He is not certain so he escapes to artist's studio.

"Oh, Gawd," I cried out. Sweat poured from my brow. I felt as if the sun had replaced my beating heart. The heat inside my chest was so intense that I thought that surely my internal organs were beginning to bake. I crawled into the closest stall. With herculean effort, I lifted my head above the porcelain bowl and began to dry heave.

After what felt like an eternity, I pushed myself up onto my feet and stumbled out of the restroom. My rubbery legs threatened to betray me, and I was to stop at the first water fountain I came to. Turning the nob to get a quick drink to quench my building thirst, I noticed through the stream of water, my distorted reflection in the polished metal showed that the color had drained from my face. I spat out the liquid as soon as it entered my mouth. A foul, acrid taste remained from my early ill thought out action. What the fuck made me think that was a smart idea?

The words of my professors, which had just moments ago so enraged me that I had acted on the absurd belief that my only recourse was to finalize the experiment in the thirteenth-floor bathroom of the Hart Science Center now rang true.

"Too reckless... overconfident... only a boy..." I whispered to myself as I stumbled past a throng of lovely young women. The ones that deigned to notice me gave me concerned looks.

"Little boy, do you need me to call your mother?" Was a common refrain that I heard.

"Leave me alone!" I shot back angrily as tears threatened to fill my eyes. My shame and vanity had always caused me to become petulant. I made haste to escape the campus.

In a dead run, I jumped aboard the first bus that I came to. I was to be free of the over-concerned busybodies. I took an empty seat in the back before looking up to see exactly which line I had embarked upon.

"Green Line... That goes by High Street... That's in the art district." I mused to myself as the vehicle pulled away from the university.

I was starting to feel better. My breathing had returned to normal, and I was now only slightly overheated. I wiped my brow before thinking of something. "The blonde from earlier!" I smiled at the memory of her sweet smell and sumptuous figure.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out her card; as luck would have it, her studio was located in at the corner of High Street and 26th Avenue.

After a twenty-minute ride, I exited at the stop closest stop to her address. Young women and a few boys lined the thoroughfare with makeshift stalls peddling all kinds of street art.

I hurried past them, ignoring there sales pitches. I quickly darted into a rundown converted warehouse whose numbers on the side of the building matched those of Carla's address.

I bounded up three flights of stairs until I stood just outside her apartment. A slightly rusted metal door greeted me as I stared at the buzzer beside. I had only met this woman this morning. I must be crazy to be here. Hell, it's not like it would be the most reckless thing I've done today. Besides, her breasts did feel marvelous when she hugged. My hand reached out and pressed the button.

After a few anxious moments that in light of the situation seemed more like an eternity, I heard the sound of locks turning followed by the door sliding along its track.

A paint bespeckled Carla stood before me. My breath caught in my throat as my I beheld her voluminous chest shoved inside a tight white spaghetti strapped top with streaks of bright colors here and there that undoubtedly were not part of its charm when it had hung from the sales rack. As a smile crept over Carla's face upon her recognition of me, my eyes drifted down to the tiny denim cut off shorts that were doing a poor job of hiding the bottom her smooth alabaster cheeks.

"Greg!" she cried out with unabashed glee. Carla's hand shot forth with unearthly alacrity. Unfortunately, it was in that same hand that she held her brush whose bristles were wet with a fresh coat of paint. The shoulder of my white dress shirt was soon marred with hunter green oil paint, but Carla was oblivious as she hugged me tightly as she led me into her painting studio.

The room had an absence of furniture save for a stool and a random chair. The floor was colored with every hue imaginable undoubtedly courtesy of the same carelessness that had just moments ago ruined my shirt. An easel supporting a canvas bearing a half-finished image stood in a corner facing a large window that bathed it in natural light. All around hanging on the walls were finished portraits. Their subjects were all highly attractive women in provocative poses, and they were bereft of any clothing.

"I must say I was not expecting you so soon, or really at all," Carla began. I found it challenging to keep up with her discourse as in Carla's excitement, her speech became rapid. "Oh, yes, yes. Well, as you can see, I am a painter. Life models make up all my subjects. That is to say, naked people. But so far, my paintings have all been of women. Never a boy. I had found your lot boring. No life in you. But then this morning! I saw you admiring the ladies on the train. Most males don't pay the least attention to women. Then there you were with something akin to lust in your eyes. I didn't think it possible... Oh dear, I'm doing it, aren't I?"

"Doing what?" I asked blankly. I was still trying to pry apart half the sentences she had slammed together while at the same time she hugged me tightly against her firm breast. All of this was causing a new bewildering sensation to course through my body.

"I tend to get overly enthusiastic when I focus on something new," Carla replied. She released me and went over to the unfinished canvas. She callously threw it aside and replaced it with a fresh one. "And right now, I have a strong desire to paint my first male model!"

The color drained from my face as I looked around, realizing that this resplendently beautiful woman had just told me she planned to have me strip naked and pose for her.

"I... I... I...," was all that I could stammer as Carla slowly and seductively unbutton my shirt.