When Jace and Tom had arrived at Guillaume’s dusty downtown loft, Guillaume ambushed Jace by snapping Polaroids to be used as reference. “I do not want the poses,” the painter explained, “I want to catch you off of the guard.” After he taken several shots of Jace, he switched over and took a couple rapid-fire close-ups of Tom.
Tom held his hand in front of the lens, embarrassed. “I’m not here to be painted. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Oh, that is a pity,” said Guillaume. “Your visage, it is very interesting. I could do much with you.” Tom became very self-conscious as Guillaume studied the contours of his face.
Jace strolled around the studio as if he owned the place, peeking under the cloths which covered some of Guillaume’s canvases. Guillaume rushed over to stop him. “Do not touch, s’il vous plait. Those are not for you and they are far from finished. Now, of what sort of painting were you thinking?”
Jace shrugged. “I don’t know. Like a big portrait. Just as long as it’s bigger than what you did for ol’ Sage.”
“Aha. So I see, you like to compare. Size, it is very important to you?”
“Isn’t it to everyone?” Jace replied, glancing in a mirror and brushing a hand through his hair.
Guillaume closely observed Jace's behavior, trying to get a sense of his subject, making quick preliminary studies in a sketch pad as he watched how the sunbeams through the skylight fell upon Jace's body.
“I was thinking maybe I should be surfing. And Sage’s painting had, what, two chicks in it? I think mine should have at least four.”
Tom chided Jace. “Where are they gonna be? On the surfboard with you?”
“I dunno. I’m not the painter. Maybe some of them could be mermaids.”
Tom started to laugh. “Why don’t you have a bunch of guys on the surfboard and one mermaid pulling a train?”
Guillaume looked confused. “I do not understand. How does a mermaid pull a train? The train is in the water?”
Jace looked at the painter. “We’re just kidding around. Although maybe one of them could be giving me a blowjob.”
Guillaume threw down his sketchpad and crossed his arms. “Non! I do not do the pornographie! Please to be leaving my studio!”
“Whoa, take a pill, Francois,” said Jace. “I’m just, whattayacallit, brainstorming here.”
“So this is truly how you see yourself? A how-you-say ‘surfer duuuude’ receiving le fellation from a mermaid?”
Tom chimed in. “I don’t think your folks would be too thrilled if they came down to visit and found a big painting of you getting your knob polished.”
Jace had to agree with Tom there. “Okay, no ‘fellation’.” He looked at Guillaume, who was picking up his sketchpad and pencil. “So what do you need from me?”
“Please strip down, so I may sketch you.”
Jace knew the drill from his days as a model, quickly kicking off his sneakers, pulling off his faded red t-shirt and dropping his camo cargos. He stood, arms crossed and impatient, in nothing but his white boxer-briefs, his bronzed body glistening even in he light of the lamps.
“The underpants too, if you will.”
Jace froze. Stripping down to his underwear had been usual, especially when he had done a few underwear ads. This, however, was over the line; he didn't want some old French looking at his junk - close inspection of his package was reserved for the ladies.
“No way, man. If you’re not gonna be painting my dick, you don’t need to see it.”
"Are you sure, m'sieur? I will need every detail for the painting."
Jace...