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Results day is here, and once again I expect to be at the top. As I stand before the results for each of my classes I see exactly what I expect. My core classes show a complete 100% perfection. Happiness radiates through me at the site of my perfect grades. And then it happens… The art class I decided to take… Art… my results show 99% and I am floored and heartbroken. What happened? My test results were perfect! I did every assignment given and I even studied the great masters and how they used their techniques and incorporated them into my piece… and I have 99%

Everyone around me either congratulate or bitches that I am the top of the class. “Miss no friends is at it again!” I hear behind me. I don’t respond of course. I am at the top of my class, I am going to leave college with perfect marks and a brilliant job, and they are going to be whining why they are barely acknowledged by any company while I have the pick of the company I want. I also put in both hard work and effort, while they go to parties and socialise, there will be plenty of time to do that once I am successful.

Regardless of the fact that I am still at the top of my class, I am gobsmacked… I need to speak to my teacher Immediately. A new teacher took over the class and I need to sort this out, maybe there is something that they missed? Did I write clearly? I am sure i did. Ok… calm down and get this sorted.

I cross campus to the art department… Supplemental class or not, I will not accept anything less than perfect. I find my teachers’ office and knock, praying and hoping that they are in. Moments later the door opens and my art teacher opens the door. “Oh Hello, Congratulations on your grade! Top of the class, you must be so pleased!” This is how he greets me.

“Yes thank you, but about that, my score was 99% Why not 100% What did i miss? Can I take any remedial lessons to have my grade fixed? Are you absolutely sure You checked my mark thoroughly?” I ask in desperation, the missing percentage seeming to burn a hole into my carefully laid plans.

“Oh… Well, you are dedicated aren’t you? Extra lessons for a 1%? It’s not actually as simple as that,” He replies. My brain freaks out as I simultaneously formulate a plan to have my marks looked over by the review board over this outrage. “Shall I show you then?” He asks, a quizzical look passing over his features. “Yes please. I am prepared to put in extra time to fix this,” I reply. Determination etches into my face as I walk. “Let me show you first, and we can see if something can be done,” And his reply sinks my heart even further.

…

From the moment I opened my office door I knew who it was. The perfect student, Dressed consistently in long skirts and always in her trademark horned rimmed glasses, to this girl unlike all the rest of the female population at this college, clothes to her seemed more of a necessity than a statement. She is never seen around campus with any friends, she answers any and every question given to her with perfect textbook answers. To be honest she is what I wish I could have been in College, things would have been so much easier if I had spent more time studying instead of partying. I admire her dedication but, she had shown up at my door about the 99% mark I had given her, and was determined to fix it. With a heavy heart, I knew that there was no way for her to do this, but I was prepared to show her. The reason was simple. This is something no amount of textbooks was ever going to teach her.

I lead her to the art room and pulled out her recent artwork. With techniques utilised from some of the great masters, this painting was the perfect utilisation of skill.. But with one thing missing. The picture was of a naked figure, Standing alone, and what should have been a sensual delight, fell flat on the frame, this woman before me, it was clear through both her art, and the way she presented herself, she no idea about sensuality, and that was something you couldn’t learn. Turning to face her, I gestured to the painting. “What do you see?”

…

“What do I see?” I parroted back to this infuriating teacher Şerifali Escort who couldn’t seem to give me a straight answer. “I see a perfectly painted oil painting, with techniques of the great masters thrown in, in essence a perfect rendition of the human female figure.” I replied. My annoyance taking over my better senses. “Exactly, This figure is perfect, but, it doesn’t make you want to reach out and caress the curves painted on the picture, it is perfect, but it lacks something intrinsic, and I am afraid to say that it’s something that you can’t learn from a book it’s something you have to know, to experience, and it’s also something I can’t teach you in an art class.”

I sighed and looked at him. “If i can show you that I am able to make you want to ‘reach out and caress’ a figure I painted would you change my grade?” I asked him. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“Sure.. I will give you two weeks, that’s as long as I can give you. You put in the request to change your mark and I will give you a judgement on it in three weeks if, that is, you can do what you say,” I sighed in relief.

“Of course I can” I replied. “I will have the paperwork done before the end of the day,” And with that I thanked him and left.

I headed straight to the library, I needed to book an art room every day for at least 2 hours, and send in the required paperwork for my grade change. Between the rest of my classes It would be easy, I had classes scattered throughout the day. I pondered over my study schedule, it would mean that I have to change my study plans to fix this disaster, but It would be worth it. I would get this done and then I would put it behind me. Whilst at the library I also researched this vague terminology he had given me… Art that makes you want to reach out and touch or caress it. Thankfully there was a few reference materials, it was nothing I couldn’t achieve.

Several days later, when I was in one of the art rooms, and when I was trying to complete my painting, someone walked in. “I have booked this room” I called out from behind my painting, not bothering to see what riffraff had dragged itself in here, didn’t they see the schedule at the door?

“Well I thought that I at least would be allowed in if that’s ok?” A voice I recognised replied back. My teacher stood in the doorway, an artbook in hand and a bag slung over his shoulder. “How are you going?” He asked.

“Oh yes, i’m almost done,” I replied.

“Well in that case would you mind if I drew in here then? The other rooms are all taken, and I assume you would like to show me the moment it’s done?” He asked, smiling.

“Oh yes, that would be quite helpful, I would like to have this sorted out shortly,” I replied, and with that I focused.

The only noise in the room was the sound of me putting paint on the canvas, and his pencils scratching on the paper. I was absorbed and focused. So much so that when i looked up It was then I realised that I was the subject of his drawing. “Um… What are you doing?” I asked as he looked briefly up at me again.

“I am drawing you as you paint, you are well above 18 and you are sitting in the perfect light, so I thought i would draw you, I can stop if you would like?” He replied, an earnest expression crossing his face.

“I guess it’s fine” I replied with a huff “It’s not disturbing me, but… can I see it once you are done?” I asked.

I was more curious at why he was drawing me of all things. Sometime later I was finished, and I presented it to him, I was pleased with myself, I had rendered my nude in perfect 3D, she looked as if she was indeed real, and would leap off the page before me. Ha! I thought take that! My teacher, instead of being happy, frowned at the painting before him. “You can reach out and touch it… but you are still missing something… How do I say this?… Ummm… Oh yes! You are missing the sensuality of the painting. Yes it’s a painting of a naked woman, but it’s painted so clinically you have lost the sensuality of what makes a nude painting in the first place.” I stared back at him. “Sensuality?” I asked Göztepe Escort him and I looked at him… Sensuality…

“Here,” He said and handed a piece of paper to me, folded in half. “Think about it and see if you want to continue.” He said, and without waiting for a reply, he turned around and walked out the door.

Unfolding the paper before me I saw myself, I was sitting and painting. As I stared at it, I noticed the detail of it. It was like I I had an impulse to reach out and caress this picture. “It’s beautiful!” I breathed. And then I frowned as I read the words written on the page. “Yes, this is you.” This was me, and yet, it appeared more of a picture of a beautiful lady, and it appeared her clothes were.. Smothering her? You could see the details of her, even as the clothing she wore, appeared to, rather being worn by her, appeared instead to drape over her figure, I knew this was me, and yet I felt detached from it, sad for the person staring back at me from within the picture. How strange.

Several days later I was trying yet again to finish off another rendition of my painting. I hadn’t seen my teacher again since receiving the drawing from him. I had looked at it many times, and researched quite thoroughly the concept of sensuality so I was sure that I would be fine. It was the start of the second week… I was running out of time, and the more time I wasted doing this, the more work I had to do, I was sure this time I had it. Once again he entered my practice room, and sat at the desk. “Drawing again?” I asked him as i peered around my easel.

“No, I just figured you would have another picture to show me,” He replied.

“I was just finishing it actually,” I said as he stood and walked over to where I sat. I watched him as he looked at it, and for all my efforts I got raised eyebrows and nothing more.

“You are still missing the point,” He replied a matter of factually.

“How?” I blurted out.

“I have looked up everything I can on sensuality, on making things you want to reach out and touch… I have looked at it all! I think you are just jealous of me!” My eyes opened wide when I had realised what I had done… So much for my 1% this was it, i was done for, he may even drop my grade now, just to spite me.

“I am jealous,” He stated simply, looking at the floor before him. I was shocked to say the least. “I am jealous of your dedication to your work, your clear focus, of you.” He replied, and the words seemed to hang between us. “But you can’t see what your missing because you haven’t experienced it… You have no idea what your own sensuality even means, so how could you possibly express it through a painting?” He continued and I stood stunned. “I… I… ” I stammered, all my words it seemed, had been suddenly removed from my vocabulary.

“See?” he said, gently touching my face “You probably have even forgotten what someone’s hand feels like” He continued, reaching up and touching my face. I blinked at him, unable to form a response. “Sorry,” He said suddenly. “You just looked so sad,” he said, his face looked like it was twisted in pain, and he looked at the floor.

“You… don’t have to stop,” I said, shocking myself at the words that left my mouth. His face turned back to me and his lips suddenly captured mine.

I don’t know what possessed me to allow it, but I did. His lips caught mine in a searing kiss that made my toes tingle, and all rational thought left my head. His hands started moving, and my brain abandoned all, and any notions I had of stopping this man before me.

…

Of all the things I could have done that day, kissing her was not on that list. But here she was, so dedicated to her studies, so unaware of herself, so focused. This was a woman who knew what she wanted, I knew she was never out drinking with the rest of the college students, she was always dedicated to her study. Those clothes she wore, I knew from my drawing, and I now discovered first hand, as my hands begun to roam her body, hid a stunning figure that I had longed to touch and caress from the moment I had studied Ümraniye Escort her sitting in that art room. I had seen her around campus before, but I never really had paid attention to her figure before, just her dedication to her studies.

…

The kissing seemed to turn feverish, and hands moved in a flurry of activity, my basic instincts took over. Sure, I had read about sex in books many times, and the principle of it, I figured I knew quite well. All my study was going to pay off now. This was the first time I was going to experience this, and they did say in the books that it was easier if it was spontaneous, and this, if nothing else, was spontaneous. His lips moved down my neck in a flurry of kisses, tasting, licking and even biting. Moaning, I moved my head back to give him better access as he continued. His kisses seemed to go straight through me, and I felt a heat collecting somewhere deep within me.

I raced to undo his buttons, I wanted to share what I was suddenly feeling with him, my teeth scraped over his skin, and his moans were like heaven to my ears. His hands began to play with the fabric I wore, and somehow we ended on the floor of the studio. My legs parted instinctively as his hands explored my legs, my hips raising to meet him as he caressed and seem to lick and bite every inch of skin I possessed. The noises that were coming from me defied logic and reasoning, but where was logic in all of this? I moaned and gasped suddenly, when a spike of pure pleasure zipped through me. My eyes fluttered shut as his hands explored me.

Moving in a rhythm that was all instinct, and nothing to do with precision, I moaned and writhed beneath him, he seeming to without any prompting matching each motion, each need my body was screaming, but I myself had no way of explaining it. His mouth latched onto my nipple and I arched beneath him as I cried out, my whole body desperate to meet his.

He made me cry out so many times with his fingers I lost count, my body yielding to feelings I had never experienced before in my life. Even the notion of the existence of other people barely registered in my world. I heard the crackle of a wrapper just before he rolled on top of me and kissed me deeply, my senses once again going into overdrive, and the ache between my legs crying out, begging for something his fingers were unable to provide.

Achingly slowly he moved into me, and my body bucked to meet his, too far gone to care about the sudden stabbing pain that shot through me for an instant. Looking deep into his eyes, I smiled at him, and ever so slowly he began to move, the momentary discomfort replaced by something far greater, as sensations began to once again began to bombard me. I moaned and began to cry out. I was unable to stop this feeling bubbling to the surface from deep within me, I seemed to unravel underneath him, and he too, joined me in my cries mere seconds later.

He moved off and lay beside me, panting and with a smile on his face. I myself had never truly noticed him before today, and suddenly all my senses sung with him. I smiled back at him and we kissed again. It was a bit awkward to return our clothes to their original state. We were lucky the buttons on our clothing were not broken and that no-one had heard us. But I did do one thing, and that was to take my painting and throw it in the bin. I would try again for sure.

Time passed, and I did indeed get the 1% I needed, to be honest I don’t think anything truly changed after that. I continued to take art classes, it was only ever a filler subject I had taken that was meant to keep my creative spirit alive. But I honestly began to enjoy it more… Not that I never did… I guess it was just different. My grades never stepped away from 100% again.

I did graduate college, head of my graduating year, I would accept nothing less after all. I will always remember that art teacher with fondness, He was my first after all, and although our ‘relationship’ if you can even call it that was entirely sexual, It was never meant to be. We parted ways amicably, and even now I still catch up with him, and we go together to art museums, and critique the pieces. We are just friends now, but sometimes when I see a picture at the museum of a naked female figure, I still feel the touch of his hands on me.

Many thanks to my new Muse for this story, preferring yet again to remain unnamed.

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