Our tale begins in the remodeled second-story loft of a former shoe factory. Located in Boston’s art district, the long abandoned building had been recently converted into a spacious art gallery, (and a rather unadventurous one at that). On view in the high-ceilinged space are monumental portraits, carved wooden sculptures, religious altarpieces and priceless collections of period glass and ceramics. But the underlying buzz to the event, the piece d'resistance, was clearly the collection of life-sized statues that sat or stood by themselves in a far corner of the room, bathed in halogen floodlights.
The nude grouping, appropriately titled “Sirens,” featured six female sculptures with uncannily realistic detail. Posed in rather erotic positions, these shapely sultry statues solicit stares and admiration – often raising eyebrows and even provoking conservative types. Snooty art critics could be seen standing around, fondling their oddly trimmed goatees and sipping white wine or cappuccino, while arguing for hours about what the statues meant.
The display’s creator, a rather eccentric artist by the name of Gerald E. Bushwick, is rarely seen mingling at the gallery while his work is being shown. The stuffy atmosphere of showings like this were usually enough to irritate the man; from the constant whispering and gossip, to the inevitable questions of “How did he do it?” - the prattle of critics and devotees alike, didn’t interest him in the least.
Statue collectors, both public and private, were well acquainted with Bushwick and his unique works, which appeared on the scene in the late seventies. Since then the unconventional artist had sold off dozens of his pieces, while earning the growing respect of his artistic peers.
Despite his success, it wasn’t surprising to those involved with the fickle art world (including Bushwick himself) that his name was unfamiliar to the mainstream media. “I’ve never been into this for the fame or recognition,” revealed the artist once, in a rare magazine interview. “My motivation is simply for those whom my work inspires.”
So it is with much regret that Gerald butts out his hand-rolled joint and flicks it off the second-story fire escape. The artist chronically coughs as he reaches into the pocket of his sport coat to retrieve a bottle of Canoe, and then gives himself a few quick squirts of the cologne to mask the scent of Mary Jane. With the cologne’s cool fragrance still invigorating his senses, the man adjusts his psychedelic tie and pulls back the lapels of his corduroy jacket. The artist mumbles to himself, “Ok, let’s get this nonsense over with,” just before pulling open the fire escape door to rejoin the show . . .
Within mere seconds of returning to his display, Bushwick is approached by the clacking heels of two well-dressed women; both sporting expensive hand-held purses and sipping at the wine in their glasses. To the artist’s surprise, the pair not only described to him in gushing terms how much they loved the display, but also inquired about what his next project would be! Neither claimed to be artists, they just simply enjoyed looking at the man’s work.
The older woman of the two was dressed more fashionably than the most of the visitors in the studio and had an air of sophistication about her. She steps up beside the artist and confesses, “I just can’t get over your statues sir; their accuracy and the realism is quite uncanny!”
Bushwick replies, “Well thank you – they took me quite a long time to complete.”
“I don’t want to be taken the wrong way, but I’ve always appreciated the sensual nature of the female form and you’ve undoubtedly captured it here,” complements the older woman.
“Mrs. Spivey!” exclaims the younger woman. She quickly apologizes for the older woman’s behavior and jokes, “Don’t mind her; she turns into a total lush at these things!”
The redhead fires back, “Me? . . . Why, you’ve had more wine than I have, darling!”
The artist chuckles and even blushes a bit, before confessing, “Yes, well, the models I used were blessed to begin with, so it made my work only that much easier.”
As the older woman steps in for an even closer look at the statues, Bushwick quickly studies the gal from a foot away. She was quite attractive for her age, which looked to be nearing fifty, and she had flashed this incredibly disarming smile that made him overlook the aging lines on her face. She also had a superb figure, both curvy and well endowed. (As the redhead leaned down even further, the artist had observed the way her bent tush pressed at the fabric of her tight red skirt!)
As the woman arches upward, she shakes her head in disbelief. “These girls are just so darned incredible!”
"By the way, I'm Gerald," the artist states, before extending his hand. ". . . Gerald Bushwick."
The woman accepts the artist’s greeting with her own delicate hand. “Yes, I’m aware of who you are Mr. Bushwick,” assures the woman, “. . . I’m Gloria Spivey and this is my interior decorator: Ms. Alexandra Dupree.”
Bushwick turns to greet the younger of the two women, who appears to be in her mid-twenties. “It’s truly a pleasure,” assures the artist.
The brunette offers a much firmer handshake and flashes a brilliant white smile, before purring, “The pleasure’s all mine . . . Mr. Bushwick.”
The young woman looked at the man with her rich-brown, bedroom eyes and Jerry nearly forgot that he was well over twice her age! There was no doubt; this girl was as well put together as she was strikingly beautiful. At 5’4, Alexandra was slightly shorter than her older friend, but equally well endowed. (As Bushwick struggles to keep eye contact, he could tell from the lower edges of his peripheral vision that the woman had the enhanced body of a stripper and the face of an innocent angel!) The young lady had long brown hair that was silky in appearance and shimmered beneath the gallery lighting. Alexandra was also dressed in a rather smart-looking suit much like her friend’s; with a flirtatiously short skirt, nude hosiery, and high-heeled shoes. On the brunette’s pointed nose sat a pair of fashionable eyeglasses with little black rectangular frames. Just these eyeglasses alone, gave the girl instant credibility as being “hip.”
The brunette finishes her wine just in time to place it on the tray of a passing waiter, and then clasps her hands behind her back (The movement causes her impressive chest to heave out against the front of her crisp business suit!) Alexandra cracks a knowing smile and complements, “Your work shows a strong understanding of female anatomy, Mr. Bushwick.”
The artistic professor replies, “Well thank you, Ms. Dupree. But I should point out that my work goes much deeper than the supple flesh, toned muscles and the good genes of some anonymous model, who is merely posing for money. I tend to have a personal connection with all of my models, and each of my works hold a fascinating psychological element as a result.”
Gloria steps in between the artist and the younger woman to teasingly pick at an unseen piece of lint on Jerry’s jacket, before pointing out, “Your choice in the soft white mood lighting is quite ingenious, I must say. I just love the way it plays off the statues’ lovely bodies; it almost gives me a sense of . . . Mmmm, certain calmness I suppose.” (The woman adjusts the man’s tie within his collar for good measure). The scent of her perfume is quite intense . . .
Gerald swallows hard in reaction, before going on to explain, “I have found that indirect light from the top, side or bottom is always the most flattering for displaying the female figure . . .”
Just then, a waiter stops to offer another complimentary glass of wine, which both women eagerly accept. Alexandra nearly swallows her entire glass at once, while Gloria Spivey swirls her own wine around before sipping demurely, in appropriate form.
"I often pass by these young girls, and I can’t believe what they get away with these days," Gloria murmured. "How I wish I could be that young again."
“But you are young,” the artist protests tactfully, “and you're still quite attractive.”
“Well, thank you kind sir,” replies Mrs. Spivey, with a theatrical flutter of the eyes.
Alexandra flashes the older woman a dirty look, before rolling her eyes and polishing off the remainder of wine in her glass.
Gloria Spivey starts working her own “desirous” bedroom eyes and asks, “Forgive me for being so forward, but I am rather curious Jerry: are you by chance married?”
It was because of moments like this, that Professor Bushwick purposely took off his wedding band before a gallery showing! With a practiced frown, the artist lied trough his teeth and confirmed, “No, I’m not married . . . In fact I’m a widower.”
“Oh, you poor thing!” Gloria sympathized, before reaching out to gently touch the man’s face.
“Mrs. Spivey, you are married!” scolds Alexandra. “What would the senator think?”
“Oh that old fuddy-duddy hasn’t touched me in years!” scoffs the woman, now slightly teetering in her heels. “He’s already got his ready-made whores and concubines, so why can’t I have some fun?”
Alexandra’s eyes narrowed and she gives the older woman a steamed look, before reaching in her purse for a pack of cigarettes. She mumbles, “I think I need to get the fuck outta’ here for a minute!” . . . then storms off towards a stairwell.
Mrs. Spivey shakes her head and says, “That poor child needs to lighten up. Life is far too short to have to walk around being a constant bitch.”
At that moment, Bushwick’s cell phone rings and he quickly retrieves it out of his pocket to flip it open. (Checking the I.D., he’s not surprised to see who the caller is). The artist then apologizes and excuses himself from Mrs. Spivey’s presence, momentarily . . .
Caller: “Yeah, it’s Elliot.”
Bushwick: “Yeah, I know who it is! What’s up?”
Caller: “I gave her the tickets, is she there yet?”
Bushwick: “Yeah, yeah, of course she is. But there’s some woman with her.”
Caller: “What woman?”
Bushwick: “Some hot young brunette. She said her name is Alexandra. She’s an interior decorator, I guess.”
Caller: “What? That woman is no decorator, you idiot! She’s my mistress! And my wife was there during all of this?”
Bushwick: “Yeah man, your wife actually introduced us! Oh, by the way . . . your old lady is pretty far out, man.”
Caller: “Now listen, Alexandra is a conniving little bitch. She’s setting me up, Jerry!”
Bushwick: “Nah, she’s alright, man. Hell, I thought she was pretty cool dude!”
Caller: “Listen up you pot smokin’ degenerate: If you mess this up, I’ll have your ass! Do you hear me Bushwick? I’ll bury your ass so deep in the system, you-”
Gerald flips his phone shut . . .
Mrs. Spivey questions, “Is everything alright, Mr. Bushwick?” (The charming woman then rubs the man’s chest in a playful manner, just to calm him).
Bushwick replies, “Yes, it was just a customer inquiring about a piece that he commissioned.”
“Ooh, will it be another naked woman?” Gloria asks, before running her hands suggestively over her own dangerous curves!
“She will be naked, eventually,” assures the artist.
Gloria: “Well guess what Mr. Bushwick?”
Gloria: “I do believe I’m going to purchase one of your naked ladies over there for my husband’s den. I figure with a little bit of luck, maybe he’ll be inspired to get a little frisky with me!”
The tipsy woman then starts doing a solo tango, as if dancing with an invisible partner, and then invites the artist to join her. The duo square off and then dance momentarily . . . eventually drawing the attention of the stuffy spectators around them.
. . . The woman unexpectedly leans in to smooch the artist square on the lips, and as she does . . . Her astounding 36DD’s fully impact into his chest! Batting her big eyelashes, Mrs. Spivey reveals, “You know, I used to dance on Broadway in a former life . . .”
Bushwick answers, “No, I did not know that . . . but I’ll bet you were pretty good!”
Gloria brags, “Are you kiddin’ me? With these million dollar legs, I was the best out there, honey!”
Looking into her hazel green eyes, the artist confirms, “For some reason, I have no doubt in my mind that you were my dear.”
“Unfortunately, I became Mrs. Elliot Spivey and my life suddenly turned boring,” pouts the mature redhead. The woman politely straightens the lapels of the artist’s jacket and warns, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to visit the ladies room for a tinkle. And when I get back, you better be damned sure you’re waiting for me in this very spot! Do you understand me, Gerald Bushwick?”
The professor assures, “Yes Gloria, I’ll be right here.”
As the woman twists her body and walks away she yells, “That’s good Gerald; cause I like a man that knows how to take direction!”
As the artist watched the older lass playfully sway her hips, he couldn’t help but yell out, “That’s an awful lot of spunk to be contained in one business suit!”
"Yes," she called, without turning around. "I know."
Jerry suddenly wondered if anyone noticed him watching – with his mouth open – as this incredibly sexy woman walked away.
A passing waiter smiles and stops to offer up another complimentary glass of wine. Bushwick gladly accepts the gratuity, and tucks a generous tip in the waiter’s shirt pocket in return. As the sculptor takes a sip from his glass, he notices another group of onlookers approaching his work. They all looked straight-laced and snobbish, but even their Brahmin disdain wouldn’t ruin his mood now. The evening was shaping up to be a memorable one, and the artist was already preoccupied with his latest subjects and how they might be posed . . .
3 p.m. on the lower girl’s floor of Robinson Hall, just less than a week ago:
After a night of hard partying, (and only a few hours of sleep), Miley Halliwell was spending her last afternoon on campus, lying lazily in bed. The girl’s bloodshot eyes were gazing wearily at the ceiling, as she had been trying to sleep off the buzz from the night before . . .
“Ohhhh . . . my fucking head,” mumbles the sophomore, before she rolls over for the umpteenth time (she suffers the cottonmouth and the relentless pounding in her head for several more minutes, before she considers taking two Advil and then going back to sleep). With a grimacing expression, the sophomore yanks off her bed covers and tiptoes across her dorm room with her arms crossed and her shoulders hunched over. The blonde-streaked-brunette looks over briefly at her roommate’s empty bed. She almost wishes for a moment that she could be Jennifer; all she had to worry about was studying for her finals over the break!
Granted, Miley herself would have plenty of time to recover over the break; the nineteen-year-old would be back home with her family and a few old friends from High School. But none of them could ever take the place of the boy that she had come to love over these last few dreadful weeks . . .
The drowsy brunette pops a couple of aspirin in her mouth and washes them down with a stale bottle of water before she plops down on a nearby couch and pulls a blanket out over herself. The girl wasn’t only hung over; she was physically exhausted. The poor girl was emotionally drained from all the stress she had undergone these past few weeks: upcoming finals, her new relationship with Dennis, and the thought of being away from him over the break. And then of course there were those recurring nightmares that were causing her so many sleepless nights. The one’s where she was posed naked, unable to move a muscle, and in front of a room full of strangers . . .
“Thank God I don’t have to go anywhere today,” thinks the sophomore to herself. “Just give the aspirin a chance to work its magic and you’ll awake feeling better . . . Probably in a couple of . . . more . . . a few . . . more . . . hours.”
Miley’s green eyes were fluttering closed and she was just about to doze off, when she thought she heard the doorknob jiggle. The girl quickly shoots up and says, “Hello? . . . Who’s there?”
. . . The girl’s heart skips a beat, before the door swings open and her boyfriend steps inside.
The boy greets his lover with, “Hey babe, how ya’ feeling this morning?”
“Well, how does it look like I’m doing?” asks the girl, now looking up at her boyfriend with her bloodshot eyes. “And why did you leave me at the bar anyway?”
The guy gives her a confused look and replies, “I didn’t just leave you at the bar; I actually thought that you left! . . . Besides, I had to watch the front desk this morning.”
“Well thanks a lot Dennis – it really shows me that you care!” the girl fires back in a critical tone. “Besides, the dorm is almost empty!”
“Nah that’s not true,” answers the R.A. “That Italian girl on the third floor is still here.”
“Who, that cocky girl from New Jersey?” accuses the sophomore. “I’ll bet you’re keeping a close eye on her, huh?”
Her boyfriend just makes a dirty look and walks over to open the mini-fridge, to scrounge for some munchies . . .
Even though she was hung over, Miley couldn’t help but stare longingly at the boy. She was already experiencing a sense of loss, knowing she wouldn’t see Dennis over the break, and he was still right there in the room with her!
Dennis kicks off his shoes and then jumps into his girlfriend’s empty bed, before cracking open a can of soda. A moment later, Miley wraps herself in the blanket and creeps across the room to join him.
The R.A. looks over at the girl sitting at the foot of the bed. Even with her hair in a tangled mess, the morning light still manages to somehow dance upon her dark brown curls. Dennis then notices the tears now welling up in Miley’s light green eyes and he already knows what is on her mind . . .
“You’re upset now, but I’m sure you’ll be fine once you’re back at home,” says the boy, before taking a gulp from his soda.
(The comment instantly strikes a nerve with his girlfriend!) “How can you just say that? . . . Will you even miss me?" questions the girl.
“Miley, it's not that big a deal; two weeks will pass by and you'll be back before you know it," predicts the boy. “If your going to be this clingy for just two weeks, how much of a pain in the ass will you be when summer comes around?”
“I’m really going to miss you Dennis; nobody understands me like you do and you’ve always been there for me!” confesses the young woman. “I can't help but feel empty inside.”
There was no reason for the R.A. to doubt the girl’s sincerity; it was easy to see the poor thing was already wrapped around his finger.
Dennis looks deeply into the girl’s eyes and confesses, “Miley, there’s no one like you!”
The girl is so taken with the guy’s charm that she suddenly leans forward to give her beau an appreciative kiss!
. . . All the while, Dennis is secretly marveling at his clever interrogation and eventual manipulation of the poor girl. In just a few short weeks, the boy had managed to gain the girl's trust, learning of her recent nightmares and her subsequent visits to the campus psychologist: Dr. Connie Patrilla! Young Mr. Wolcott had a hidden dark side that his smitten girlfriend didn't see; a darkness that would be instrumental in carrying out the evening's plans.
Dennis reaches over and cups Miley’s beautiful face within his hands before suggesting, “Look: we still have a couple of hours to kill, before you have to catch your bus . . . Why don't we make the most of them?"
Miley leaned in to kiss Dennis once more; this time with an opened mouth! The girl whispers in her boyfriend's ear, "Do you have any protection?"
"Oh yesss," replies the boy under his breath, before he asks, ". . . Are you sure that you want to?"
"Um-hmm," coos the girl, before settling back on the bed to remove her oversized t-shirt. (As Miley peels the item up from around her torso, her healthy breasts slightly jiggle as they come into view). The sophomore’s tight gray sweats proved to be more of a struggle, but they too were eventually tugged off to reveal a lacy red thong. The horny girl sat there at the foot of the bed for a moment, before pouncing at her lover and reaching for the hem of his shirt.
. . . Dennis was admiring his girlfriend in all of her aroused glory: the small bumps around her areola were visible and her nipples were erect and just begging to be sucked!
Miley took her boyfriend's arms and pulled them up over his head, before giving his shirt a good yank and tossing it over her shoulder. The girl wastes no time in hopping up onto his thighs to cross her legs around his waistline. The blonde-streaked brunette begins to thrust her hips and grind her crotch, as she expertly began to undo the buttons on her boyfriend's pants with her right hand . . .
Dennis reciprocates, by reaching out to his girlfriend's rigid nipples and working them like a pair of toggle switches; making sure to give each one an equal amount of attention!
Miley expels her breath, with the warm area between her thighs now pressing down even harder against the boy. "Dennis, that feels sooo . . . good!" whispers the girl, before arching her back just a little bit further . . .
After a few heated minutes and the toss of a red thong, Dennis commands under his breath, “Ok Miley . . . roll yourself over!”
His lover replies, “Ok baby,” before rolling her tight body across the sheets to offer up her backside.
Dennis grins as he appraises his girlfriend’s precious ass, just like he has so many times before. His hungry eyes skim across Miley’s arched lines, until coming to a stop at the small of her back, where a small tribal tattoo of a blazing sun brands her silky skin.
The young man thinks silently to himself, “I’m sure going to miss this part of you, Miley Halliwell!”
For the next few hours muffled moans of pleasure, both male and female, could be heard from just outside the dorm room. But with a majority of their peers having already left for spring break, Robinson Hall was nearly empty. In the end, no one would be around to hear Miley’s short frightened scream in a surprised reaction, nor see the brilliant flash appear fleetingly in the gap beneath the door . . .
The Maison de Beauté Fine Arts Building, Glendale University Campus, current day:
It had been only two days since the Pygmalion Brotherhood’s sacred dinner had taken place, but Professor Gerald E. Bushwick was eager to get started on his latest piece of work. The man had personally invited an old friend and fellow Fraternal Brother – Jack Claussen – to join him in his studio for the afternoon.
Bushwick was seated in his office just beside his classroom, awaiting the arrival of his old college mate. The campus was deserted now due to the spring break and the eccentric artist had his open-toed sandals kicked up upon his desk. The sweet burning smell of “Acapulco Gold” was noticeably floating through the air . . .
* * * * * *
Just outside of the old fine arts building, a 1963 Lincoln Continental pulls into to the parking lot; its sinister black paint and miles of gaudy chrome shining beneath the sun. A few minutes later, a lone figure climbs out of the gas-guzzling beast and shuts the door, before casually walking up the concrete walkway. The driver looks up at the familiar building before him and pauses in thought for a moment, before cracking a smile. The man removes a vintage pair of Ray-Ban “Wayfarer” sunglasses and slips them into the chest pocket of his sport coat, before stepping into the building’s shadow . . .
Built in 1949, Maison de Beauté was a stone-built structure that looked as if it belonged in the French countryside. The building was erected in honor of Jean-Pierre Duchamp, one of the university’s longtime benefactors. (The name Maison de Beauté - meaning home of beauty - paid homage to Duchamp’s French heritage).
For nearly half a century, this majestic-looking structure had housed both the music and art departments, while serving as a temporary home for the university’s art collection as well. With the influx of computer technology in the mid nineties, the stone edifice and its dated wiring quickly became obsolete. It was decided that the old building would be replaced by the new, more modernized construction that now stood beside it. Although it lacked the square footage and updated technology of the new structure, Maison de Beauté still served its purpose as an annex: continuing to house several well-equipped studios on it’s two upper floors. These studios that remained were primarily used for painting, drawing and sculpturing courses (nature drawing students particularly liked the building for its vast north-facing windows and were often inspired by the panoramic view of the campus!) So it was here that many outstanding works were still created, adding to the already impressive collection that blessed Glendale’s artistic heritage.
. . . However, not all of Glendale’s finest works were created in those classrooms upstairs. On the basement floor of the old stone building, there were art pieces of a different kind being conceived. These thought-provoking pieces were created long after school hours, and were viewed by private invitation only . . .
A Walk Through Memory Lane
As the clunking noise of his shoes echoes through the empty halls, Jack Claussen finds himself in the middle of a nostalgic moment. Studying for exams, the uncertainty of whether he passed them or not (especially the bad ones like biology, geometry, physics, and those chemical engineering tests!)
. . . Of course there was also the music of the time, the clothes, and the sudden feeling of nervousness as a beautiful girl passed closely by . . . It all suddenly came back to him. At any minute now, the lockers would start slamming shut as the peers around him rushed off to their next lecture!
Although his major was chemical engineering, Jack often passed through this very building – just to kill time and enjoy the view. For the Maison de Beauté was where all of the hot “artsy” girls were on campus, and everybody knew it!
Claussen then considers, “Of course the hottest ones were usually chasing around the jocks, or ended up dating some artist or poet anyway, didn’t they?”
The first year of college is a time of personal growth and exploration. It’s a time when students question their identity, beliefs, values, and career goals. College is a time for experimentation, pushing the boundaries, discovering new things and not being afraid of failure. A time for developing character and creating your own path in the world.
. . . In other words: It is the best of times and the worst of times!
Just then, the professor glances over at a drinking fountain and stops dead in his tracks. The man slowly approaches the fountain, not necessarily because he’s thirsty, but because of what he had seen here so many years ago.
. . . It was right here, at this very drinking fountain, that Jack first came upon Kathy Lee Fonda, (actually it was just Kathy Lee back in those days). The popular cheerleader had just bent over to get some liquid refreshment in her Glendale Gargoyle’s cheering uniform! The unsuspecting lass felt her troublesome garb creep up into her backside, and simply picked out the unwelcome intrusion. It was an innocent clothing adjustment that was done out of habit and not meant to be seen . . . That was until Kathy looked up to notice a leering underclassman with a kinky grin on his face – along with the “pitched tent” that was now taking place!
Kathy immediately got a disgusted look on her face and yelled, “Get away from me you pervert!”
. . . Other students in the area quickly turned to see what the commotion was, only to witness a red-faced Jack Claussen quickly wandering away from the scene!
Professor Claussen laughs now at the recollection, before leaning down to drink from the fountain. The man stands upright a moment later and swallows hard. “Ahhh . . . Quality H2O and memories of Kathy Lee in uniform!”
Claussen walks onward and comes to a stairwell that runs down to the basement floor. He’s almost halfway down the stairs when he notices a sweet smell in the air. The professor mumbles, “My sorry ass might be getting old, but I haven’t forgotten that smell!”
The man’s suspicions are proven correct when he reaches the bottom of the stairway and sees the thick haze now floating around the hallway lights in the ceiling. In a lowered voice, the professor begins to recite the words of a familiar tune from back in the sixties. "One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small . . . And the ones that mother gives you, don't do anything at all . . .”
Claussen finally finishes his walk to the very end of the hallway and comes to a door with a rainbow colored peace symbol stuck on its surface. In fact there were dozens of vintage decals stuck to the door: Keep on Truckin’; I support Green Peace; the obligatory dancing bears; and his favorite, “I traded this van for my wife- Not a bad deal, huh?”
“Yep, this be the place,” mumbles the professor, before pushing the door open to walk in. Immediately off to his left was a small adjoining office, with hanging plants in macramé holders and several colorful posters adorning its walls. There was a lava lamp that mysteriously glowed on a low-lying shelf, while the smell of fresh hash and burning incense (possibly patchouli?) filled the air. These items were mostly relics from the sixties, as was the man that is sitting behind the desk . . .
“Hey, there he is!” greets the professor. . . (Jack is somewhat surprised when the guy doesn’t look up immediately).
The bearded man behind the desk was preoccupied with a single sheet of rolling paper, and was sprinkling a generous amount of herb onto its surface. It didn’t take a chemical engineering degree to notice that the shredded substance wasn’t tobacco!
Professor Bushwick finally looks up from his work and says, “Well Mr. Claussen, welcome to my humble quarters!” . . . (The artist then raises the hand-rolled creation and licks it with practiced precision, before sealing it shut with the press of his fingers). The man raises the joint and offers, “How about a little gift from our mother earth, for all your troubles my friend?”
Professor Claussen passes on the offering and states, “Sorry Jerry, but I swore off that stuff a long time ago . . .”
Bushwick shrugs his shoulders and tosses the joint inside the center drawer of his desk, before promising himself, “Well, that’s a little something for later then.”
Meanwhile, Professor Claussen takes a look around the room for a quick trip back in time . . .
The office was even smaller once you were standing inside and it was cluttered with journals, old newspapers and yellowed copies of Rolling Stone magazine. It seemed as though someone had tried, in vain, to organize the items into piles but they were far too numerous to remain stacked. There were art manuals and textbooks lining the shelves of a poorly assembled bookcase on one wall, while milk crates full of old LP records lined another. Jack soon came to the realization that Gerald Bushwick was not an organized man and the professor looked at him with a slight sense of pity. The artist was a portly man, in his late fifties or early sixties, (as they all were now) and still wearing cutoff jeans and tie-dye shirts. His once youthful blonde hair had turned to silver, but it was still tied into a long ponytail, just as it was back then. He sat across from Jack in a wicker chair, and crossed his legs while looking curiously at his hand . . . In fact, the distracted artist sat there for a good minute or so, without so much as uttering a sound.
Jack leans in towards a wooden statue of Buddha that was meditating at the edge of the desk, and studies its detail instead . . .
Finally the artist spoke; his words barely audible. "When was the last time you REALLY looked at your hand?"
Jack starts to crack up at the expense of his stoned friend, and then reaches to pick up a book that’s sitting near the Buddha. “The Politics of Ecstasy, by Timothy Leary . . . I remember this one,” admits the professor, before quickly fanning through the pages. On the flyleaf was a signed dedication by the author.
The artist finally looks up from his hand and reveals his half-baked smile. “Turn on, tune in, drop out . . . and I did!”
Professor Claussen looks up at a garishly colored poster that reads, "Drop Acid, Not Bombs!" and chuckles to himself before deciding to change the subject.
“Nice office décor Jerry; it has a true '60s/hippie feel to it,” complements the guest, before he confesses, “ . . . Although I was almost expecting a bean bag chair, a beaded door curtain and a couple of pet rocks tossed in for good measure!”
The artist locks his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair, before admitting, “I did have a beanbag chair in here, but the books started taking over. I ended up taking the thing home to the old lady and she broke it! MUHAHA-MUHAHAH-MUHAHA!”
Jack can’t help but laugh himself (his aging hippie friend always had a notoriously hearty laugh, which immediately reminds him of Dr. Evil!) Claussen finally manages to calm down enough to ask, “So how is Lucinda these days?”
Jerry replies, “Lucy is getting to be a big ole woman . . . Why do you think I spend so much time messin’ around here in the studio?”
Claussen: “Well, I’m certainly sorry to hear that.”
Bushwick: “Ah no, that’s alright. I still love er’ . . . I might get my rocks off down here, but I still go home to the old lady . . .”
“Right . . .,” says Claussen, (now flipping through a “Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers” comic book).
Bushwick suddenly decides to work himself up out of his chair, and makes his way over to the professor. The portly man pats Claussen on the shoulder and suggests, “Why don’t we take a walk out to the studio so I can show you what I’ve been up to?”
“Now that sounds like a plan!” replies Claussen, before tossing the comic back on the desk.
As the men make their way through a classroom full of empty desks and chairs, Professor Claussen offers, “You know, coming back here for these last few days has triggered many of my bittersweet memories of my college years. Sure they were some wild times, but I almost miss the old days.”
Bushwick remarks, “Of all the things I lost in the sixties, I think I miss my mind the most!”
Claussen agrees, “Yeah, I think we all lost a little bit of it! . . . The ironic thing is that I had issues with almost all of my professors back then . . . who could have ever guessed I would become one!”
Reaching to open the studio door, Bushwick replies, “Actually dude, I think that’s just bad karma.” A moment later, the man reaches in to turn on the overhead lights and then invites his guest to come on inside . . .
Claussen walks in and to his immediate surprise – finds that the studio has a Caribbean theme!
“Cut-off shorts are allowed and shoes are optional!” assures the artist.
“Well, this is most certainly unusual!” observes the guest, before taking a look around.
In the middle of the room was the typical raised posing platform with a sheet-covered figure. Encircling that wooden platform were several easels and a few chairs. However the surrounding walls displayed one continuous mural of a beach at sunset spanning several canvases, painted in panoramic style. There were starfish and seashells glued to the panels of a low-lying supply cabinet in one corner of the room, while a pair of six-foot palm trees stood in two others. From overhead, a thick fishnet hung and shared space with the various studio lights. Just standing there, Claussen could almost smell the sun block and salty air, while imagining the sounds of the crashing surf all around him . . .
Bushwick smiled with pride as he said, “Pretty far out huh?”
“Yeah, it’s definitely something!” Claussen agreed.
“I love the tropics, man. But with the hours that I work, I could never get away for a real vacation. So, I brought the Caribbean here!” chimes the artist, before adding, “It’s the perfect retreat after a busy day.”
Professor Claussen begins to walk around and looks at a few sketchpads that were hung on various nearby easels. Each of them had the same drawing of a beautiful girl that was standing on a beach and apparently wringing the water out of her hair . . .
In the background, Bushwick continues, “Sometimes an artist gets lucky and finds a spot that’s perfect for creative bliss. A place where other artists can join together and make things happen. This studio is one of those spaces.”
At this point, the artist approaches the raised platform and gives the professor a nod to request his assistance . . .
The two men step to either side of a cloaked object and reach down to pull the sheet upward. (Professor Claussen’s heart begins to race as a pair of shiny legs are partially exposed!)
As the sheet continues to draw back, the sexy motionless figure of a bikini-clad beachgoer is slowly revealed!
In a lowered, but excited voice, Claussen gasps, “Oh . . .my . . .Goodness!”
Professor Bushwick discloses in an equally lowered voice, “This . . . is Miley.”
At a near loss for words, Jack responds, “ . . . and my name is mud!”
Miley’s dark hair hung wet from the side, as if she had just come out of the ocean. Her head was tilted off toward her shoulder and angled downward, her body slightly bent. The model’s hands wrung out the dampness from the imaginary sea. She had on a hot-pink bikini top, comprised of two bulging triangles that were connected by a string in the front. An equally pink g-string hung from the two fine points of the model’s slightly protruding pelvic bones. She wasn’t that tall, being just over five feet, but her body was toned and tight . . .
Professor Claussen’s admiring eyes scan over her body. “Very nice.”
“Yes,” replies the artist, as he cracks an appreciative smile.
Claussen leans in closer to get a better look of the model’s facial features. Miley’s face was heart-shaped, with sharp cheekbones that tapered down to a narrow chin that sported an adorable cleft. Jack reasoned that this girl was a natural beauty, without any need for make-up. When the man then looked up directly into the model’s brilliant green eyes, she returned her blind gaze to his . . . there was a haunting glimmer that never seemed to fade.
“How long has she been frozen like this?” asks Claussen.
“ . . . Got her posed just before the Fellowship Dinner,” replies the artist. “Her kiss-ass boyfriend actually turned her in, if you can believe that.”
Claussen guesses, “The new kid?”
Bushwick answers, “Yeah, Dennis whatever-his-name is. He was going around bragging about how he banged her from behind one last time, just to allow Coach Walker in there to flash-freeze her with the camera.”
Professor Claussen sarcastically comments, “Nice guy,” as he continues to size up the stilled model. His eyes cast across her arms, shoulders and back; all were tinted with a natural rich tan. At the back of her neck was the recognizable lump of a freeze control module, held in place by an inch-wide choker, which was keeping her as a living statue.
“You use the necklaces in here too, eh?” inquires Claussen.
“Oh yes, the necklet is a handy little tool,” admits the artist, before revealing, “I always keep a few on hand for use on my “after hours” models. You never hear any complaints about tired limbs, or get asked to take bathroom or smoke breaks and they definitely won’t be checking their annoying little text messages every time you turn around . . . Nope, not when they got one of these little suckers on! They’ll stay still for as long as you want them to . . . And even longer!”
Now glancing at the small of the model’s back, the professor spots a tribal tattoo of a blazing sun (even though it was barely larger than a silver dollar, it would be one mark against her in Claussen’s eyes). Although she was slightly bent forward, Miley’s ass looked just as firm and delectably packaged as the rest of her.
From just in front of the girl, Bushwick watches his fellow fraternal brother size up his model. He mentions, “Check at the great tone in the backs of her legs, Jack.”
. . . The professor glances down at Miley’s legs, as requested. Indeed, the model’s calves were strongly muscled – more so than the rest of her.
As Jack comes back around her other side, he examines the bottom half of the model’s hot-pink swimsuit. The girl’s bikini was secured at the sides by two tied bows that drew even further attention to the curve of her hips. (The fact that it was held together by those tiny little bows made it all the more sexier, not to mention the fact that it could drop to her ankles at the simple tug of a string!) The professor considers that he’s seen his share of revealing swimsuits over the years, but very few were filled out this nicely!
“Very well done,” praises Claussen. “But I have to ask . . . ( he leans toward the model to feel some tendrils of damp hair that hang toward the ground, only to find it rather oily) . . . how do you keep her hair looking wet?”
Bushwick reveals, “I rub in some vegetable oil. It takes a good shampooing afterward to get it all out, but then again . . . She’s not going anywhere!”
Claussen: “So you just keep her here?”
“Although I’ve used Miss Halliwell previously on several occasions, but I’m afraid her days as a figure model are numbered,” confesses the artist. “Every once in awhile we get one that has flashbacks or recurring nightmares. Unfortunately, Miley started seeing one of the campus psychologists and that messed things up for the both of them. So, they were dealt with accordingly; per the Dean’s orders. . .”
“Mmm, yes; I saw the psychologist in the freezer at The Muse a few days ago; quite a striking woman, if I do say so,” admits Claussen.
Bushwick replies, “Yes, Connie surely was . . .”
Still admiring the Miley girl even now, the professor inquires, “So this is the only model that you use for your painting, drawing and sculpting courses?”
“Oh no, no, no! First off: several students have served as models for us over the years; both male and female,” admits the artist. “However, I do like to rotate them around to keep things fresh . . . thus the program. Secondly, I should point out that the models I suspend are used in a private after-hours program.”
“An after class program?” questions Claussen.
“Yeah, we actually have what we refer to as “adult night!” Bushwick then further explains, “This is a program created by artists, for artists and it’s strictly V.I.P. access; totally underground.”
“You mean like Warhol’s group?”
“Exactly!” boasts the artist.
Professor Claussen suddenly envisions the tropical studio full of an assortment of eccentric, nocturnal artists all sipping cappuccino and smoking skinny imported cigarettes. They anxiously await Bushwick to roll in their latest nude model in his or her pre-posed position, or perhaps they’ll even have a chance to pose the model themselves! Those same artists leer out from behind their easels at their frozen muse, rolling pieces of charcoal between their sweaty fingers, or painting away madly with their horse-hair brushes. Maybe they’d be tapping their feet to free-form jazz, or listening to the natural sounds of the ocean that could be playing from some tune box in the corner. . .
Claussen turns to his fraternal brother and asks, “ . . . Are you being serious, or are you still high?”
“Man, I’m as serious as a heart attack,” promises Bushwick. “These are artists that are deeply committed to the female form.”
Jack looks over at the frozen form of Miley, who still holds her pose dutifully, even though her admirers have left long ago and gone back to living whatever life it is that they came from.
The guest goes on to admit, “I don’t know, I guess I never imagined that such a thing could exist!”
“Pretty far-out huh? . . .Wait till you see what I have going on behind the divider,” teases the artist.
The Inner Sanctum
Bushwick’s personal workspace is separate from the teaching studio, and is actually hidden behind two dividers. Entering the through the first, the men came across what looked like the traditional kiln room. But beyond that was a second divider bearing a heavy steel door; this one featuring a keyless entry system, much like the other high security areas on campus, and it was fully soundproofed.
Bushwick slides his access card through the scanner, types in a key-code, and a moment later the two men step into the darkened workroom beyond the divider. The artist then reaches to flip the main switch, and a row of hanging halogen lamps illuminate in succession . . .
If the first studio gave Jack the illusion of being stranded on a tropical island, this one was strictly business. In fact, it was exactly what the professor had expected to see in the first place. The room looked rather cold and sterile, with medium gray walls, white tile floor, and several overhead storage cabinets made of stainless steel. There was an amazing array of power tools spread out over several workbenches. A seven-foot-high kiln stood upright in one corner of the room, while a series of copper air lines snaked across the walls and connected to an industrial compressor in the kiln room. Among the various sculpting tools was an odd assortment of PPE gear, including: ear plugs; safety glasses; open boxes of latex gloves and several bubble packs containing disposable respirators. There was also a noticeable layer of powder-like dust that covered nearly everything . . .
“Damn, look at all of this silt! This looks more like a drywall construction area than an artist’s studio!” thinks Claussen to himself.
Although the artist’s “tools of the trade” were certainly interesting to look at, they couldn’t hold Jack’s interest like the surrounding assortment of eye candy did . . .
As the professor had hoped, there were several female works of art posed about the room in various stages of progress. A completed statue was on a low-lying dais in a considerably difficult pose; two more women were coupled together intimately and draped over with plastic sheeting. (These two figures were still of the flesh, their transformation yet to be completed). Placed in the very center of the studio was the recently crowned Miss Pygmalion 2009: Jessica Fiori. The delectable Italian stood motionless and proud upon her dais, still wearing her jeweled crown and holding the same pose that she had during the Fellowship Dinner!
Professor Bushwick asks, “Well, what do you think?"
Claussen replies, “What do I think? . . . Hmmm . . . I would say from the looks of things, there just might be something illegal going on here!”
The artist immediately blurts, “I plead artistic license!”
“Hey! . . . I used that excuse once!” Claussen chuckles.
Bushwick: “Oh really? . . . Did it actually work?”
Claussen: “It worked good enough to net me a couple of lady C.S.I. agents for my collection.”
Bushwick gives an impressed look and replies, “Sticking it to the man! . . . I’m quite impressed, Jack!”
The artist then nods his head towards the other side of the room and says, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the ladies.”
Claussen easily agrees, and follows his fellow brother over to where a pure white statue was posed on a low-lying platform . . .
“In some traditions, the serpent is believed to represent the tremendous power that’s hidden within the individual,” enlightens the artist.
“Mmm, ok,” replies the guest (now placing his chin in hand for complete focus).
“Jamie here, is placed in what we in the yoga world refer to as; The Cobra Pose,” reveals the artist, before going on to further explain, “In its final position, the pose looks like a cobra with its hood raised, hence the name . . .”
The professor’s eyes glide over the curving figure to study her difficult pose. Indeed, the woman did resemble the legendary cobra: now poised to strike at an unsuspecting unseen prey!
The former cheerleader known as Jamie Pinter had been one of the first of Glendale’s students to disappear in the days that led up to the event the Pygmalions sometimes referred to as, “Our own rush week.” The young woman was now forever posed in an awkward face-forward position, with her torso raised upward by her strut-like arms, while her splayed palms actively served as their base. Her pubic arch, thighs and legs were pressed flat to the surface of the dais, with her feet and toes pointed out straight. The freshman’s tailbone pressed in hard towards her pubis, while her lower back arched into an incredibly deep backbend, causing the humps of her ass cheeks to flex up and appear that much firmer!
Claussen observes, “Wow; talk about flexibility!”
Bushwick replies, “Yes, Jamie’s body was quite malleable; undoubtedly a result of countless hours she spent in the university’s workout room!”
Claussen asks, “But how did you get her to arch her back so deeply and be able to hold it like that?”
“Well, I suppose I cheated a bit on this one,” confesses Bushwick. The man then points out a “jig” in the back corner of the shop that Claussen had apparently failed to notice. The crude framework of thin metal rods was welded in some places, and c-clamped together in others. The particularly odd thing was that the form duplicated the exact same deeply arched shape as the statue posed before them! The artist proudly announces, “I built it myself!”
Jack speculates, “So you strapped her down to the framework to hold the pose? . . . Was she actually conscious throughout this?”
Bushwick replies, “Well, I suppose it depends on what you would consider to be conscious . . . Besides, it wouldn’t be any different than striking a cobra pose and being able to hold it steady for her yoga instructor!”
. . . As the artist continues to explain the difficulties of turning gorgeous Jamie into a work of art, Professor Claussen continues to study her exquisite detailing; from her upper abdominal muscles that stretched from her bent pelvis, the deep crease of her arched spine, and the way her breasts jutted outward with pride. It was all here before him, sealed within a thin off-white shell.
Bushwick proudly points out, “How about those erect nipples eh? . . . You could cut through plate glass with those suckers!
The professor gives a nod of approval, before leaning in to study the statue’s facial features. The girl’s neck was stretched to the point where her smooth, sightless eyes stared upwards at the rafters in the ceiling. (Jack could almost picture those eyes darting back and forth, as she desperately struggled against the unforgiving restraint of the metal jig!) Any blemishes that her pretty face may have had were now gone – concealed forever by the pure white radiance of whatever it was that had preserved her.
Claussen admits, “I think that the pose she’s in looks more like a seal than a cobra . . . but she’s quite beautiful nonetheless!”
Bushwick replies, “Come on man, there aren’t any “seals” in the positions of yoga!”
The artist shakes his head as if in disbelief, before turning to walk towards the coupling that’s covered by a single sheet of clear plastic . . .
Even though the pair was partly concealed, Claussen could clearly see that both women were nude and stood facing one another. Each figure seemed to be reaching out for the other, as if they were about to embrace. But as the professor aided his host in lifting up the clear cover, he found that was where the resemblance to each other ended . . .
Holding the plastic sheeting up high enough to display his work, Bushwick discloses, “This fine lady on the right is Mrs. Gloria Spivey, and this troublemaker on the left is Ms. Alexandra Dupree.”
Professor Claussen gives an understanding nod, before eagerly looking over the two stiffly posed females . . .
The left figure looked to be in her mid 20’s; her face was cute and youthful, the body lean and fit but enhanced like that of a well-paid stripper; the professor guessed her to be a respectable 36D! Although shorter than her partner, Alexandra’s legs were toned and cleanly shaven, just as her pubic mound was. Peeking around back, one would see that the skin of her ass was firm like a ripe apple! She had long brown hair that matched a set of rich brown eyes, which seemed to stare right through her neighbor . . .
The other figure was an older woman that appeared to be in her late forties, or maybe even fifty at most. The lady was still quite attractive, with a beautiful Nordic face and fiery red hair that was upswept. Gloria’s body didn’t have the toned physique as her partner’s, but it sure was womanly, with such fetching features as deeply curved hips, a pair of sculpted dancer-like legs, a flat tummy that rounded out below her navel, a pair of awe-inspiring 36 DD’s that stood at attention, as well as a very generous tush. (Seen in side profile, her butt even arched out in an impressive manner!) . . . Although aged, one could immediately tell that this old gal carried herself with confidence!
The host goes on to explain, “Mrs. Spivey here is married to a very prominent Senator. Unfortunately, Senator Spivey has a habit of patronizing high-priced call girls. Such as this one,” he continued, looking over at the younger woman. That relationship created a bit of a situation…
Claussen interrupts, “Wait a minute; was this the guy that approached you at the Fellowship Dinner?”
Bushwick answers, “Yes, that was him. Well anyway, bounteous Alexandra here was apparently one of his favorites. Being the entrepreneur that she is, and with visions of movie and book deals dancing in her head, Ms. Dupree threatened our dear senator with going to the media with her story. She even befriended an unknowing Mrs. Spivey, by posing as an interior decorator, just so she’d have easier access to the senator! . . . Fearing for the worst, Senator Spivey approached me with his urgent request.”
Claussen studies Mrs. Spivey in silence for a moment. He could just imagine this cougar striding through a room - her dancer-like legs moving in time to the steady click of her high heels - still getting a rise from the admiring glances of men that were half her age! The professor finally asks, “So how did Mrs. Spivey end up here?”
Bushwick goes on to explain, “Well, once the senator realized how easy the process was, he decided to remove two heartaches at once, I suppose! . . . He’s requested to have them arranged in a passionate, yet rather ironic embrace!”
Professor Claussen continues to look the two immobilized figures over, imagining the sight of their massive tits crushing together in a rather “forced” moment of passion (it was already ironic enough that the two were gazing into each other’s eyes at this close a range!) And yet, from the looks of their relaxed expressions, neither one seemed to mind. Of course that was only because of the body-suspending chokers that wrapped around each of their necks, but Jack could always pretend . . .
The professor’s eyes continued to wander over the older woman’s body, until they came to a stop at Gloria’s pubic mound. The hair was red, thick, and in the shape of an inverted triangle, which disappeared through a point between her thighs. “Mmm, very nice; a true natural redhead . . . Well, she might not be perfect, but I think Mrs. Spivey here is pretty damned hot for a more mature gal,” admits Claussen.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but my vision of the perfect body is a healthy one,” replies the host, before going on to explain, “I also believe that perfect bodies come in different shapes and sizes. You have the tall and slender supermodel body, like Gisele. Jennifer Lopez has a perfect body, though she is more curvaceous than a model. Mrs. Spivey here has a perfect body – especially for her age. None of these women look like one another, yet they all have perfect bodies. I guess I can appreciate women in all sizes and shapes because they’re simply beautiful creatures.”
“Very well said,” complements the Professor.
Bushwick motions to pull the plastic sheeting back down over the pair of inconvenient lovers and tells his guest, “The only reason these two are out of the cooler was because I planned on having them finished while the senator was in town.”
“You have a cooler, too?” asks the professor.
“But of course,” replies the artist. The man then turns and suggests, “Come, I’ll show you.”
The two men approach a small storage room in the back of the studio that measured 6 ft. wide by 8 ft. high and looked to be about 6 ft. deep.
“I like to keep my models in a cool dry place, so I built this storage room,” expounds Bushwick. “It’s completely temperature controlled, plus it keeps the overspray off of my stock when I’m powder coating.” The aging hippie then opens the door and flips on a light switch before allowing Professor Clausen to step in . . .
Despite the small fluorescent lamp that provided illumination from above, the storage room was still a bit dark inside. It was also noticeably cool (although not as cold as Claussen’s own cooler, but certainly enough to draw the steam from your breath). There were four more naked forms just inside, and like those posed in the studio itself - nobody moved . . .
The professor stepped up to the first figure, who stood in profile. The woman had long, whitish-blonde hair that hung just above her shoulders and her cheeks had a trace of noticeable acne. She was tall and sinewy, with very small breasts and looked to be the athletic type. The girl wasn’t posed in any particular manner; she just simply stood there, looking bone-white and rigid, much like her surrounding neighbors.
Jack asks, “So these are your future projects?”
“Well, I didn’t want to end up behind the eight ball,” complains Bushwick. “But after all the preparations we made for the fellowship dinner, and with end year exams coming up after the break, these folks might be waiting around in here even longer.”
. . . Professor Claussen moved on to the next statuesque figure: a voluptuous temptress with a strong, curvaceous body and long black hair that featured several blonde streaks. The female’s forearms and shoulders were heavily tattooed with detailed artwork. (Jack frowns at the abundance of tattoos, but still manages to look her over with a practiced eye, as if examining one of his own dolls!) Gerald had already taken the time to pose this beauty; she stood with one hand on her hip, with the other upraised to the back of her head. The woman’s hips were thrust forward, while her head was thrown back. The woman’s expression held a sense of either fatigue or hopelessness – Claussen wasn’t sure. (Perhaps neither was her creator, thus the reason she hadn’t been finished yet?)
“Who is this diamond in the rough?” asks the professor.
“This is Kat . . . or at least that’s the name I was told,” replies the artist. “She was a gift from our friends in New Jersey . . . Apparently she was dancing at one of the clubs and managed to get hung-up on one of those hoodlums. She was told to stay off the premises, but from the looks of it, she didn’t listen too well.”
Professor Claussen continues to study the silent stripper, who stared blindly at the fluorescent light above them. The old man looked her body over some more and then came back to her face. Even as hard and tough as the girl’s exterior looked, Jack couldn’t help but notice the certain amount of vulnerability that her face seemed to hold . . .
At that point, Bushwick excused himself and stepped past his guest to go beyond. The artist approached the last two figures in the very back: a paring of a late-teen boy and girl. The male had black hair that was bowl-cut and was seated on a small stool with his hands gripping the edge of his seat. He continuously stared towards the floor in silence, at nothing in particular. The female stood just beside him, one hand to her side, while the other held a wicker basket. She had long shiny tresses that were also raven-black and featured a band of contrasting red that ran from temple to temple. Her face was inescapably cute: with rounded features; a button nose; and a pair of big brown eyes that looked out rather shyly from beneath her bangs.
Professor Bushwick places a gentle hand at the tip of her rounded chin, while placing his other flat at the top of her crown. With some painstaking effort, he tilts the female’s head downward so that she stares dreamily at the same unknown point as her cohort. Making another careful adjustment, the artist manipulates the girl’s arm until her left hand rests atop the boy’s right shoulder.
Gerald steps back for a moment to study his work and reveals, “I had been trying to come up with a pose for Karina for quite sometime, and suddenly it just came to me while standing here!”
Jack Claussen steps around the tattooed temptress that he had been looking at, to survey the artist’s improvisational piece. He finds the fetching pair staring complacently; eyes focused and unblinking at the same spot on the floor, as the buzzing fluorescent light makes the only sound in the room. Due to the pair’s similar appearance, the professor assumed that they were siblings.
"Who are these two?" asks Claussen.
“This is Carlo and Karina," reveals Bushwick, before explaining, "They are going to be part of a grand fountain display, if I ever get around to finishing it."
"Mmm, very fascinating," replies the professor, before he turns to follow the artist back towards the entrance of the small room.
By now, Bushwick had already started to make his way back out of the storage room and it seemed as if he were almost urging Claussen to do so as well . . .
As Jack passes by the two more mature figures at the entranceway, he gives them a quick look once again before asking, “Are we in some sort of hurry now Jerry?”
Bushwick replies, “No, but we do have quite a lot of ground to cover this afternoon, so let’s boogie!”
As the host goes to shut the door to the cooler, his guest looks back into the confines of the room at the last second. He watches the motionless captives disappear quietly, acting like the statues that they would soon become . . .
Bushwick: “Jack, you’re a chemical engineer. Have you ever heard of a process called powder coating?”
Claussen: “Yeah sure, you’re referring to how they paint washing machine and dryer parts right?”
Bushwick: “Precisely! . . . Manufacturers also use the process on automobile, motorcycle and other metal parts as well.”
Claussen: “Right . . . So what does any of that have to do with sculpting?”
Bushwick motions to be patient with his hands, before giving his guest a quick lesson. He begins, “Now powder coating is a type of finish which is applied as a free-flowing, dry powder. The coating is applied electro-statically and then cured under heat, to allow it to form a "skin." The powder may be thermoplastic or even a thermo-set synthetic compound. I go with the thermoplastic powder; it provides a smooth, run-free finish that’s more durable than paint. There are also a wide range of colors that I can custom mix to reproduce the look of alabaster white, veined marble or sandstone gray . . . Hell I can even make them look like they’ve been dipped in gold if needed!”
Claussen questions, “Wait a minute . . . So your statues aren’t actually coated in a type of mineral?”
“No sir. They are coated in the thermoplastic powder, which hardens to look like stone,” replies he artist. “Pretty far out huh?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty ingenuous if you think about it!” complements the guest.
Bushwick confesses in a regretful tone, “Yeah, especially when I think about all those years that I spent . . . coating them with plaster and then trying to mold them by hand!”
Claussen deduces, “I would have to imagine that the detail is a lot more crisp as well.”
“Oh absolutely!” assures the artist. “That thermoplastic coating gets in every nook and cranny!” The man then clasps his hands together and suggests, “Well, why don’t we get started on Jessie; I can actually show you how it’s done!”
Claussen nods his head in agreement and says, “Sounds like a good idea to me!”
Professor Bushwick digs out a pair of dust-streaked smocks from a nearby closet and hands one to his excited guest. He also grabs a pair of safety glasses, latex gloves and a disposable respirator as well. Walking back over to Claussen, the artist warns, “Although the end result is worth it, the actual process itself is rather messy and sometimes perilous, so be sure to keep yourself protected.”
“Ok, I appreciate the warning,” thanks the professor, before taking the items from his host.
As his guest puts on his safety gear, Bushwick begins preparing his equipment. As he does so, the artist explains, “Now the application of powder is fairly simple. Filtered and compressed air, usually at 20-30 psi, pushes the powder out of the gun past the electrode, which gives the powder a positive charge. The subject that’s being coated needs to be grounded, so that the positive powder particles are attracted to it – kind of like static electricity. When your subject is entirely covered, the ground is removed and the figure is put in the oven for the final step.”
Now resembling a mad scientist from some obscure sci-fi flick, Jack Claussen approaches his teacher in full protective gear. The man patiently watches, as his host presses a quick-release air line into an odd-looking spray gun.
The artist hands the tool to his student momentarily and explains, “This is an electrostatic spray gun. It’s all set to go, as I mixed the application powder and pigment up before you actually got here.”
Bushwick sets the gun down for the time being and then grabs a pair of shears from a nearby workbench. The artist motions to follow him over to their subject, eventually stepping up to the podium where their newly crowned Miss Pygmalion stands ever patiently.
. . . Miss Fiori remains in her obedient “at attention” pose. Still attired in the bandeau-style briefs and top that clung to her fine body, the girl’s impassive face almost held a slight trace of amusement. The poor frozen co-ed obviously had no idea of what she was in for!
Without the slightest hesitation, the artist cuts the thin uniform away in four easy snips, quickly revealing just how young and gravity-defiant the eighteen-year-old’s body is! (Bushwick had done this act with such ease and precision, that it made his guest stop and think of just how many years he had to practice). A moment later, the artist picks the tube-like top and compression briefs up from the girl’s feet, only to toss them carelessly away across the floor. Her shoes and pantyhose soon follow, leaving the winsome winner standing there in just her jeweled crown and lovely skin.
As Bushwick walks away to retrieve something, Claussen stepped in closer to the woman standing off to his right. The girl’s impressive body was toned and perky (it was fairly easy to see that the co-ed had a healthy diet and prided herself on her appearance). The professor considers the fact that the model being fully curved in all the right places didn’t hurt her either!
When his host returns with a ground cable just a moment later, Jack comments, “Not that I’m complaining, but she looks so vulnerable just standing there naked like that!”
Bushwick tosses the ground cable to the floor right beside the platform. He then reveals, “I have always told my models that there’s a distinction between being naked and being nude. Naked is when you step out of the shower before you’ve put on your bathrobe. Nude is when you drop your bathrobe in front of a roomful of art students!”
Claussen replies, “Yeah, that sounds like you . . .”
The artist carefully removes Miss Pygmalion’s jeweled crown, and sets the coronet back in its glass case. The cherished crown is then placed inside a protective locker where it will remain until returned to The Muse for the next contest. Bushwick then begins to search through a pile of papers on a nearby desk.
. . . Peering over the artist’s shoulder, Professor Claussen notices some hastily scrawled sketches of various nude figures on drawing pads. The guest concludes that these must be the sculptor's earliest glimpses of ideas for Miss Pygmalion’s pose.
“I know I had the damned thing around here someplace . . .,” mumbles the man. “One of these days I’m going to get around to . . . AH HA! Here it is!”
With sketch now proudly in hand, Bushwick makes his way back to his model, with his guest in tow . . .
“Now, the pose is what can make or break your piece of work. I don’t care how beautiful your model is, she ain’t gonna’ be worth a damn in a boring pose.” advises the host. The man then hands his visitor the sketch and requests, “Could you possibly hold this up for me please?”
Professor Claussen obliges the man and watches with eager anticipation as Bushwick begins to work his magic . . .
The artist skillfully manipulates the model’s body, working with great care and focus, while rarely looking away from her. There was a bend in the arm, a twist of the wrist, a turn of the head, and a slight arching of the waist. Along came the bobby pinning of her raven hair, a lift of the chin, and the straightening of a leg to stand firmly in place. With each new adjustment, the young Italian beauty came closer to the pose that the artist was looking for.
The professor watches Bushwick’s progress closely, as well as the man himself, and notices that Jerry has a smile on his face the entire time. There was no doubt in the professor’s mind that the artist certainly enjoyed his work!
As Bushwick raises the model’s arm out in front of her, he confesses, “I grew up being completely obsessed with the female form.”
Claussen: “What male doesn’t?”
“The female body is so incredible,” states the artist. “Just when you think you couldn’t possibly love it anymore, someone brings me another project and I take that admiration to yet another level. That passion just keeps on building and building . . . And the fact that I’m getting paid to do this work, still amazes me after all these years!” Then a hint of darkness appeared in Bushwick’s expression, as he turned to his fellow brother and announced, “Then of course there are those in the organization that just simply desire the complete possession of a woman . . ."
Jack Claussen continues to observe the determined artist, with hands clasped behind his back. Being somewhat of an “artiste” himself, the professor considers the actual act of creating the statue to be an intimate encounter between the model and the sculptor. After all, the subject was being molded to the artist’s personal specifications with his own loving hands!
Inside of ten minutes, the artist has completed fine-tuning his soon-to-be masterpiece, and the model undoubtedly resembles the sketch in Professor Claussen’s hand . . .
Jessica stood upon her platform with her head turned to the right, while her left hand pressed against the curve of her hip. The right arm was raised, her palm facing upward, while open and flat – as if balancing a serving tray. All of the girl’s weight was thrust on a tensed, shapely leg, leaving the opposite one slightly bent at the knee. Her ample breasts were thrust out in pride, while the left cheek of her perfectly proportioned butt jutted out noticeably from beneath her resting hand, which was a direct result of the unbalanced weight on her leg on that side. The pose was a timeless moment of refined movement, with every feminine curve captured in pure perfection. In the overhead lights, a light sheen covers her body and pale skin; she already looks almost carved from alabaster!
“Well, I think she came out rather nicely, wouldn’t you say?” questions Bushwick.
The professor stepped up closer to the unmoving figure and critiques her frozen form. In his mighty genius, the artist had projected exactly the right proportions of naïveté and mischief; both clearly seen in her body language and facial expression!
“She is quite handsome, if I do say so!” replies Claussen. He then asks, “ . . . Could you imagine trying to persuade such a fine young woman to let you immortalize her in marble?"
“Well I certainly have over the years,” brags Bushwick. “However, there’s only one organization that could have supplied such an outstanding model free of charge . . . so firm and slender, so perfectly symmetrical, and yet with a sense of character to boot!”
A Plasticized Beauty
“Now this next part tends to get a bit messy,” advises Bushwick. “Like I mentioned before; the thermoplastic dust gets everywhere, so the safety glasses and mask are mandatory!”
The artist proceeds to unroll his air line so there is enough slack to be able to move it around freely. He then clamps a heavy black ground cable to the metal pedestal that the model is standing upon.
Before turning on the flow of electricity to the platform, Bushwick warns, “Now when I unclasp the immobilizer from her neck, Jessica may slightly awaken from her suspended state. I can assure you that she won’t be going anywhere, but she may begin to tremble a bit!”
Claussen replies, “Mmm . . .ok?”
The artist unclasps the paralysis-inducing device from around her neck and sets it down on his bench, before returning to flip the toggle switch to the “ON” position–
. . . a low humming sound of flowing current could now be heard, coming from the model’s special dais. All at once, the grounded co-ed is immediately charged with electricity!
As Jessica slowly regains consciousness, the first thing she notices is an odd humming sound in her ears. Her body felt numb all over, almost as if she were somehow frozen and couldn’t move. Although her vision was blurred, the freshman could make out the vague shape of her own upraised arm in front of her. Striving to wiggle the fingers on her right hand, the girl soon found them unyielding. Feeling the weight of her left hand pressing down on the curve of her hip, the hopeless female attempted to move that limb, but found the gesture just as useless! The co-ed was already beginning to feel unattached from herself, as if this immobile form she was in wasn’t even her own.
. . . And then there was the strange tingling sensation that was passing throughout the girl. Jessica stiffened as the electrical current went crackling through her tensed body: starting from the soles of her feet, and traveling to the muscles in her face – every part of her constantly vibrated . . .The girl felt in a state of unusually high excitement, as if she were being invigorated by the incredible surge! The devastating allure of this sensation wasn't only putting a strain on her body, but it was wearing down her mind as well; she had the unexplainable urge to reach down and get herself off, but lacked the ability to command her hands to even lift a finger!
. . . That was when she noticed the two figures moving before her. The pair of them looked hazy, their movements slurred and disjointed, but she could tell that one of them was leaning in close to her. Jessica attempted to speak out to the stranger, but her tongue felt thick and unwieldy. As her vision slowly cleared, she could tell it was a man; he had gray hair and wore some sort of goggles, his shirt was brightly colored. In the other corner of her peripheral vision, the girl could make out the second figure; he was even more freaky – looking like a surgeon or possibly a hazmat worker!
“What . . . in the . . . hell?” somehow manages to register with the confused girl.
Professor Bushwick reaches down and slowly rotates the dais around to coat a different area of his soon-to-be statue. Moving his subject back and forth in a semi-circle, was far more convenient than having to repeatedly pull the air line over her platform. With each guided pass of the sprayer, the figure’s transformation came a little closer to completion.
Even though the lethargy of her mind was starting to clear, Jessica still struggled to recall her last memory. The freshman did remember seeing an incredibly bright light . . . And there was a desk in front of her . . . possibly an office desk? She vaguely recalls some sort of cave or even a tunnel – someplace where the sound echoed and how she stared up helplessly as the faint lights passed her by. Jessica kept asking for help, but her mouth wouldn’t move. And the voices . . .There were voices around her at the time, but they seemed to ignore her. The poor girl wondered, “Why didn’t they help me?”
But that was something completely different. This place she was in now, looked like some sort of construction area, or even a workshop. And Jessie could hear the voices, just as she thought she might have back then. The frightened girl speculates, “Have I been kidnapped?”
By now, Bushwick was ready to detail below the Italian’s waistline. With his free hand, the artist spread the lips of Jessica’s pussy wide to reveal its rich pinkness. With a few easy passes, the muscular tissue is turned a gleaming gray and the man lets the elastic-like folds reflex back into place. Then taking a standard hair pick from his nearby workbench, the artist begins carefully picking through Jessica’s pubic hair, which was neatly trimmed into a light triangular patch, just above her fully exposed lips. Sweeping the pick through her hair and lifting it repeatedly away from her lower body, Bushwick mists the fine hair until it turns just as gray as its counterpart.
“What the fuck is going on?” screams the terrified girl is silence! It was at this point that the one of the strangers spoke out to her . . .
“Jessica my dear; I’m not entirely sure if you can hear me in there, but I’m so glad you could finally join us!” states Bushwick, before slightly adjusting the up-tilt of her chin. “You have been chosen by my esteemed colleagues to represent Miss Pygmalion 2009. Now I don’t want you to worry my sweet; I’m an accredited artist with over thirty years of experience, so you can be rest assured that you’re in good hands. Can you dig it?”
. . . Miss Fiori remains staring forward in silence, in a rather indecisive manner.
Jack Claussen inquires, “Wait . . . you talk to your frozen subjects too?”
Bushwick readily admits, “Yes, but of course! I have always found that good interaction with my animated models tends to loosen them up. If someone seems uncomfortable, acknowledge it: make conversation; have good eye contact; and don’t forget that a big smile goes a long way! . . . I suppose I do the same with my inanimate models simply out of habit . . . or maybe for the lack of company – whichever!”
Claussen jokes, “Yes, suspended models do tend to be very good listeners!”
By now, Jessica’s hearing and eyesight were nearly restored. Even in her hazy and confused state, it seemed that somewhere – and at some time – she had seen such a face before. When the old man in the bright shirt entered into her direct line of sight, she could have sworn the guy was even smiling!
“And what in the hell could he be so happy about?” wonders the girl in confusion.
Meanwhile, Professor Bushwick had stopped to readjust the pressure of his electrostatic spray gun. (The man does a couple of “test sprays” into the air, before finding the appropriate setting). He then announces, “You’ll notice that I coated the hard to reach surfaces first; in between the ass cheeks, her undercarriage, the armpits, in between the fingers and toes . . . Basically, you use the same principles that you would when painting a room in your house: start in the corners and work your way out!”
. . . Professor Claussen considers that if painting a room involved spreading a pair of ass cheeks that were that fine, he’d remodel his home on a monthly basis!
Bushwick continues, “Now, when you’re coating your broad surfaces, keep the tip of your sprayer six to twelve inches away, and move the gun in a sweeping motion from side to side . . .”
Professor Claussen watched attentively, as the skillful artist made pass after pass with the spray gun. With each one of those passes, a part of Jessica’s anatomy turned from flesh to a wet light gray color. The co-ed’s natural beauty would strangely disappear, only to shine forth once again as the nozzle moved away. The guest also noticed that Bushwick moved about his model rather quickly for a man of his size and age; his legs occasionally tangling within the air hose being his only handicap. The man held his delighted smile as he watched his work take shape . . . constantly sweeping back and forth.
The artist offers, “An Italian woman is much like an Italian sports car: high maintenance and temperamental as hell, but you will still want to take her for a ride!”
. . . The pair of men laugh heartily, before Professor Claussen replies, “Yes, I certainly would . . .”
Bushwick steps into his subjects line of sight and cruelly asks, “Isn' t che di destra la mia bella ragazza?”
Jessica had no response as she continued to stare out across the room . . .
“I guess the cat got her tongue, Jack,” jokes the artist.
All this while a noise that Jesse had likened to as rushing wind had been growing even louder. The co-ed had noticed a sort of gentle tightness across her chest and midriff. In fact, her entire body was starting to feel like it was encased by a shell of numbness! At least the warm, cocoon-like sensation was subduing her feelings of terror and stopping her from going into hysterics!
By now, Bushwick had coated nearly all of Jessica’s body in a sheen-like coat of gray. The man stopped his work briefly, to exchange his large spray gun for a much smaller airbrush. After making some minor adjustments to the tool, the artist was back at it again, only concentrating on her facial features . . .
With hands clasped behind his back, Professor Claussen watched his fraternal brother delicately airbrush his model’s face. Like some gifted artist behind the scenes of a glamour magazine, Bushwick transformed Jessica’s soft cheeks, rounded chin and pouty lips into a sensual gray, (the restrictive coating only made her wet lips seem that much more supple!) The thermoplastic finish truly highlighted the freshman’s already attractive features, as well as bringing out the smooth tone of her youthful looking skin! It wasn’t until Jack witnessed the co-ed’s dark staring eyes being “gray-washed” over by the unforgiving spray gun, that he felt somewhat uncomfortable.
As Professor Bushwick had been taking great care to preserve his subject’s beautiful face, Jessica had felt herself slipping away once again. She had watched right up to the last moment, as the faces before her were slowly hemmed in at the sides (a short moment later, they disappeared forever). The freshman’s breathing was becoming labored now (as slight as it was) and Jess took shallow breaths and held the air in her lungs for as long as she could, then let it out slowly . . . Jesse took one last shallow breath and held it in her lungs, but it almost wasn’t worth the effort. It seemed like whatever had been enclosing her was now allowing the muscles in her body to completely relax. It took no effort at all to stand in place, exactly as she had been posed. The young Italian girl was being absorbed by the thermoplastic’s potent chemical properties in mind, body and soul . . .
Once satisfied with the model’s facial features, Bushwick finally removed the clips from Jessica’s long black hair. Taking a bristle-brush from a nearby table, the artist began lifting up random sections of the model’s hair while spraying it lightly at the same time. The thermoplastic kept the shape of her hair in position, giving it a sculpted appearance.
. . . From where Claussen was standing, he couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the aging hippy, now taking up the role of the unexpected, as well as unlikely hairstylist!
Once he’s finished with the model’s hair, Bushwick steps down from the podium to get an overall view of his completed piece. The artist gives the thumbs-up sign and seals the deal with, “Pretty groovy man!”
Claussen backs his fellow brother up by emitting, “She’s pretty groovy indeed!”
“Now, here’s where I will need your help my friend . . .” reveals the artist, before he goes to grab a moving cart. When he returns, Bushwick explains, “Now you will have to help me load our lovely still lady onto the cart here, so we can roll her into the convection oven.”
“Woah!” exclaims Claussen, before criticizing, “Putting her in a kiln seems a bit extreme, don’t ya think?”
The artist shakes his head while rolling his eyes. He then goes on to reveal, “I’m sure that our lovely lady here has been to a tanning booth at some point within her eighteen years. The heat setting that is required to cure the thermoplastic coating, just happens to be a mere ten degrees higher than the maximum heat setting in the average commercial tanning booth. Now if you could just pick her up . . .”
Professor Claussen obliges of course, and proceeds to pick Jessica up from beneath the arm while his host supports her opposite side. The hapless co-ed now looks like nothing more than a stiff mannequin being moved by a pair of window dressers as she’s placed on the awaiting cart!
As Jesse is wheeled over to the seven-foot-high kiln that stands upright in a corner, Bushwick begins to clarify the process . . .
Bushwick explains, “Now, the actual application of the thermoplastic finish, even after it dries, is worthless until you cure it. This can be accomplished by using a convection curing oven. The subject is then heated, the powder melts into a uniform film, which then cools to form a hard seamless protective coating.”
“Wow, so she’s not only coated but actually sealed in the stuff!” replies Claussen. He then considers, “So little Jesse here will outlast both of us eh?”
“Well that’s pretty much the whole point,” admits the artist. “Besides, that’s the genius of art – it endures!”
Jessica is wheeled into the oven, and Bushwick leans her forward momentarily to pull out the cart. With the co-ed still leaning backward, the artist sprays the bottom of her feet with a handheld can of thermoplastic, before setting her upright. He touches up a few spots here and there where she was lifted, before exiting the oven.
From a few feet away, Jack Claussen watches the beautiful Italian girl fade from view as the oven door shuts with finality.
Bushwick starts fiddling with a series of control knobs and switches, and the convection oven comes to life. The two large fans at the top of the oven begin to go through their cycles, making a fairly loud blowing sound. There is also a humming noise, much like that from the electrified dais, only at a lower frequency.
From nearby, Professor Claussen removes his respirator and goggles. Jack is still watching his host with a curious expression, and it isn’t long before Bushwick turns around to notice his guest’s inquisitive air . . .
“What’s eating at you my man?” asks the artist, now removing his own safety gear.
Still looking a bit confused and impressed at the same time, Claussen states, “Gerald, you’re a true renaissance man! . . . But how in the hell did you come up with this whole idea anyway?”
“Hmm, I’ll tell you what: if I can bum one of those cigarettes in your pocket, I’ll tell ya’ all about it!” offers Bushwick.
The professor reasons,“ Sounds fair enough,” before digging out a pack of Marlboro’s from within his shirt pocket . . .
Even while standing here within the convection oven, Jessica could feel the constricting sensation increase. She felt the micro-sized plastic particles melting and sinking into her pores, while the restrictive substance settled in tightly all around her body. Her breasts that had once bounced free beneath her braless cotton T-shirts, were now a set of bountiful globes that were smooth and unyielding, their dead weight alone made it impossible to breathe. By now, the freshman’s precious rump had hardened into a pair of gray half moons that were smooth and dimple free. The powdered thermoplastic had already melted within the lips of her vagina and the crevice of her ass, welding the curved fissures into one continuously smooth seam. (As the restrictive material hardened, Jessica felt as if she were being vacuum sealed!)
. . . As horribly pleasing as all of this felt, Jesse was completely fatigued from her silent struggle; even her suspicion had somehow softened into quiet acceptance. The co-ed’s sensitized pussy suddenly spasms in approval and without so much as a thought. But it was too late to enjoy the passionate rush that was now confined to her helpless frame. Thoughts were becoming far too cloudy, and the girl was sure that if she were to fall into a slumber now, she would never wake up. But soon, none of this would matter, because statues are tireless as well as timeless. . .
El chalet en la colina
Gerald Bushwick takes a sip from a freshly poured glass of Wild Irish Rose, smacks his chops a couple of times and then lights up his cigarette. After blowing off a smoke cloud into the air, the artist asks, “Now where were we?”
Professor Claussen reminds, “You were supposed to tell me how the hell you come up with this whole process!”
“Oh yeah! . . .Well, I had been following the Dead around the globe for quite a few years – I was even a roadie for a while,” explains the artist. “Before I knew it, I wound up in the streets of Spain without any money or a roof over my head. I had turned into an addict by that point, doing odd jobs here and there just to eat and get my fix. I had managed to hustle myself into a job at a little art studio creating these hand-held sculptures that we sold at a market to tourists . . . I actually got quite good at it!”
Claussen pokes, “Well you were an art major in college. . .”
“Yeah, go figure!” replies the artist wryly, before continuing, “Anyway, so one day I struck up a conversation with some local artists in a quaint little fishing village there. They told me of this man known as the “Duke of Savoy” who lived up in the hills. This guy rarely came into town, only to buy supplies. And every time he did, he was sporting a different woman on his arm. The locals called him . . . “hombre de las señoras” or the “ladies man.”
“They also told me of this superstition. I thought it was merely a local legend at first, but I was intrigued that the villagers were so convinced that it was true. They all warned me not to go to the “chalet en la colina,” and that the “colector humano malvado” lived up there, and I might never come back. The more tales of disappearances I heard, the more my curiosity got piqued and I just had to see if it was true. So I did some detective work on my own and eventually tracked the man down in the rocky hillsides outside of Calpe.”
Professor Claussen comments, “Wow this sounds pretty adventurous! So what did this guy look like?”
Bushwick replies, “He looked like a direct descendant of Jose Mojica Marins – you know – the guy that played Coffin Joe in those old Brazilian horror films? Well that was the spitting image of the dude! He had the dark sinister eyes, the uni-brow, wore the black clothes and a dusty hat; the dude even had a cape and carried a cane with him, I swear!”
“I know the actor you’re talking about,” confirms Claussen. “That’s pretty wild!”
The artist continues, “So every once in awhile, I would take a hike up into the hills and I’d bring along these little gifts; a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, a little statue of a nude, I’d seek out a rare flower – he was a total freak about flowers. Eventually I gained his trust and finally one day, he tells me that he was the first collector of his kind in Spain. I asked what he collected, and he told me he had some two dozen figures displayed at his villa – all comprised of people from nearby towns!”
Claussen: “Wow, did you actually see them?”
“Well, we had to smoke some heavy peyote first, but then he invited me to come inside,” replies Bushwick. “It turns out that all these beautiful women he was sporting, were actually peasant girls that he met from the surrounding villages! He used to pick them up – sometimes even bribing their poor parents – before taking them in and cleaning them all up, remaking them into these gorgeous beauties.”
“So then he would parade these women around, to show off his work?” asks Claussen.
“Hell yeah, in some cases they weren’t even recognizable from before,” reveals the artist. “Then when the Duke got bored with that one, he’d pull a bluebeard number on her; she’d end up getting shellacked and he’d go find himself another! . . . I mean this guy’s work was totally crude, but there they all were: Spanish village women of every age and size, varnished and posed like mannequins throughout the halls of his villa!”
Claussen: “Man, I would have loved to have seen that! Whatever happened to him?”
Bushwick replies, “He actually flew into the states once and sat in for a few of my sessions! . . . That was about ten years ago, but I lost touch and haven’t seen him since.”
There’s a slight pause in the conversation, before the artist remembers, “I was sitting out on his patio one evening after sunset in that afterglow before the night started cooling down and I asked the man what brought him to start his collection. The Duke told me that a beautiful young woman is like a flower in the spring: their smell teases your senses; in the warmth they blossom so fair; in the cold they can wither away; their beauty can be so fleeting. And yet – both are still sought out, gathered from their home to be shaped, loved, caressed and then brought lovingly into his collection. They are to be enjoyed, cherished and revered – never to be forgotten! . . . Only he said it in Spanish, so it sounded more romantic, you know?”
“Wow; the poor guy was so scared of being lonely up there, he decided to keep his courtesans around permanently!” observes the Professor. He then confesses, “It sounds like the three of us were pressed from the same mold!”
“Yes, he was truly one of the masters,” confirms the artist. “And as crude as his methods were, they did manage to set the wheels in motion for me when I got back home. Then finally one day: Eureka! The powder coating idea hit me and I quickly began to gather up every article I could find on the subject. It took me several years, with several false starts, but eventually I applied the process successfully to my craft. You’ve seen the result.”
“Hmm, cool story,” comments Claussen, before changing the subject. “Hey that's really something about that gym teacher and Kessler's wife, huh?"
“Mmm, it's not all that surprising to me,” discloses the artist. “A few of us kind of figured that Famke was gay. And I’ve always had the feeling that Bebe Kessler was a pretty kinky lady too, once she got behind closed doors.”
The professor asks, “What makes you say that?”
“Believe me; old Mrs. Kessler enjoyed dressing those contestants for the Fellowship Dinners over the years as much as I did,” reveals Bushwick. “And on more than one occasion, I went down to Otto’s storage room and caught Bebe with her fingers in the cookie jar, sampling the goods, if you know what I mean!”
Suddenly, a timer went off, making a faint “ding!” noise, and the two fans on top of the convection oven began to slow . . .
Professor Bushwick exchanges his latex gloves for a pair of oven mitts, and offers his guest the same. The eccentric artist then opens the oven door to reveal his latest work! Jerry invites his friend inside to help remove the statue of the young Italian girl who was still warm to the touch, but cooling rapidly. The transformed co-ed is removed, and carried almost ritualistically to an empty dais that awaited nearby . . .
Even now, as Jessica stood cooling in the open studio, one could see waves of heat rising from her literally “hot” body. The finishing is accomplished wonderfully and the freshman’s nubile figure is smooth and gray as if it truly were made from stone! Even beneath the bright, unforgiving lights of the studio, the statue was quite breathtakingly flawless. This was Miss Pygmalion 2009 as she was meant to be: beautiful; provocative; sexy; mysterious. The once flirty and vivacious Italian had undoubtedly become the enduring effigy that the Fraternal Brotherhood had voted her to be!
Professor Bushwick swaps his oven mitts for a sheet of fine-grit sandpaper, and then begins feeling about the young woman’s body with his educated hands. The demanding artist seeks out any unsightly scale or other imperfections – immediately smoothing them down by hand. Within ten minutes, the creator has not only finished his fine sanding, but had already wiped away any residue. The finicky artist gives Jessica one last inspection, before stepping back to where his understudy stood.
“Look at this girl, isn’t she gorgeous?” asks Jerry, before answering his own question, “Of course she is! She’s absolutely perfect!”
Claussen sighs while musing at Jessica’s silent allure. The faux marble looks so smooth and cool, it almost seems as if she were inviting her admirer to run his hands along her curves.
Bushwick invites his guest to join him, as he returns to the motionless beauty. The artist points out, “Look at the detail captured in her delicate fingers, Jack. There’s a well defined youthfulness in her face . . . And notice the distinct nipples! You can actually make out the little bumps in her areolas for god sakes!”
Professor Claussen’s trained eyes take in every curve of Jessica’s beautiful stony gray body, moving from her solidified breasts, which rise up majestically from her sculpted torso, to the contoured taut muscles of her tummy. Even the Italian’s fresh skin tone on her face was captured! The thermoplastic coating that sealed the eighteen-year-old completely, now gave her skin such a unique smoothness that she almost looked inhuman. The sculptor had undoubtedly managed to immortalize the nude form to perfection, and with the addition of the “flowing look” of the figure’s tresses – as opposed to the matted, clumpy look of chiseled hair – Jessica made a truly remarkable objet d’art!
Professor Bushwick points out the girl’s deep, oblong navel, before slowly sliding his hand towards the area between Jessica’s legs. The underside of the model has also been finished in exquisite detail, as seen by the curly patch of hair that’s now permanently molded in her soft underbelly.
Jack walks up to the figure and runs a hand along Jessica’s outer thigh, feeling its freshly sanded edges. (Even with his old leathery hand, Claussen couldn’t believe how incredibly smooth to the touch the girl was!) Boasting a flawless production using what was an already hot model to begin with, the old man succumbed to the fact that Jessica was now simply perfect!
Professor Claussen appraises, "She’s absolutely incredible, Gerald! . . . You’ve somehow managed to even outdo your own bad self!”
Bushwick emits a very modest, “Nahh . . .”
“Rarely does an artist get to create something so perfect that it can never be improved,” reminds Claussen. “You truly are a remarkable artist and quite frankly a genius, as far as I’m concerned!”
The artist jokes, “Well I hate to use the word “genius”. . . but I certainly wouldn’t protest if others do!”
“No seriously; never in my life have I seen someone show such determination, persistence and single-mindedness when it comes to the dedication in their work,” complements Jack Claussen. “Well . . . with the possible exception of myself, of course, but that’s beside the point!”
It was moments like this that Gerald Bushwick felt most rewarded. It wasn’t about the considerable amounts of money he made from his “secret” commissions. It wasn’t about the praise that some yuppie writer might declare in an art magazine. What drove Bushwick to toil away for endless hours had most to do with the respect of his fellow brothers. Only a true Pygmalion could honestly appreciate his efforts, and only a fellow artist with the same drive and urges could know what type of dedication this work involved.
As the artist begins to clean up his tools, he reveals to his guest, “The Greeks believed that there were just three elements in nature: the earth; the wind; and fire. However, I feel that they may have overlooked nature’s most complex and intriguing gift of all – the female form!”
* * * * *
As Professor Claussen drives back to his rented suite in town, he reflects back on the afternoon’s amazing activities. He considers that most of the time when one views art, it is usually in the abstract, within the sterile white spaces of galleries and museums, worlds away from the studios where it was lovingly created. Visiting an artist's studio gives you a chance to see the process behind the piece; the actual drawing, painting, or even molding of pieces from simple inspiration to eventually become the completed artwork that might be standing before you.
Prior to this visit, Jack Claussen had never given much thought to life-sized statues made of stone (or sealed in thermoplastic to appear like stone for that matter!) Stone statues were things that other people collected for reasons that he couldn't understand. They were awkward, bulky and, more often than not, just plain ugly. They could never take the place of Professor Claussen’s own life-sized doll collection. However, the old man suspected that he’d never be able to pass an unsuspecting statue again, without wondering about its initial origin or the beauty that had inspired its creation!
In conclusion, the professor knew that Jessica’s sculpture was surely a testament to his colleague’s process . . . And he was already planning his next visit!
You know this isn’t over yet…