Hard Hitter

“You might,” I agree. “But won’t it be worth it?”

Eric frowns, smashes his lips together, glances at me and then at the Tupperware, then snatches it out of my hand and yanks the lid off. The locker room goes ballistic as everyone gathers around to watch.

Like a soldier going into battle, Eric snatches a big bite of the tuna salad and stuffs it into his mouth. He gags, but gets it down as we all cheer. He gets the next one, the next one, but almost hurls on the fourth.

“You got it!” I laugh as he grabs the last bite. “Just one more, man! Just one more!”

So two days later and I’m walking into the art building with a dumb grin on my face. You got me, Eric. You got me. I’ve never been in the art building before – why would I? Hell, I’ve barely been to my classes. I’ve got a tutor who helps me prepare for exams when they come up, but it’s my job to do two things: hit the ball, win the game.

That’s it. And that’s what I’ve been doing consistently since I was a freshman. No one at this school is under the illusion that I’m the next Albert Einstein, but I might just be the next Derek Jeter, so I get a bit of a pass. But as I pass the kids in the halls, I wish Rob was here. Yeah, there’s no way I’m going to be meeting my future wife today.

I’m wearing a white bath robe – something Hugh Hefner might wear, when I see the sign:

Nude Figure Drawing Class today

“Wow,” I chuckle. “Not very discreet.”

When I walk in, I see the woman I must have talked to on the phone and walk right up to her.

“Mrs. Potter?” I ask, extending my hand. “I’m Jay Moore. I’m your subject for today.”

By the way she looks at me, I can tell that she’s surprised; she must have thought I was kidding and wouldn’t actually show up. She’s not bad looking actually, as far as art teachers go, and I catch her giving me a quick once-over with her eyes before taking my hand.

“Welcome, Mr. Moore! Nice to have you with us!” she stammers. “If you want to take a seat there, you can remain robed until the rest of the class arrives.”

“Thanks.” I grin as I walk over to a white platform at the center of an arc of chairs. It actually looks fitting – like something you might put a Greek statue on top of. I take a seat and keep my robe on. One of the girls, with bright pink hair and a Sex Pistols shirt on, frowns at me. She knows who I am, and she doesn’t like me. That’s okay. I get that from girls like her. That’s part of what’s going to make this funny.

I sit there while the rest of the class filters in – about ten more of them, mostly girls but a couple of guys. I grin as I reach for the straps of my robe. Yup, no future-wives here today.

But as Mrs. Potter starts to close the door, something happens that catches me completely off guard. A girl walks in – no, a goddess walks in – with curves that start some pretty drastic changes going on with me that are seriously going to change the outcome of today’s drawings.

Her blond hair spills down across her shoulders like waterfalls. There are acres of it, draping all the way down to her busty chest that has me practically drooling.

She’s wearing short shorts that show off her curvy thighs, and her lips are plump and glossy, just begging for my dick.

As she walks in, her breeding-hips swaying seductively from side to side, our eyes meet, and something like a bolt of electricity shoots through me. It’s the same feeling I got when I stepped out onto the field for my first college game, and a thought blazes instantly in my mind.

Maybe Rob was right after all…Maybe my future wife is here after all.

2

Emma

“Figure drawing? Seriously? Naked bodies? No thanks!”

Martha just laughs at me as she gets her things together for class.

“Emma, I know you’re the world’s biggest virgin, and I know that even the thought of a naked body scares the shit out of you.” She smirks. “But you are coming! If you want to be a real artist, you need to learn how to do this.”

“I’m not even sure I want to be a real artist,” I mutter.

Which is true. I’m not sure what I want to do at this point. I’m a college freshman – a virgin college freshman, as Martha loves to point out – who likes art but isn’t sure she actually wants to show that art to anyone. I’m sure someone must be able to relate to that!

I like to draw. I like to paint (abstracts mostly), but I’m taking one studio art class this semester, and Martha, who is a year ahead of me and completely submerged in her art major, is trying to convince me to go to a nude figure drawing class with her today. It starts in ten minutes.

“You do want to be a real artist, Emma,” Martha tells me as she grabs my hand and pulls me out the door. “You are just too afraid to admit it. Just like you are too afraid to admit that you need some dick!”

Martha’s voice echoes down the hall, causing me to hide my face in my hands until we’re outside.