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'They liked the poses I was doing, and Adriano, the instructor, was such a professional about everything.' 'Wow,' I said, startled by the energy in her voice. 'It was incredible,' she whispered as we huddled over the open dishwasher. LATER THAT EVENING, AS THE GIRLS WERE scurrying about before dinner, Kimberly elaborated. What was I thinking?ДЇinally, after what seemed an eternity, a text message: 'I loved it.' My misgivings suddenly shifted from worries about her to worries about me. I know what goes through guys' minds in the presence of a nude woman, regardless of the setting. Mostly, of course, I thought about the men. Somewhere on the other side of town, a group of 20 men and women were staring intently at my naked wife. Then I put the phone down and resigned myself to 3 hours of radio silence. I texted her back: 'Good luck!' The truth is, I thought she needed it. I feared she was about to experience the same thing, and in the process discover a hard reality about herself and her limits. Occasionally in my own career, I've found myself overreaching, trying something that simply wasn't in me. Maybe, in some fundamental way that was obvious to everyone but us, she wasn't what they wanted in a nude figure model-wasn't quite 'model-y' enough. I was worried about her-that this could somehow end badly, that she was setting herself up for the most embarrassing moment of her life. I didn't feel compelled to stop her, but my anxiety resurfaced. She texted me after she'd changed into her robe. It was a 3-hour class, during which she'd execute a variety of short and long poses. Her big day arrived the Thursday after Labor Day. Was a 'what were we thinking' moment looming? Perhaps I'd snap out of it at some point, panic, and wave her off. I did occasionally wonder, however, whether my endorsement of this project was genuine, or if I was just buoyed along by the sheer novelty of it all. That became our routine on many late-summer nights. I'd settle on the couch to watch as well. I'd go down to the basement family room after putting our two little girls to bed, and there she'd be, stark naked with her arms raised toward the heavens, still as the Venus de Milo herself, watching Friday Night Lights. She found websites that offered advice about figure modeling, chatted with some area models for more insight, and started experimenting with different poses to see which ones she could sustain for 5, 10, or 20 minutes at a time-or even for several hours, as is sometimes required. SHE WAS HIRED BY A LOCAL ART SCHOOL-at $20 an hour-and immediately began preparing for her big debut. I stared down the road ahead of us, and suddenly the idea-Kimberly donating her body to art-seemed like an off-ramp to adventure, a marvelous new twist to our world. So I simply asked if she really thought she had the raw nerve to pull it off-to actually show up, climb onto the platform, and let her robe slip to the floor. I didn't think it wise to press her on her motivations this soon.

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On the other hand, what isn't she telling me? Why is she, a 38-year-old mom with a meaningful career in social work and an already full schedule, having this urge? Not getting enough of the good stuff at home? I'm not a machine! Not Hollywood perfect, mind you, but perfectly shapely and sexy. On one hand, why not? She looks great naked. I finally feel really comfortable with my body, and this could be interesting.' And she has no real art background, apart from a lifelong enthusiasm for it. But her most recent experience with public nudity, her bikini top popping off at the public pool, was mortifying for her. She once streaked with a crowd in college (though it was a women's college), and we did the nude-beach thing on St. 'I want to try nude figure modeling for art schools,' she said.Д¬an't say I would have expected this from her. Either way, I figured I should tease out some details. Maybe she wanted to break the monotony of our marriage by trying crazy things. Maybe she wanted to break the monotony of our drive by saying crazy things. We were driving down some bland, sunbaked highway on a thousand-mile road trip to Missouri for a vacation. Kimberly dropped that bomb on me last summer. Well, me and the 15 complete strangers in the room. The move is brisk and confident-without a moment's hesitation. She looks gorgeous.ДЇinally, my wife unties the robe, pulls it off, and places it on a chair. It clings to her in all the right spots: hips, chest, her fine rear end. It's not transparent, but it's thin enough that I can detect subtle hints of movement underneath, and loose enough to catch glimpses of her bare skin. SHE STEPS INTO THE ROOM WEARING an attractive yellow robe, cinched tightly at the waist.