I watched as Professor Washburn entered the room — and even I had to admit that she looked cool. She was an older woman, probably in her late fifties or early sixties with a slim fashionista build. Her hair was a dark steely gray except for a a white stripe in her bangs that she kept swept to the side.

She carried an air of impeccable self-confidence, like she had everything figured out. It gave her a natural leadership aura. Though today, there was something different about her — like she had a trick up her sleeve.

As she was bustling about, she made eye contact with me, smiled, and stuck out her tongue. It only deepened my suspicions.

“Hey Sam!” My friend Kelly greeted as she grabbed the desk next to mine.

I blinked at her sleepily.

“Ready for today’s class?” She asked with a warm smile.

“Ready for it to be over,” I muttered crankily.

She eyed my full cup of coffee. “Still waiting for the caffeine to kick in, eh? Well this’ll probably wake you up… I hear the model is going to be someone famous.” She baited, her eyes bright and full of secrets.

“Famous?” I asked.

She nodded enthusiastically, charmingly oblivious to my disdain.

As the class took their seats, Professor Washburn sauntered to the middle of the room and dramatically jumped on the square podium in the middle, hands on her hips like she owned the place.

The class fell quiet and all eyes were on the fabulous woman in command.

“As some of you may have heard, you’re going to be drawing a nude model today!”

There was a rustle of fluttering and excited murmuring throughout the room.

I rolled my eyes as I took another sip of my Costa Rica blend. Most of the time I forgot how much younger the other students were than me — most of them were nineteen or twenty years old, I was twenty-eight. But times like when they got excited by nudity, I was unpleasantly reminded.

“To respect the model,” she continued, her commanding voice filling up the room, “Please keep your phones away, no cameras, absolutely no photos. I see one phone out, and it’s mine for the rest of the class.”

I sighed, still waiting for the caffeine to hit. Here was yet another figure drawing class which required constant busywork. No inspiration, no creativity, depth, only repetitive motions to get the job done.

Then he walked in and my heart stopped.

Clothed in a heavy white robe head to toe was none other than that stunningly handsome guy I’d seen waiting tables at my friend’s restaurant yesterday: Evan White.

Only, he’d ditched his cute glasses and black button down for a white robe, and I knew with a growing excitement blooming in my gut that there was nothing underneath.

My excitement evaporated when I remembered exactly who this man with a greek god’s body was: The most conceited asshole in the world.

However, that intense feeling of want for him returned in full force. I had thought that this feeling was just my imagination, but here it was rearing its head for a second time.

My body responded the same way it did the first time; my cheeks flushed and my cock stiffened and pulsed in my pants.

Even though I detested him, I couldn’t deny this magnetic chemistry. And the very fact that I couldn’t control my reaction around him intensified my resentment.

Just looking at him now made my blood boil. I could see a glint of excitement in his eyes; he was thrilled to show off his body to this class of art students. It was probably like being on Instagram, but in real life for him. He couldn’t wait to soak up all this attention and admiration; hell, being a college student he probably lived off that instead of actual food.

I had little respect for jocks; they always thought they were the shit, but all they really were good at was one thing that other idiots thought they were good at. That made them popular.

But did they build anything? No. Did they create anything? No. And here was one of them, the jock poster boy, invading my territory.

He thought he could just come in here and—

Oh.

Evan had just shrugged off the robe around his shoulders and let it fall to the floor in a crumped heap. Then his gorgeous bare body was gleaming in the morning light. Even though my disdain, I had to admit that he had a perfect build.

It was a swimmer’s sculpture; he looked like a demigod. Slim, smoothly shaven and with an impressive member, even flaccid. He surveyed the room of women watching him, and then made eye contact with me. His eyes went wide with recognition and his mouth formed a small “o.”

Suddenly a shiver raced up and down my spine. There was something about that gaze of his that put me on the spot.

It was infuriating. Something instinctual in me roared and raged against it. It was a gaze that challenged me and tried to claim this room as his. Certainly, all the women were making him feel that way.

And worse, as he stared me down, his perfectly sculpted lips twitched up at the corners.

What an asshole, I thought. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

With an enraging mock-bashfulness, he stepped up on the pedestal in the center of the room. I watched his body’s every move as if it were in slow motion; I loved the way his sculpted ass muscles clenched as he raised one leg, then the other.

Again, I felt my pants tighten around my crotch.

Normally, I could handle nude models, even if they were attractive men. I would get so involved in my work that any thought of sexual fantasy was compartmentalized and filed away in a different corner of my mind.

However, something about Evan made that impossible. I don’t know if it was the fact that he was extremely attractive, incredibly confident, or both, but whatever it was awakened some kind of lust-fueled monster inside me.

The professor must have told him what poses to strike, because first he was to hold a pose for five minutes. I bit my lip as I followed the strong curves and splines of his body, tracing the delicate arches of all of the softer lines with my eyes.

He was perfect. Damn him. Damn everything that he stood for.

“Change now!” cried professor Washburn suddenly.

Evan eyed me and smirked, that son of a bitch, and turned around so that his perfect pale ass was facing me. He knew what he was doing; he had to.

It was impossible to stop myself from feeling him up with my eyes, my gaze caressing up and down his muscular back. The curve of his spine… there was something so perfect about the way it bulged out to run alongside his built shoulder blades, then curved in to his small waist. Only at the end of its curvy journey was Evan’s perfectly round, pristine ass.

All I wanted to do was grab his ass cheeks, pull them apart, and press my greased up, stiff cock into his tight little hole.

I felt my cock pulse in my pants again; it was at the point where I wouldn’t be surprised if it tore a hole in my jeans. The desire was so thick and hot it was unrecognizable; uncontrollable.

I felt the heat rise into my face as I realized what was going on. I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life. Turned on by wanting to ravage him, and he was dangling himself right in front of me like that.

“And time!” Professor Washburn commanded, clapping her hands. “Change now!”

That was the cue for Evan to shift his pose again. He swiveled round, as if performing just for me, and hunched over in a strong, curved form, as if he had just thrown a bowling ball and was confident that he was going to get a strike.

I watched his bulbous, perfect ass flex and the sexy muscle dimple appear in the side, winking at me.

I felt his gaze. Even though he wasn’t directly looking at me, I knew that fucker was watching me out of the corner of his eye. That made me even harder.

There was no way I was going to be able to finish this art class in this state. I was biting my lip and praying that no one’s eyes drifted to me, and seeing me getting so undeniably aroused.

So clearly out of control.

I waited until Professor Washburn called time again to make my escape.

When she finally did, I saw my chance. There was a flurry of shuffling of papers as the other fourteen art students rapidly tried to switch to a clean sheet of paper.

The momentary distraction was enough to subtly reach into my pocket and tuck my throbbing cock into my waistband. Then I seized my chance and got up, swiftly maneuvering through the drawing desks until I exited the classroom.

Hustling through the long deserted hallways, I made my way all the way to the other side of the building where I knew there was a singular, private bathroom. Luckily I didn’t pass anyone in the halls. The only eyes that judged me were those of the colorful portraits on the walls.

Hurriedly, I turned the corner and let myself into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

It was a small eight by ten room, complete with a toilet, urinal, and a little shower.

It made me feel dirty for what I was about to do. What I had to do to get some relief.

Yanking down my pants and my boxer briefs, I looked down and my fully swollen cock bounced out, ready to go; harder than I’d been in a long time. I leaned against the wall next to the shower, stroking myself and thinking of Evan’s delicious-looking body.

His photos on Instagram didn’t do him justice at all. That body deserved more. There was no way to interpret in a photo the way he moved; the way his muscles flexed and swam under his skin. How he had that dip in his back that bubbled out into that perfect, round ass. All I wanted to do was just pin him down and grab that ass, spreading his cheeks apart to play with that hole.

I imagined myself pressing him down into the bed, and running my fingers delicately over his smooth, perfect flesh down the curve of his pristine back and gently over that bulbous ass. Then give it a harsh smack, watching it jiggle.

I’d hear him moan and he’d jerk away momentarily, but return, eager for more. Then I’d grab each ass cheek and part them, exposing his tight straight boy hole to me. Using lube, I’d delicately dabble it, all around it and inside it, getting it all loosened up and ready for me. Then I’d reach up, entwine my fingers in his hair, and yank his head back. I’d whisper in his ear to beg for it.

Stroking myself faster and faster, I was on cloud nine as I lost myself in the fantasy.

Only after he begged for it, when he admitted he wanted it, I’d press my dick into his tight hole.

I could imagine how his body would quiver and pulse, how he would moan with pleasure as I filled him up with my girth.

Just the thought of it was making me roll my eyes back as I stroked myself. I needed to indulge in this temptation; imagining pushing myself into his body, making him mine.

That was enough to put me over the edge, and waves of pleasure rocked my body as I felt my balls clench, I cried “Mhhhm!” and my come shot out in thick white bursts like a squirt gun.

Desperately, I aimed it into the shower.

The pearly liquid was still shooting out of my tip as I aimed it at the tile wall, coming out in thick white ropes as I stroked the release out of my body.

When I was fully spent, I leaned against the bathroom wall, panting. The orgasm sent waves of liquid pleasure through me, powerfully rocking my world.

If Evan could do that to me by just thinking about him… I could only imagine what actually being in bed with him would be like.

Then the thought of his self-absorbed persona bubbled to the surface of my mind and again, I lost all desire to pursue him. Guys like him were always horrible in bed.

As the surge of pleasure ebbed away with each heartbeat, the shame started to set in.

Here I was in a college bathroom, doing this. What kind of effect did this asshat have on me? I was completely out of my control – something that I did not stand for.

Anyway, I was just attracted to this guy’s body. And he was straight, as far as I could tell. Unless he had any secrets that he kept to himself…

I didn’t like how much space in my mind he was already taking up. It was like he owned a plot of real estate in there, and that real estate was expensive.

Though, he could afford it with that body of his…

Even after I jerked off, he was still in there, his perfect form ebbing and flowing with the turbulence of my thoughts.

I wanted him out of my territory and out of my life. I wanted to never see him again – to be faced with this temptation again. I needed my mind to be free, to be open and creative, to reclaim that piece of me that I’d lost over the years. The piece of my soul that I’d let atrophy.

Cleaning up, I consciously tried to purge this perfect man from my mind. He was hot, yeah, but he was still full of himself; a self-absorbed prick. I was ready to be done with this and focus again on my art, on producing the best work I possibly could.

I opened the bathroom door and Evan was standing right there in his robe, with a cocky-ass smirk spreading across his face.

“Hey Sam.” He said knowingly with a little smile pulling across his face and his blue-gray eyes glittering mischievously.