How To Draw The Anime Body Novels & Stories

My eyes opened to a soft sound from his wolf, and to him gazing at me, wanting me to climb up. Holding onto his back, I leaped up and sat down with my legs across on each side of his back. His body is solid and hard, and I felt the movement of his body under me as he came from his crouching position. My hips moved with his motion as he walked me to an open window. As he's nearing it, he quickly looks at me before turning back to the window, and I lie on my belly, wrapping both of my arms around his neck, knowing he's about to jump, and close my eyes, scared.

They were only good for their bodies. I drew my first stroke with trembling hands. Nothing else. I started with strokes, then curves and shades. There was no definite picture in my mind, I allowed myself to be led by my subconscious. After two hours of drawing, my furious hands slowed down. I tilted my head to the side to examine my painting. Fuck. Her body had been covered in a thong that night, but in my drawing, it was completely bare. I had subconsciously memorized every detail of her body. The shade of her skin, the shape of her eyes and lips. Every other drawing in my room would envy this precision.

“In this studio, you call me Professor. And you follow instructions. Arms down.” Something about the command meant business. I lower my arms. “Good. Chin up. Shoulders back.” I adjust. He draws, the charcoal moving faster now. “Part your knees a little.” I refused to obey. This is beginning to seem like a terrible idea. But I have already signed, there’s no going back now. “Elena, this is anatomy, I need to see bone structure, muscle definition, shadow and light so part your knees.” I do, the air touches places that haven’t been exposed since Friday night. Since him.

The sight in front of me was so hot, so breathtaking, that my fingers started itching with the need to paint it, just like she had asked me to do. I took a step back, went to take a canvas and some charcoal pencils, and returned before I could start debating my choice. I grabbed the black tool in my hands and started making quick lines, trying to outline her body. I watched the way her hands moved, the way her chest raised, the way her legs started trembling, and I put everything I could see on the paper. I drew and drew, until I could see the outline of her body starting to take some shape on the white material in front of me.

Drawing has been my talent from little and I had some so many work of arts. I sketched out that comes to my mind, especially the moon and butterflies but this time I decided to draw Adeline. Everything was set–the graphite pencils, markers, colored pencils , ink pens etc. I started with the overall pose, sketching out the outline of her body. I added the head and face according to Adeline's – round shaped face, gorgeous green eyeballs, plump pink lips with fine contours. I remembered every detail of how she looked. Her beautiful figure, lean yet captivating.

Coloured chalks in hand, she is deep in concentration. The noisy chatter of the young adults as they take their seats behind her barely registering as she concentrates on the task in hand. She has already drawn the parted legs and rounded arse cheeks and was now working on the pussy lips, the outer labia. Her drawing was graphic in its anatomical correctness and state of arousal.

Then I reached the drawings. Someone had sat with a living thing and drawn it the way the old human anatomists drew, every line put down to be true rather than pretty. A figure, standing, filling the page. Not a man. It stood on two legs and had two arms, but the arms hung to the knees, longer than any arm I'd ever shaken. The jaw ran out too far and hung too heavy, built to hold more teeth than a face has room for. In its own panel beside it, the hands: longer in the palm than mine, the bone at the last joint of each finger hooked, a claw drawn back into the shape of a nail and not quite hidden there.

If one more wish could come true right then, I’d beg for the kind of class where he made me stand naked in front of everyone while the rest sketched my body… except he’d be the only one really looking, his eyes devouring every slick, trembling inch of me. I sat in the front row, pretending to listen as Dante’s deep voice rolled through the studio, talking about human anatomy and proportion. The man whose body I craved like nothing else—strong, experienced, nothing “old” about the way his shirt stretched across that powerful chest. I didn’t even realize I’d stopped drawing the assigned figure study. Instead, my pencil had gone rogue, sketching a male body that looked exactly like him: his bro

I was maybe thirty minutes in when I looked down at the page and stopped. I had drawn a girl. She was tall. She had slim, long legs and a small waist and the kind of proportions that people described as willowy without making it sound like an insult. She was standing straight with her chin up and her arms loose at her sides like she was comfortable just existing in her own body. I stared at her for a while.

“...extend the legs without losing balance. Fashion exaggerates height, not distortion.” He moved to the shoulders. “Soften this curve. Fabric flows, it doesn’t sit stiffly.” His fingers lingered on my wrist as he adjusted my grip one last time, thumb brushing the sensitive inside. My pulse spiked so hard I was sure he could feel it. “And this seam placement,” he continued, quieter now, tapping the drawing, “needs to follow the body’s natural shape. Trust the anatomy underneath.” He stepped back, finally letting me breathe. “You’re talented, Miss Brooks. Just be more precise.”