“Triangles.” she bellowed encouragingly from the corner, “It’s all about triangles. Look for the triangles, see the triangles.”
I honestly hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. I sat uncomfortably still on my bench, surrounded by relative strangers facing a blank white page with clumsy black streaks on it. Beyond my paper was a man. A beautiful man. His skin rippled dazzlingly, stretched taught over bands of muscle. His chiseled chin slightly shadowed by an artful amount of stubble and roughly tousled hair is all that distinguished him from a perfect marble statue. His face was passive and uncaring. If you were to look upon it and not notice his stark naked body, you would have thought he was waiting for a bus. No not a bus. He didn’t look like the type to take the bus. Pretty people never take the bus do they? He’s just too delicious for that. He probably wears a suit to work. Maybe he’s a business executive, or a lawyer…who moonlights as a poorly paid nude model.
“Triangles, don’t you see the triangles?” she says in a hushed tone near my ear. She’s saying it quietly so as to save me the embarrassment of not seeing the triangles. What is she talking about? I can smell her rank coffee breath and hear the jangle of her kitschy plastic bracelets clunking together like a misplaced toddlers noisemaker.
I frown. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” I‘m trying to hold back my irritation. On my left I see someone dancing with the charcoal in her hand. The lines on her page creating some sort of mystical connection the the naked man in front of us all. How is she doing that? This is the beginner’s course isn’t it? Did I get mixed up? Am I in the right spot?
The instructor waves her hand in the direction of the model making wavy motions in the shape of triangles, or possibly ovals it’s hard to tell with all the flouncing. “There’s a triangle, there’s another one, there’s another one.” she pauses, turning to look at me. She’s pleased with herself. “You see them now?”
I raise my eyebrows and nod slowly. I’m lying. She’s a loon. Triangles. She’s obsessed. I don’t see triangles. I see a pair of stunning eyes, a beautiful pair of lips I want to kiss. Strong shoulders, delicious rippled abs, a strong round and powerful ass. “Ah.” I say as if it suddenly makes sense. She toddles off and I continue staring. I sit and wonder. Could he be both a shower and a grower? Wouldn’t that be fun. I smile to myself. I look at my page. It’s utter crap. What’s the point. I look back up at him. Strong legs, muscular quads, leading up and up to a weighty and perfectly formed phallus.
I lick my lips unintentionally. My imagination is getting ahead of me. As I look back up to his face I catch him looking at me out of the corner of his eye. A smirk. Did he catch me. Can he catch me? I mean, he is naked after all. What is there to catch? I’m supposed to look at him. That’s what I’m doing. Aren’t I? Why am I the one with zero confidence even though he’s completely exposed.
“Triangles, see the triangles. Draw the triangles.”
God damn it woman will you shut up! Fucking triangles.
I take my charcoal and angrily swipe at the page. I really don’t care anymore. There’s no time to care. It’s going to look like crap anyways. I swipe, drag, smudge and swipe some more. I’m barely even looking at my page. I’m staring at him. His beautiful form. His muscularity and strength palpable in my mouth. I can feel my hands trembling with a combination of nerves and anger.
Swipe. Smudge. Drag. Swipe.
My eyes drink him in. Every line. Every curve. I want to leap from my seat and run my hands over his perfect body. I want to touch it. To feel it’s stoic manliness. His hard muscles resisting the pressure of my fingers in all but one spot. Oh to feel it in my hand. The weight of it. It’s girth. Each ridge and vein pulsing with the beat of his strong heart. Feel it’s heat emanating into my soft feminine hands. Feel it grow and get harder under my touch.
Swipe. Smudge. Drag. Swipe.
“Five minutes people. Five minutes. Make your final observations. Feel your final movments of your hand. Move the charcoal with your mind. See the triangles….”
She trails off. Fuck her and her fucking triangles. Five minutes I’ve got and I’ll use them all. My hands on his chest. My body naked as his. He stands rigid. Unmoving. A statue of delicious perfection. My hands run around his chest, to his back. I can feel the strength there. He could probably squeeze the life out of me at a whim. Why does that excite me? I run my hands down, cupping his ass with my small hands, extending my fingers to try to cover as much surface area as possible. His phallus, now fully erect pushes into my stomach. Stabbing me and reminding me of his power. I drop to my knees….
“Ok people. Time’s up.”
“You can put your robe on now.” she says to the model.
“Ok, let’s see how everyone did.” She wonders around the class going from person to person. She smiles. She nods. “Good. Good. Excellent work there.” she says to one, then another, “Well done. Well done. See? It turned out well didn’t it?” She reaches my overachieving neighbor to the left. “Well now this is just great. Talk to me later, we’ll see about displaying that in the gallery ok?”
And finally she gets to me.
There is a small awkward silence and she turns to me, “Well I see you found the triangles now didn’t you.” she grins a knowing grin and shuffles away, her bracelets clanking as she goes.
On my paper, drawn bigger than my own head, is a gigantic charcoal cock and balls.
I look at my paper and finally see a triangle.
The fucking loon was right.