My drawing teacher, who we've called Sexy since our first class with him, looks like Dane Cook. Even more so now that he cut his hair and grew a beard. He's tall, and on the first day of class he wore tight jeans and a t-shirt with a rip in it. And I gaped when I saw him, my mouth literally hung open as I stared at him. Later all of the girls in that class would admit to doing more than their share of ogling at our teacher over the course of that long ago semester.
One morning we were drawing portraits of the person next to us. I was sketching my friend Lila when he came over to give me a few pointers. I don't recall a word he said, but I remember staring at him, and breathing in his smell of tobacco and coffee, smells that seem to have turned women on since forever.
The tension in my body was unbearable. I wanted this man, pure and simple. Before I realized what I was doing, I started to lean forward as if I was going to kiss him. I stopped myself, physically stopped myself and leaned back and gripped the table in front of me to ensure I wouldn't try to do anything stupid. I tried to listen to him until he moved on to another person. I started laughing, a little hysterically, and Lila looked at me suspiciously. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She demanded, a questioning look on her face.
"I almost kissed Sexy," I said in hushed tones. She stared at me for a moment and then shook her head. "Personally I'm gonna wait until after I finish this class before I try to stick my tongue down his throat. That man is so hot," she exclaimed quietly while I picked up my pencil and resume sketching her.
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