Early in my career, I had been an artist. Then, as responsibilities crowded out personal desires, I changed careers to something more lucrative. Still, I missed the creativity and sense of accomplishment when making art. So, once my career was doing well, and the finances allowed, I enrolled in a night class at the local community college. I wasn't sure what to expect, but nothing could have prepared me for what followed.
The first night of class, I brought along a new, untouched sketch book, several pencils, a pen, and a notebook. I guess I wanted to be prepared. I found the classroom after some searching, and it had ten other students waiting there besides me. No chairs, just stools. So, I took one and greeted everyone with an awkward nod.
Then our instructor entered the classroom, and my heart skipped a beat. She was absolutely stunning, and somewhat mature. I later found out she was thirty-eight. But she could easily have passed for thirty or even younger. Jet black hair that moved like silk, classic Mediterranean features with high cheekbones, a prominent chin, a long neck, and bright, expressive eyes. Then there was her body. Oh, god, what a body. Firm shoulders, a magnificent bosom that demanded attention (I later learned she was a 36C), a narrow waist, and broad hips. A classic hourglass figure ending in long, shapely legs that belonged on a supermodel.
"Good evening class." She greeted us. "Welcome to life drawing. I will be your instructor for this semester. You may call me Mrs. M."
Fluent English with the unmistakable touch of Italian accent. How in the world did this goddess end up working here?
We were all asked to introduce ourselves and give a reason why we were there. When it was my turn, I said "Art is man's way of achieving immortality. To create something of beauty that endures."
Mrs. M. let her mouth fall open a moment, and those piercing dark eyes locked with mine. "That's lovely." She said. "I know exactly what you mean."
The others introduced themselves as we went around the room. All of us were career adults, but for three who were younger students who likely attended classes here during the day. They kept whispering comments at one another while stealing glances at the hot teacher. Immature and rather annoying.
The first class was just an orientation about what we would do over the months to come. We would start with still life drawings, learning to use various medium like pencil, charcoal, pastels and watercolors. The subjects will be things like vases and bowls, teacups and saucers, and other inanimate objects. Then we would progress to life drawing. First that would be plants and flowers, and finally people. The last part of the class would be open for each student to choose so long as it involved one of the subjects from the class.
I was excited to get back into my art, but I was more excited to think I'd be able to gaze upon this Italian beauty for the next four months.
She gave us a list of things to buy for the next class and dismissed us. I hesitated after the class scrambled to go, and quietly approached Mrs. M. She lifted a brow at my presence and smiled so sweet I almost forgot what I was going to say.
"I greeted her in Italian, one of the few phrases I'd learned.
She brightened at once and responded with a rush of musical words, but I only managed to pick out a few.
"I'm sorry." I said. "I'm still just learning Italian and that was too quick for me to follow."
She laughed and touched my arm. "Oh, I know. I speak too fast in Italian. I'm sorry. I said how nice it was that you speak Italian, and I asked where you learned it." Then she blushed and giggled. "I guess you don't and you haven't yet."
"Not yet." I agreed. "I have family who speak Italian, but my generation was never taught. It's a shame really."
She nodded. "A terrible shame, but not uncommon, unfortunately. Perhaps I could help you learn more."
I lifted a brow at this. "Careful. I might take you up on that."
"Oh, please do." She said. "I would love to teach you."
"Then... yes, please." I said eagerly.
"Good. You come to class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, yes?"
I nodded.
She flashed another of her killer smiles. "Then you come for extra help on Tuesday and Thursday, and we will speak Italia while you draw. Good?"
"Great." I agreed. "When should we begin?"
"Oh, right away. That's always best." She smiled. "Come tomorrow. Same time as class."
I thought I'd hit a lottery somewhere. I'd be spending two hours, five nights a week for the next four months with this Italian goddess.
The next weeks were just knocking the rust off my drawing skills, but I got back to my previous skill level after a while, and my work started to show it. I noticed how Mrs. M. spent a bit more time at my easel to critique my work, offering helpful advice on how to improve. I also noticed how her rather conservative attire started to become less conservative.
The first classes, she wore long skirts, high collared blouses and sometimes a blazer. By the fourth week, her skirt was considerably shorter, and her tops started to sport plunging necklines that showed off a bit of cleavage. The more revealing her attire became, the more the annoying boys made hushed comments at one another. I even saw one get his phone out and take a few pictures. These kids were really irritating.
The weather was warming up, so she started dressing lighter too. On one Tuesday, she arrived wearing a short floral sundress that showed a generous amount of leg, back, and cleavage. How she expected me to concentrate with her dressed like that, I'll never know... or maybe she didn't.
We went about our usual routine. I set up someplace to draw, and she introduced me to more Italian words and phrases. Every time I got one wrong, she would playfully throw her hands up or raise a hand like she was going to hit me.
"How about teaching me something with visuals." I suggested.
"Si, we can try. Like what?" She asked.
"Well, how about Vase."
She rolled her eyes. "Vaso. You know that one."
I snickered at her. "Then, Pencil."
"Matita." She chimed sweetly.
