoke.

Once changed, I tiptoed into the studio, trying to hold the robe closed in front of me and not look like a nervous Nelly as I quaked in fear.

“Over there,” Roelf pointed to a riser in the middle of the room. His students were beginning to file in and set up for the session, although they paid little attention to me.

I moved to the riser where a simple Doric column made of white plaster was the only thing that graced the small stage. I waited for more instructions, hoping that Roelf would be kind enough to address me personally, privately, and ease my fear. But once he was ready and everyone was waiting for the session to begin, he called out from the side of the room in a brisk voice, “Drop the robe, Marlena, face the column, raise your arms and in lean against it.”

I lowered my eyes demurely and shrugged the purple fabric from my shoulders. It quickly swished to the floor at my feet, allowing a soft rush of air to attack my naked skin. I raised my arms as Roelf instructed and leaned forward while taking a deep breath and settled as comfortably as possible against the cool smoothness of the supporting pillar.

I sensed the many eyes from all sides of me straining, appraising, considering the outline of my body, the curve of my legs, the swell of my breasts and hips, or at least what they could see from their unique vantage point. I twitched a little uncontrollably, especially when I recalled Jackson’s spanking promise. How rude of him! And yet, how amazing! I immediately dropped thoughts of Jackson and attempted to calm myself again with another deep breath. I reminded myself how a dozen times I’d viewed a live nude in my art school training. I had nothing to fear. I’m art now. Not s*x, but lines, angles, curves and shape. Elements to study, examine and sketch.

For a time, my mind went blank. Except for the persistent throbbing in my belly and the rising heat between my legs, I remained detached from the activity around me.

“Just sketch, class. Just sketch,” Roelf told his students impatiently. “You have just a minute left. Just one minute. Nothing else. Capture all you can. Now! The moment, the moment is paramount. ” He paced the room. Anger seemed to billow all around him.

A minute! That was all? Would I be done then? Was that all he needed from me, a few minutes of exposure. Surely, I could survive this much.

That last minute passed slowly by as pencil and charcoal flew in the hands of Roelf’s students. When the minute was over, Roelf clapped his hands, work stopped and he called to me again, “Relax, Marlena, take a breath, and then turn around.” I completed each instruction with robotic efficiency, and stood with my back to the column. “Hands behind you, spread your legs and lean back,” he continued while adding on the frightful details. As I further exposed myself to the eyes that watched, my composure disappeared into an instant of panic. I breathed again, willing myself to relax. “Arch your back, raise the breasts, hold that pose for me and don’t move,” Roelf continued as if he were purposely trying to overwhelm me.

I felt trapped, betrayed and angry, but still, a lusty energy swelled in my belly. Realizing what I was feeling, I tried to deny the truth, but failed. I only hoped that there was no evidence of my arousal obvious to the students. Roelf continued giving more instructions, to his class this time, which I could ignore. Then I heard him address me one more time, “Let’s change again,” just as I finally felt my body relax against the pillar.

“Turn around, bend over and stick out your ass, legs straight, feet together,” he clicked off the words with military precision, which prompted my immediate obedience—and another bout of anxious panic. “Pretend you’re about to be caned,” Roelf added with an undisguised hint of amusement in his voice. My body trembled with a cold chill racing up my back.

This horrible stance made me blush anew, even though I could easily hide my red face. I posed with my head tucked between my arms as they grasped the pillar for support. My large breasts dangled beneath me, while a draft of cool air unleashed a rash of goosebumps across my arms and tightened my n*****s into knots of sensitive, throbbing red. I was afraid that my crotch had moistened from the feral feeling that aroused my s****l body. I could only hope that the accompanying fear would subvert any obvious flood of juices from between my legs. I’m a woman who emits a good deal of female nectar while in the act of making love; this launches Neil’s s****l excitement and in seconds stiffens his erection. However, I was not at that moment in the middle of s*x and had no desire to communicate my arousal to a room of strangers. I prayed that Roelf would find a new, less demeaning—less revealing—position soon.

Unfortunately, it seemed that this particular pose was the one the artist chose to focus on, as if the other poses were just warm ups for the stutty look of my exhibited rump. He took a great deal of time pointing out muscles, the shape of my pendant breasts, and the roundedness of the female posterior—mine being an ideal example. He even jumped up on the riser and touched my bottom as if I were an inanimate doll. My body was not my own, but his.

At last, with a good sharp smack on my rear, he said, “You can go, Marlena.”

I stood up dizzyingly fast, and while still flustered and blushing, I moved quickly to the dressing room, not even bothering to gather up the purple robe. I spent the next five minutes while I dressed, trying not to touch myself, or think about the crescendo of s****l heat teasing my every nerve. When I finally had the courage to open the dressing room door, the class was busy working on whatever sketching assignment they’d been given—I believe they were to sketch me from memory, but by then I hardly cared about anything but escaping the room.

Roelf had other ideas, however. He moved to my side and put his arm around my shoulder with familiar ease.

“Again tomorrow,” he said curtly.

“Again?”

“Of course. Your body fits my archetype.” His smile contained no mirth, no warmth, being perfunctory and cold. “You can go now.”

No thanks. No appreciation. Yet, thankfully, no mention of the s****l arousal I worried would be obvious to anyone who saw me posed.

***

“I take it I don’t have to spank you,” Jackson said when he walked in the tavern and spotted me sitting, not on the barstool, but at a table by the window.

“You’re right,” I said with a telling smile.

“Or, perhaps I should spank you anyway, just for fun,” he joked.

“Maybe you should, I feel so naughty.” I smirked flirtatiously, elated in my triumph.

“Naughty. I like that. But first dinner.” He extended his hand as I moved to my feet, then he took my arm and we walked out the door into the light and the sights of the Amsterdam night.

Just being with Jackson seemed to dispel the disquiet that followed me out of the studio.

Dinner amazed me. Every bite of food melted on my tongue. The wine raced to my head. My vision blurred in the muted light of the romantic setting. The soft clinking of glasses, and music like Bach’s Water Music, but not quite that ancient, stirred the air with soft peculiar sounds. Tiny glowing lanterns tinted the air with a sepia glow. Mingling amidst all that were aromas that infused the air with aphrodisiacs enough to send the diners into an orgy of craving hunger.

Although I was somewhat distraught when I left the studio class, I was oddly euphoric as well. I was too excited to go back to my room and put on the same old Midwestern clothes for my date with Jackson. I stopped at the first woman’s shop I found and bought a new dress for the occasion, knowing it was time to shed the Minneapolis girl and become a woman who dared dangerous things. The deep emerald colored fabric clung to the curves of my flesh, hugging at the hips and breasts, announcing them, announcing femininity with a grand shout. The ‘V’ neck slumped into the valley between my breasts where I sprayed a new scent of perfume—a European toilet water that smelled a bit like roses one minute and then something very different the next. I wore a garter-belt, nylon stockings with dark seams running up the back, and a pair of heels so high I thought would cripple me by the time the night was over. I knew that my desire to throw off the old Midwest me seemed more in charge than being sensible.

As my mind spun, I imagined myself unmarried, no attachments, no Neil, no life back home, courting Jackson, wanting him. I could think of my husband and feel my heart warm with love. Love, yes, but not the lust I felt now. Ashamed of my racing thoughts, I self-consciously straightened in my seat and pressed my hands in my lap, feeling a flood of regret.

Jackson noticed the change almost immediately. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“I have to keep my head about me. I don’t want to regret this trip.”

“That would be a shame. But what’s there to regret?”

“I feel a little guilty. Here I am with a man I hardly know, dining like a princess in a foreign city, while half-way across the planet, my husband sits home…”

“And the problem with that is?”

“Selfish indulgence, maybe.”

“And maybe he’s not sitting at home.”

I smiled apprehensively. “You think I’m being foolish?”

“I think you’re being real, Marlena. Foolish is a judgment I won’t place on you. Do you think you’re being foolish?”

“I don’t know. I’m so torn.”

“I see you are. Some decisions are tough. What I think is that you came here on a false premise and suddenly had the real one leap out at you. Only you can decide how you’ll spend your time here. But what is worse? Being virtuous and regretting that you failed to enjoy the opportunity? Or letting loose and regretting what you may have to tell your husband?”

“That is a tough choice.”

“Think about it. There’s a reason he’s not here. A reason he let you go. Can you have a good time here without getting into s****l liberation? If so, then don’t tear yourself apart. Do what you resolve to do and forget the quandary. If not, if facing the Amsterdam outside this door is what you need to do, you can confront that too.”

I sighed despondently. “I’m terrible about making decisions, I always have been.”

“Well, this is one call that only you can make.”

“I know. Maybe the moment will pass. Maybe once I take in the entire city, it won’t tempt me so. I can put it in perspective and do what I planned all along, study art, the culture and be happy. You think that’s possible?”

“Of course, that’s possible. Now,” his eyes narrowed, “perhaps we can enjoy our night,” he said.

“Of course, we can enjoy the night,” I assured him. Cradled in the embrace of his kind eyes, my fear melted away—if only for a short while. But even his calm, his clear rational thoughts made the dilemma of my life in Amsterdam more difficult to sort out.

Thankfully, Jackson dropped the topic of my moral dilemma in favor of discussing the first museum I should visit. We then covered a dozen other subjects in a conversation that flowed freely from travel to politics to life at home to what his life as an international businessman was like. I was intrigued by his worldly knowledge and amazed by the way we conversed so easily. We laughed like old friends, but we weren’t old friends. He was very new to me, his face, his mind, his emotions, and that energy flowed like a powerful river, serene but potentially catastrophic at any moment. I couldn’t quite figure why Jackson would pay so much attention to a housewife from Minneapolis, but after two glasses of wine, I quit worrying over that unanswered question. I think we could have continued talking for hours and was somewhat dismayed when Jackson suddenly motioned for the waiter to bring the check.