We did have two attractive nude models at my school, though I didn't draw them very often. One of each flavor. Both were dancers with the neat, graceful build thereof.

The woman was small and cool and poised. The man was strangely hapless. Like, he once experienced a sudden fit of nausea during class and was seen cantering down the hall naked with one hand clapped over his mouth and the other struggling to pull on his trousers.

For some reason, the gay young men of the class delighted in tormenting this one (I don't know why; he was the only model that was lookable at). He was apparently also of the homosexual persuasion and various mischievous scamps took it as a challenge to arouse him while he was working. This is a faux pas, when you get naked for a living. I don't know how one arouses a man from across a room. I can't help thinking my life would have been different, if not necessarily better, if I did. I'm guessing a little eyebrow waggling won't do it.

There was also a very old, skinny, dried-up husk of a man who posed in a gray jockstrap that might once have been white. He was the only model who covered up in this way. For this, I am grateful.

I remember several young women whose nude bodies made me feel distinctly attractive by contrast. For this, too, I am grateful. One I remember had a tattoo of a flower growing out of the crack of her ass. This was fascinating. Tattoos weren't generally in fashion in the late seventies, let alone on women.

You could walk around the room on days she was posing, and that flower was easily the clearest and most distinct thing on everyone's paper.