Model Citizen

           I've been dreaming of this moment since I was five years old and used my father's bathroom. He didn't know I was in his bathroom since my mom and dad were downstairs. There was a stack of magazines in front of Mom and Dad's bathroom with Time magazine on top and I wasn't trying to be bad, I was just curious what Mom and Dad ready when they were going potty. I never read anything. I just went potty, flushed, washed my hands, dryed my hands on the towel, and left the bathroom. What did Mommy and Daddy read? Well, after seeing Sports Illustrated and Cosmopolitan, I saw it: Playboy: Entertainment for Men. Now, I paused and thought about whether or not I should open it. I'd heard of Playboy before (everybody had) and I knew what was inside, but if Mom and Dad came up and caught me, I'd be in trouble. Temptation got me. I opened it and saw a Caucasion woman with a pink aereola, pink nipple, and brown, coarse hair over her vagina. I then saw one of the pages start to fall out, even though it was a new magazine and I tried to put it back together, but saw there was information about a woman on the other side of the broken page and then I realized the pages wasn't broken, so I unfolded it and it was a big picture of a nude woman. Needless to say I had a boner at this point. Actually, I had a boner after I saw the first woman. But, then, after looking at a few more pictures, I put all the magazines back (I tried to remember the order they were in), finished wiping myself, flushed the toilet, stood up, put my underwear and pants back on, and went back to my room. After about half-an-hour, the boner went away. 

*

           Now, the boner/erection was back. I'd been dreaming of this since I was five-years-old. I'm a sophomore art major and the University of Las Vegas, Nevada and today is the day we paint a female nude model. Most of my peers dated each other in high school, but nobody dated me. I bought Playboy an Hustler, but never got to see the real thing, until now. There were fifteen students in the classroom. Our teacher, Ms. Bean, had had a talk with us of what to expect and what to do and what not to do. We were all ready. Ms. Bean asked if we were ready and we said yes, unsimultaneously. Ms. Bean said, “Please come in, Clairance”. A Caucasion woman, looking between twenty and twenty-five entered the room, carrying curled, yellow, yarn and a crochet needle, and walked to the chair in the center of the classroom. 

           “Hold on a minute, let me double-check the doors,” said Ms. Bean and she tugged both doors to make sure they were locked. They were. Clairance put her yarn on the table to her right (our left) and pulled the string from her robe. It opened and we could all see her young breasts. We knew they were young because the nipple was high (in the middle of her breasts) instead of low. All the men stared dumbfounded (which we were told not to do) and Ms. Bean said, “Please start preparing your paint” in a stern but friendly voice. And we did. I took out my base colors of orange, white, and red. These combinations would make the majority of the canvas. But, while I was doing what I was supposed to be doing to prepare my paint, my mind went to the Anatomy and Physiology AP lab I took in high school. I dipped my paint brush in the plastic cup filled half-way with water and combined white and orange and then a sprinkle of red. I looked at Clairance the way I'd looked at Playboy when I was five and wondered about what her inside felt like, if I could see her different parts, like her ovary. I looked at her and my day dream stopped. I tried looking between her legs, but she had taken out the yellow yarn, was crocheting over her stomach, and had her legs crossed. I was on the right side of the classroom and she had her right leg crossed over her left. I couldn't see anything. I kept painting. I drew some in pencil, too, to get an idea of where to paint what. She crocheted and moved her upper body, to make the . . . I'm not sure what she's crocheting. But, I wash my brush in the cup and put in the white of her eyes. It's not looking bad for my first drawing. Most people can't stay seated for long periods of time. We have to adjust ourselves so we don't get decubitus ulcers all over our body, so she adjusted herself the way people do and uncrossed her legs and put the other leg on top, but it was towards the other side of the room, so I couldn't see anything inside her. But, I kept painting and was doing well. 

           Ms. Bean walked around at each person's canvas, stayed for about fifteen seconds, gave some pointers, and moved on to the next person. When she got to me, she looked at what I'd done and told me I needed a thinner brush to get the details refined. So, I washed my brush and got a thin brush. After an hour (which felt like a minute), Ms. Bean said, “You have five minutes left. Please complete the section you're on” and so we did. I finished painting her fingernails which were unmanicured, but clean. Then, Ms. Bean said, “Class, please start packing your art supplies up” and so we did. Then, Ms. Bean told Clairance she could get dressed. She took her peach briefs off of the table and put each leg in them. She pulled them up.  Then, Clairance clasped her bra in front of her breasts, turned the bra around, and put Clairance's arms through the straps and continued getting dressed. It was over. I looked at the canvas in front of me. I knew Clairance or someone else would be there at our next class, but the first time a young man sees a woman nude isn't the same as the second time or the third time. It's like my first kiss. The second will never be like the first. 

*

           Then, two weeks later and three art classes later, I went to the cafeteria. The kind with women and men behind the counter asking which of the items I want. I got meatloaf, mashed potato, boiled carrots, and a glass which I filled with Diet Coke and I sat down, said a prayer over the food, and started eating. But, as I was eating I heard a woman say, “Hi. Is it okay if I sit here?” and she pointed to the chair opposite me at this table. It was Clairance. I was dumbstruck, but thought for a beat, smiled, and said, “Sure,” and she sat down.