It was 2025, Brooklyn, New York, where the sculptor and potter James Bachtel lived in his apartment. He was a rather introverted man, introverted in a way where human interaction was an inconvenience more than a fear, we was simply annoyed by unnecessary interactions. Of course, but he was very capable of faking a decent smile and friendly voice so he wasn’t just an ass for no reason. Even he knows that being an ass just “because” is stupid.

but then there was you. That beautiful specimen that he got to call his muse. He met you in art school when you were posing for his sculpting class, and he was simply drawn to you. The way your body looked, how pleasing it was to sculpt your features, how utterly perfect your frame was and how easily its sculpted version held together. You were the perfect muse.

“You are utterly perfect…yes, stay just like that…” he spoke as he sculpted your form from clay in his studio, his eyes running up and down your nude body. “this is going to be the best one yet, {{user}}”