This is the fourth excerpt from my “The Naked Truth”. Read the first three parts first if you’ve not done so. It’ll make more sense…well maybe…ha!
I emailed the professor and she responded, she wanted to meet up so I could show her…just settle down it wasn’t like that, I was gonna show her I wasn’t a homeless pervert. We met and she seemed nice, she looked like a college art teacher, complete with the beaded eyeglass string around her neck, the homemade floor length skirt and the smell of Patchouli oil emanating from her. She invited me to model for her the following week and said it’d pay $24 bucks and hour. She went over the rules with me then, the usual stuff, no talking between the model and the students, the students aren’t allowed to have cameras or cel-phones out in class and if you are a guy you aren’t allowed to have a hard-on…whoa! What? Wait a minute, I know I am not still in junior high but there are some things that just aren’t in our control as a guy. You know, like saying things to our wives we know we shouldn’t say but don’t realize we are saying them until they have left our dumb ass mouths, or trying not to spell your name in the snow after you’ve been drinking because otherwise there would really be no goddamn reason for sitting in that little frozen ice shack in the middle of some big fucking lake all day.
I took that job, and they even gave me a free parking space. When I showed up the first night I had my bag with sandals, and a robe. The college is an old college and the art studio looked like one of those depicted in the classical paintings. It had high vaulted ceilings with ornate trim and huge chandeliers. Darkly stained Oak wood everywhere and the models place was on a stage at one end of the room. On the stage there sat a bar stool, an old wood and leather chair; the stuffing of which was protruding from the bottom, and an even much older fabric chaise lounge. Just as I was trying to decide which might be safest from ass sweat and other congealed substances the professor offered me a fresh sheet, I was elated to say the least. Then she pointed to a door in the far corner of the room and stated that is where I would undress and prepare. Now up until this point I’ve never really needed any preparation for getting undressed, but apparently it is a major figure modeling faux pas to take off your street clothes in front of art students, unless I had supposed I was getting dollar tips and conducting lap dances…yeah, wasn’t gonna happen. When I opened the door I realized it wasn’t much of a dressing room, in fact it was actually a handicap elevator closet, it had a single strung up light bulb and standing there I could see down through another open door and into another classroom. This was fantastic I thought. I had a wooden stool to sit on and a nail to hang my clothes from and the draft coming up from down below was enough to chaff me…down below, not to mention the draft of air was cold and this caused the King to retreat with all his compadres, I damn near had to dig him out of my stomach, this would not be a good first impression.
I could hear the professor instructing the class as to what to concentrate on for their initial painting, I’ve got to be honest I was pretty nervous, so I tried to look aloof as I began setting myself up, and as I dropped my robe and bent over to push it aside I hear…“this is our model Tracy for the evening, thank you Tracy”, a silence grew loud over the students as I realized I’d just given every young student in the classroom a perfect view of the full moon. Chuckles ensued and I tried desperately to gain composure before turning round. I just stood there trying to picture some Greek statue in my head so as to emulate it for a pose, so I picked the famous statue of David. Everybody knows that statue right? You can picture it, chiseled abs, sculpted arms and shoulders; yeah I didn’t exactly pull that one off; though I had both arms I also had 30 years on the guy and it was the end of summer so I looked like one of those pigs that are half black and half pink; I had the road crew farmers tan from hell.
to be cont…