A friend of mine was teaching a course in life drawing and was having trouble finding models. He asked me if I'd be willing to donate an hour. Hey, it was the drug-crazed 1960s (or perhaps early 70s) and I had long since put modesty behind. So I agreed.
It was odd to be naked among a roomful of the clothed. I was more sensitive to drafts than I would have guessed. It was difficult to remain motionless, especially with all the houseflies a-lighting on the sensitive areas. It was peculiar and a little flattering to have so many pairs of eyes fixed upon me. However, my clearest memory is the student, a young woman, who at the end of the hour, asked the teacher, "Next week, could you try to find someone with a more interesting body?"
December 20. I now realize that, bodywise, I have become more interesting over the last forty years — if interesting means lumpy, wrinkled, and asymmetrical.
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