With my family we went to the large museum of fine arts. My older sister and I were told to stay together, we wandered off because we weren't interested in what my parents were viewing. We ended up in this gallery of paintings, they were mostly nudes. We were more than just interested, we were not allowed to see nudes in any form, we were very sheltered and very modest. For us, 17 and 15 year old girls, we couldn't stop looking at the paintings. They were classics, but still nudes.

We were holding hands and staring at this one painting, the woman had largish breasts, and neither my sister or I had large breasts, and I guess we were mesmerized. This man came up from behind us and asked us what we saw in the painting, well first we didn't answer and tried to walk off, but he followed us and asked again, asking us to return to the painting and tell him what we saw.

We weren't art critics, all we saw was nude women, and this one had largish breasts, that was it. No symbolism or anything. He started to explain the picture, and the other ones and tell us about the times in which they were painted, and that at that times nude wasn't like it is today, and that as a matter of fact breasts were seen every day, nursing mothers, field workers, women bathing, etc. Fine, but what we saw were naked breasts.

He asked us to follow him, and we went from one room to another and he showed us statues of nudes, and all other kind of art with nudes. He asked us if we ever had thought about being painted nude, that this was common in art. We followed him, and we went through this door into a room that looked like a warehouse, he kept telling us to follow him, we went further and further, until we went into this room and he closed the door behind us, it was pitch dark, we were holding hands so hard our fingers hurt, we knew, just knew it was over.

The light came on, it was a soft light, and he walked over to these shelves and pulled out some paintings, of nudes. He noticed how these nudes were about our age, the age that medieval girls were sometimes women, and how small their breasts were because they were so young. Young breasts he said, like ours. He touched my breast, I held my sister's hand, then he touched hers. He asked to see our breasts. He worked the button of my blouse, he told my sister to lift her shirt, he wanted to see our breasts.

We found ourselves naked from the waist up and he was gently touching our breasts, holding our nipples, touching our cheeks, and then his hand moved down to my sister's hips and he asked her to take off her pants, he wanted to see her nude. As she took off her pants, he asked me to follow and we were both naked and barefoot in this room with him. He looked at us and told us we would be good models for him, that the paintings he was showing us were painted by him, he wanted us to model.

It was late, we had been with him for a long time, our parents would be frantic. We asked if we could go, and he agreed on the condition we would let him paint us in the nude. As we got dressed we agreed, we agreed to meet him the next day in the same gallery where he first met us.

We went back, and we let him paint us in the nude, together and alone. For the next twenty five years we have posed for him in the nude. Hundreds of private paintings, from our teens when we first met him, until now as mature middle aged women. Always in the nude, and always afterwards he shows us how much he appreciated us, and we have always gone back to show him just how much we appreciate him. Mostly together but sometimes alone, but always to show just how much we appreciate being with him. Nude, at his mercy, for his pleasure.