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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 20 May 2003 18:45:58 -0500
From: Rachael Ross <rache18us@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Starving Artist (rache18us@yahoo.com) M/F, Rom, Cannibal, Snuff
Date: Wed, 21 May 2003 08:10:02 -0400
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Disclaimer: not for kids, not for sale. I wrote this, I imagined it.
If it sucks, I'm sorry. If you like it, I'm happy. If you thought it
was about someone else doing something else and now you're angry that
I I wated your time - Good.

Written in 2001 in Asia, in some hot humid hotel room.

--------------------------------------

Starving Artist

Fiction by Rachael

The ad on the University of Washington student bulletin board simply
said "Wanted: female model for starving artist. 256-3497" No mention
of money, in fact the starving artist part sounded particularly
discouraging. So it was no real surprise that it took a full two weeks
before someone actually answered it.

The girl who finally called was a sociology major who thought that the
ad was kind of cute. She had just broken up with the last of a string
of guys who were anything but artists, starving or otherwise and
maybe, she thought, it was time to try something different.

On the phone she received directions to an apartment just off campus
and a time to meet. He promised a little dinner for her while they
talked business. It sounded a little strange, being offered dinner,
but then she supposed that artists and models probably had a little
closer working relationship than most people.

It was typical, what she'd expected even; a little studio in an old
Victorian style house, common to the area. The ground floor had been
refurbished as a small music store/head shop specializing in body
jewelry and black light posters. The smell of clove cigarettes
permeated everything.

Up a narrow flight of stairs the light receded, the number on the door
was 101. She took a breath and knocked. She was a little nervous, but
the guy had sounded normal on the phone, if nothing else she'd at
least get a free meal. Her stomach rumbled a little as she noticed a
sweet, delicious aroma fighting it's way through the cloves. Hmmmm,
she thought, a guy who can cook? It was a good omen she thought as the
door opened.

He was tall, over 6 feet and thin, but not starving to her eye. He had
a narrow face and long, tangles of black hair. His almost almond eyes
smiled through small round cobalt glasses. All he needed, she thought
wryly, was a goatee and he would be the quintessential artist; maybe
she should tell him Alan Ginsberg was dead.

"Rachael!" He said, after the first long second of mutual appraisal.
He opened the door wide and stepped aside for her, gesturing with a
little flourish.

"Michael, I presume?" She took his offered hand and he held it.

"Yes. Exactly me." He led her into the large room of his studio,
pointed at the small kitchen "Kitchen" he said and at a door on the
opposite wall "Bathroom"

The main room was empty of furniture, painting supplies and blank
canvas, easels and frames were scattered about the hard wood floor and
leaning against the walls. It was cluttered and confusing and Rachael
had to watch her step as she was led into the center of the room.
Michael, on the other hand, paid no attention, lightly stepping
around, between and over as if in a well-rehearsed ballet.

He was looking at her as he moved, commenting on her skin, her build,
her hair. Smiling happily as he told her she had a wonderful bone
structure, lifting her arm above her head, twirling her slowly on her
toes. A sudden minuet and only Michael could hear the music. But she
did the dance anyway, smiling and wondering what she'd gotten into.

He moved her to the large windows, 3 of them side by side, the only
windows in his apartment it turned out. The sunlight was fading and
sat her quickly on the floor, kicking a box of brushes aside one way
and a box of who knew what the other. Michael sketched her quickly on
a large pad he cradled in his left arm. Ten minutes and the sun was a
memory, his drawing complete. He handed the pad to Rachael and moved
to turn on the single 150watt bulb that hung from the ceiling. When
the light came on Rachael gasped with pleasant surprise; he'd made her
beautiful! A simple black and white sketch somehow brought to life.

"Do you like it?" Michael asked? Then suddenly he danced his way into
the tiny kitchen, clucking to himself as he opened the little oven.
Rachael awkwardly followed and smiled as Michael burned his fingers a
little despite the folded dishtowel he was using to retrieve their
dinner.

"Need help?" she asked.

"Nope! Just your opinion, do you like it?" He repeated, grabbing two
plates and some knives and forks out of a plastic dish holder by the
sink.

"Yes! Of course I love it!" It really was amazing, she thought, art
was a total mystery for her and he'd managed to capture all the parts
of her she thought were attractive and make them beautiful. And all
the parts she didn't like, well, somehow it was like seeing herself
anew. Like through funny blue glasses? It struck as funny and she
giggled a little.

"What?" Michael took the pad and handed her a plate with several
slices of medium-rare roast, a little carrots and boiled potatoes,
even a sprig of parsley. "You're not a vegetarian are you?" He looked
suddenly worried and Rachael giggled again.

"No, this looks delicious. Thank you."

They sat together, leaning against the only bare spot of wall Rachael
could see, the place below the windows he had cleared for her
portrait. The meat was delicious, the best she'd ever had and they
washed it down with a sweet red wine. 

They talked while they ate Rachael found herself enjoying the evening
more and more as it went on. She felt intoxicated by this strange
bohemian and it felt only natural when she somehow found herself
tangled in his arms. They were kicking and pushing boxes, paints and
dishes out of the way as they embraced; making love on the cool hard
floor.

Sometime during the night Michael had found some old blankets and
spread them over Rachael as she slept. She woke and found him working
on something by the early morning light. She wrapped the blanket
around her and sat down next to him. Michael was framing the sketch
he'd done last night and he smiled when he saw her, kissing her softly
on the forehead.

"For you." He said and he propped it against the wall.

"Payment for last night?" Rachael regretted it as soon as it came out,
a reflex from too many bad memories. But Michael didn't seem to notice
and she snuggled against him. "Thank you, it's wonderful," she said.
"I need to get running, classes this morning."

Michael smiled at her. "Can you model for me tonight?"

"Can you cook dinner again?" Rachael smiled.


And so that evening Rachael found herself enjoying a delicious roast
and feeling happier than she'd been in a long while. Afterwards,
Michael cleared the dishes and made room for Rachael in the center of
the studio.

"I want to try something, it's up to you though, if you don't want
to." Michael sounded serious and he stared at Rachael until she looked
away with a self-conscious laugh.

"What? You want me to pose nude? I think I got over my shyness last
night!"

"I'd like to pose you, mmmm...As a feast." he saw Rachael's confusion.
"Bear with me," he laughed, "you'll be still life, a girl fit to eat."

"You want to eat me?" Rachael giggled.

"I want to paint you." Michael looked her up and down and licked his
lips with a grin. "But I bet you wouldn't be half bad!"

Rachael laughed. "Just tenderize me a little first, ok?"

"Oh you're tender enough!" Michael reached over and grabbed Rachael's
foot, dragging her along the wood floor while she giggled. He squeezed
her thigh and licked the back of her knee. "Oh yes! You are tasty!"

"Stop!" Rachael pushed him away, catching her breath. "Are you gonna
paint me, or what?"

"Does that mean you'll do it?"

"Yes! Yes...just stop..." Rachael was laughing. "Stop squeezing me!"
She pulled her leg away and Michael laughed with her.

"Okay, you undress and I'll get the props."

Rachael started unbuttoning her blouse. "Props?"

But Michael was already gone, into the little kitchen. Rachael shook
her head; this was so weird, she thought. But it was funny, cool and
different too. She undressed completely and picked up the blanket with
had been haphazardly folded in the corner. She wrapped herself in it
until Michael came back carrying some rope and an apple.

"Okay Rache." He took the blanket from her and spread it on the floor.
He had her lay on her back and he tied her ankles together, not
tightly, just enough to keep them close. He pushed Rachael's legs up,
so that her knees were close to her breasts and brought her hands
together between her legs, tying her wrists to her ankles.

Michael looked at his trussed up model. "Nice! Very appetizing!"
Rachael was giggling, starting to say something, but he shushed her
and pushed the apple into her open mouth. "Don't bite too hard, it's
the only one I have!" he warned her.

Rachael lay there, slightly uncomfortable and feeling very exposed
with her legs spread and bent, arms straight down her chest and tummy,
tied to her ankles just above her sex. But the ropes were not tight at
all; in fact she would have to be careful not to pull the knots loose.
It was only for show.

Michael explained to her that he would take some pictures first, do
some sketches and take some notes. He wanted to do the actual painting
in a different location, a larger place he sometimes used. It would be
a longer process and he wanted to do it Saturday, starting in the
morning. He said all this as he walked around her, taking photos with
his Polaroid camera, setting the pictures down carefully to develop.
Rachael could only nod and make muffled sounds of assent. It was hard
to keep from laughing, she felt so ridiculous like this.

They spent that night together again, making love and talking about
nothing in particular. Rachael fell asleep in Michael's warm arms
wondering if she was falling in love.


Saturday Michael drove Rachael to an old warehouse in Seattle's small
Chinatown district. His van was perfect for him, Rachael grinned when
she saw it; an old multicolored Volkswagen with hand painted flowers
on the sides. "It's definitely you!" she told Michael as she climbed
into the passenger seat.

Michael unlocked a large sliding door and then drove the van into the
large, mostly empty warehouse. Rachael climbed out and looked around,
it was a large structure, dark and musty. There were some stacks of
rolled newsprint, huge cylinders of paper which had gone yellow with
age where the plastic had been torn away. Michael led her between
them, both of them carrying boxes full of art supplies.

The other half of the warehouse was a little better. Portable
floodlights had been set up around a wooden platform. There were some
old vinyl chairs, like cheap hotel furniture and an unkempt bed and a
folding card table with a thermos and a dirty coffee cup. There was
another doorway with a large metal sliding door just to the left and
on the right was another, regular door set into what was obviously a
recently constructed room.

Rachael set her box down and looked around. Michael pointed at the new
door and said "Ladies Room. Be right back."

Inside the ladies room was a new toilet and a sink. She turned on the
faucets, cold water from both. But it was better than nothing. She
closed the door and sat down waiting for Michael. He was back a moment
later with a big picnic basket. "Lunch."

Michael set the basket on the table and picked up the thermos and the
cup, he went to the big sliding door and jerked it open with a grunt.
Rusty bearings protested with a long high-pitched groan and he
disappeared for a few minutes. When he came back out he was pushing a
large stainless cart. On it was a huge round platter loaded with
vegetables.

"What's that?" Rachael asked. "The world's biggest salad?"

Michael laughed. "No, just more props." He wheeled the cart next to
the platform, they were both equal height and he slid the platter off
the cart onto the center of the makeshift stage. "Go ahead and get
undressed, I'll fix this up. And try to use the bathroom, you're going
to be lying there for a few hours probably."

As she undressed, Rachael noticed how cool it was in the warehouse.
She shivered a little and complained. "Don't worry," Michael said.
"The lights will keep you plenty warm. There." He'd made a bed of
lettuce for Rachael and arranged tomatoes, cucumbers, eggplant,
onions, peppers, and who knew what else in a circle around the inside
lip.

Rachael stood walked over naked and looked at it. "You don't skimp do
you? You want me like last night?"

"Yes, just lie down in the center, here..." Michael arranged the
vegetables, getting them out of the way and back in place as Rachael
lay down on the cold wet lettuce. She moved her legs and hands to
their proper place while Michael tied her as he had the night before.
It was a little tighter, but not much. Rachael could still easily pull
herself free if she wasn't careful.

Michael set up his easel about a dozen feet away, he squirted large
dabs of paint onto his palette and pulled out his sketches and photos
from the night before, arranging them on the floor around him.

"Can I move?" Rachael asked. "I mean, you know, if I have an itch or
something?"

He laughed at her, Yes, you can scratch and yawn and even sneeze...But
just don't move." Michael fitted a perfect red apple into her mouth
and smiled. "Perfect!"

"Mmmpphh" Rachael took a deep breath and shivered a little wishing
those lights would hurry up and get warm. She fixed on a spot on the
ceiling high above her and let her mind wander into a daydream. 

Michael didn't say anything while he worked. Occasionally he would
move a little, to one side or the other. Or he would walk over to
Rachael and adjust her position. He removed the apple several times
every hour, letting her relax her mouth. But it wasn't that
uncomfortable, he let her move her arms and legs too, fixing the ropes
and clucking, but not saying anything.

After 3 hours he set his paints down, threw his brushes in a can of
turpentine and walked over to Rachael. He pulled the apple from her
mouth and untied her. "Are you hungry yet?"

"Starving!" Rachael stretched and rubbed her thighs and arms. She had
a little sheen to her skin; the lights had gotten warm. Michael went
back into the other room and came out with a large towel and a
checkered tablecloth. He gave Rachael the towel and she gratefully
covered herself in it as he set the table.

They sat down to eat cold sandwiches, pickled vegetables and a small
bottle of wine. The food was delicious and Rachael tried to place what
it tasted like. "What is this?" she opened her half eaten sandwich and
looked at the pink meat, lightly marbled with white.

"Its smoked breast, do you like it?"

"It's fantastic! Turkey or chicken?" Rachael took another bite and
washed it down with a little wine. Whatever it was, she was going to
get the name of the deli! "Where do you get it?"

"Oh I prepare it myself. I've always wanted to be a chef, but somehow
I ended up doing this." Michael gestured around him. 

They finished the rest of the meal talking about favorite restaurants
and the pros and cons of Thai cuisine. After, as Michael piled the
remains of their picnic into the basket, Rachel walked over to the
easel. "May I?"

Michael smiled, "Of course, no false modesty here. Just remember it's
not finished."

The picture was wonderful and finished as far as Rachael could tell.
She looked good enough to eat; he'd made her a beautiful centerpiece
for any feast. It was kind of funny to think about, why anyone would
even want to think of something like this, but as far as art went,
she'd seen a lot wackier! And a lot worse.

Michael joined her. "Just a little bit left, I want to get your
highlights a little better and change the lighting just a touch on
your wonderful thighs." His fingers brushed her skin and Rachael
elbowed him playfully.

Rachael lay back down, Michael again adjusting the vegetables around
her. "I want to tie you a little tighter this time, okay? I need to
get the effects of the ropes right. It won't be nearly so long as this
morning, I promise."

Rachael didn't say anything; she winced a little as Michael tied her
very tightly, expertly trussing her up so she was completely helpless.
"Are you okay?" He asked her.

"Yes, it's a little tight though."

"Don't worry, it won't be long I promise." He pushed the apple into
her mouth again, asking her to open a little wider so he could wedge
it deep into her mouth. The smooth roundness was trapped between the
roof of her mouth and her tongue; she couldn't even get her teeth into
it now. Rachael's eyes were wide, questioning, but Michael just kissed
her on the nose.

Rachael sighed and hoped it would be over quickly, she turned her head
to see Michael. But he wasn't going back to his easel; he was getting
the wheeled cart again, rolling it over to the platform. She made a
"Mmmmppph?" sound and he ignored her. Michael grabbed the edge of the
huge platter with both hands and pulled it across the wood onto the
cart. He was grunting with the effort, but it wasn't very difficult
once he got it moving.

Rachael started to struggle a little. She was confused, what was this
all about? Had she missed something? She kept her head moving, trying
to fix on Michael as he moved around to push the Rachael and the cart.
He picked up an onion, which had fallen off, and he patted her thigh.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine." he said it with such a calm
comforting voice Rachael felt herself start to relax. She had missed
something; he probably wanted to get her closer, or in a different
light or something. She was a little angry he hadn't explained better
and he was going to hear about it when she got loose, but the fear was
at least going away. A little.

Michael pushed the cart through the large door. Rachael was facing
Michael and watched as the doorway went past. She hadn't been in this
room and she wondered what they were doing in there. The cart bumped
something gently and stopped and Michael moved around behind her head.
Rachael tried to follow him, turning her head and when she did she
caught sight of a brand new and modern kitchen. It seemed so totally,
oddly out of place. Like the set of a cooking show on a soundstage in
Hollywood. She didn't know what to think.

She felt Michael pulling the platter onto what must have been a
counter. He rolled the cart into a corner and came over to Rachael,
smoothing her hair and looking into her wide brown eyes. "You're the
best model I've ever had Rachael and you are going to taste soooooo
good!" Rachael gasped and tried to scream against the apple lodged
into her mouth. She turned her head away from Michael's gaze and
suddenly saw the long row of cleavers and knives laid out beside her.

---------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks later a young history major at the University of Minnesota
was writing down a phone number. "Wanted: Female model for starving
artist..."


Rache

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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