It was her first time posing for our class. Other females had sat naked before us. This time was different. I knew the model.
Her name was Melanie, and I’d asked her out on a date our sophomore year in high school. She’d looked away and said she was busy. I never got up the nerve to ask her out again.
The kids in school thought she was anorexic. She was still skinny, her arms not much bigger around than the fat end of a baseball bat. Green eyes, pug nose, and thin lips created a distraction for me. She’d worn her hair longer in school. I liked the new pixie look. At least, new to me.
The instructor called time. Melanie stood and put on a robe.
I finished adding charcoal touches to the assignment, leaned back for one last look, and felt a presence near me. I looked over my shoulder to see Melanie, her head tilted to one side, perusing my effort.
“Not bad,” she said, laying a hand on my shoulder. Before I could thank her, she said, “Would you like to ask me out again?”
My mouth became as immobile as the naked female on my easel, until, taking a deep breath, I managed to squeak out a yes.