Paint Me, Professor | Student-Professor Erotic Novel | 18+ | ✔️

19 - Pride Bar

Alison
***

David was already waiting for me at the gate when I got downstairs. I greeted him excitedly. Needless to say he matched my energy.

"You know how lucky we are to have landed a position like this so early in our careers?" He asked as we walked side by side. "I mean, it would be nice to get paid, but we'll only work until the exhibition, so by Christmas we'll already be free again."

"Talking about being free," I said, mischief in my tone. "What do you say about going out tonight to celebrate the beginning of our bright futures?"

"Oh girl, have you read my mind?" He exclaimed, taking his hand and covering his mouth. "You're new in town, right? I'm taking you to my favorite gay club. You'll love it, it's so much fun!"

I didn't know David that well, but he was impossible to go unnoticed, with his bleached platinum blond hair. He was usually quiet and kept to his friend group during Art History, but in Professor Agnes' class he was all over the place, chatting with everyone, giving and receiving constructive feedback, sharing ideas. He was incredibly creative and was massively talented. The way he dressed reflected his vibrant and energetic personality too.

Once we arrived at our destination, we rang the bell. The door buzzed open and we got in the elevator.

"My new assistants have arrived!" Shouted Gary when the elevator doors opened and we stepped inside the studio. "Welcome, welcome, make yourselves at home. Excuse the mess. I've been busy as you can tell. Let me show you around."

The open space had three imposing industrial windows, letting in natural light, as well as powerful studio lights hanging from the ceiling. Two massive wooden tables intended for painting and crafting stretched across the room. They were littered with art supplies and materials. To the left, standing against a wall, were impressive painting racks, intended to store canvases. Against a windowless wall, four life-size paintings were in the process of being created. They weren't siting on easels given their size and weight, but rather leaning against a brick wall. Next to the elevator doors, there was small glass desk with a computer, a bookshelf behind it containing binders and folders. There was also a small kitchenette and a bathroom in the corner as to not interrupt the flow of the room. The cement flooring was covered in paint blotches, an indicator that the space was put to use often.

"Alright, here are the things I'll want you to do." Gary said, putting to the side some paint buckets so we could sit at one of the tables. The tables were discomfortingly chaotic. "First, the administrative aspect. I'll need you to answer phone calls, schedule appointments and meetings — if I need to travel, I'll need that to be arranged as well —, run errands, establish a good communication with potential clients, as well as with the galleries. Oh, and organize this mess. It's like a tornado ravaged this place."

I took down some notes on my phone so I wouldn't forget anything. David just listened attentively.

"As for the artistic aspect, I'll need you to stretch the canvases, prepare paints — if we're out of stock, I'll need you to restock them —, assist with pre-production and production of artworks. This includes working on a specific, detailed part of a painting that I'll be using in the final work. That can include many mediums, not just paint." He explained. I kept taking notes. "And now, onto the pieces."

Gary pulled out a thick painting journal, the pages not closing anymore given the volume of the collages inside. He went on to explain the theme of his collection, metamorphosis, and how he wanted to use different materials to create 3D paintings.

"This is quite a departure from your first collection." I stated, admiring his sketching.

Gary shrugged. "I guess I feel a bit more confident after my breakthrough. Now I want to do something new and outside the box."