Good Morning Starshine!

This is a slightly updated version of this tale. I'm at somewhat of a loss to explain why it was not submitted here when it was first posted on the Internet. There have been a few minor changes to the text since the tales first appearance.

DC thanks the proofreaders who assisted in preparing the original for posting. But we should add that he doubts they've seen this later version.

Good Morning Starshine!

The reader must understand that most of this happened a very long time ago now; the true beginning of the tale did anyway. The world was a completely different place back then; well, as I just said, it was at the beginning.

As teenagers we were kind of innocent, and we were keen to explore the new boundaries that certain medical advances had left open to us. I'm talking the birth control pill here and the magical properties of antibiotics that meant most of the better known STD's could be cured with a couple of injections; well reputedly they could.

Yet at the same time we were angry about what the old fuddy-duddies had heaped upon us younger generation's shoulders. I'm talking about what is sometimes described at the time as "that Crazy Asian War." It was the American and Australian teenagers who had their innocence stolen by that conflict, but the majority of teenagers in the UK were with them in our hearts and minds.

It's highly possible that no one, who isn't old enough to have been in the sixteen to -- lets say about -- twenty-five or maybe thirty age group during the sixties. Will ever be able to understand what it was like back then; but then all you younger folks have grown up with HIV and antibiotic tolerant super bugs, haven't you. And a certain self-preservation attitude to life and sex that accompanies them.

I suppose the best place to start you the story is in the middle, some considerable time after the sixties and well, after I'd kind-of returned to living within the somewhat more staid and conventional society that we all share today.

-----

To be perfectly honest with you, I can't really explain how I came to join that Life Class in the first place. Well, not in any way that does not make me sound like, either, a pretty sad case or some sort of pervert or something. It's all a bit embarrassing to attempt to explain actually; but I will try.

I was thirty-six at the time and had just come out of a pretty disastrous five year relationship. For the life of me, I can't figure out how that affair had lasted as long as it did, for we had very little in common. Well, that's if you don't take into account a mutual appreciation of sex. But hey man, sex might be fun; but you can take it from me, that sex alone does not make a sound foundation for a long-term relationship. There has to be that little spark. That inexplicable something that draws you to the one person who's destined to be your life partner. Sex helps of course; but there has to be something extra there as well.

In comparison to a lot of people at the time, Clair and I had everything. A nice home and cars. We were young, healthy and very fit. Yeah well, we both enjoyed our energetic horizontal workout most seven nights a week.

To cut a long story short. Eventually we both came to realize that we were spending more time arguing with each other during the day, than we were making-up those arguments in bed at night. So we called 'time' by mutual agreement.

Clair moved out and left me living alone in our flat. I do believe she eventually shacked up with one of my old friends. Our constant bickering had sort-a led to an estrangement from nearly all our close circle of friends. Folks really do not want to spend their free time in the middle of a war zone; yeah that's how bad things had become between Clair and myself towards the end.

That kind-a left me with a mighty big problem after she had gone though; I no longer had a circle of close friends. Shit, I hardly had anyone who I could call a friend anymore, except for a couple of the guys I worked with at the office.

Yeah all right, probably I was being a little stubborn; but after folks have purposely pushed you away and left you off the old invitations lists for a few years. You're not inclined to go hunt the buggers out again; well I wasn't!

Anyway that's how I started hanging around with Arthur. Arthur was just another guy from the office. A couple of years older than myself; who had the reputation of 'apparently' being a bit of a loner. But I was to rapidly discover that appearances... especially first appearances can be... er, pretty inaccurate on occasions.

Another apparent disadvantage where Arthur was concerned, was he had the reputation of being bit of a weirdo. No, that's not right; maybe a little strange from most of the guys' in the office perspective. Well, you see, on the quiet Arthur was considered to be a little... odd, by most everyone else in the office.

In truth, Arthur was (and still is I would guess) what is sometimes described as an arty-farty type. He was into opera, ballet, art and all that crap. I do believe the only reason I first teamed-up with Arthur, was because -- unlike most of the other unattached males in the office -- he did not appear to spend his every non-working moment drinking. Although much to my surprise I was quickly to discover that Arthur spent a high proportion of his non-working time... fornicating!

I have to admit that I pretty soon discovered that I didn't care for opera very much. Although I did enjoy the company of the two very cultured and uncommonly (for the time) loose moral'd young ladies that Arthur arranged for us to escort that evening.

Ditto, goes for the few evenings we spent at the ballet as well. But Jesus, if we kept that game up for very long I'd have had to cut my hours at the office back; god alone knows where Arthur found the energy or all those frustrated females.

Luckily our employer had been one of the first around to introduce flexitime working. That did mean that I could take time to recover and go into the office later the mornings after Arthur and I had been out on one of the little soirées he arranged. Oh well, you see, the seats are cheaper on weeknights and Arthur and I weren't particularly made of cash.

The art exhibitions Arthur dragged me along to, were a little different. There, I had to do some work, and actually hunt down my prey. I can't honestly say we, or rather I, was very successful at those shindigs.

Geeky old Arthur appeared to be able to pick up a bit a spare almost anywhere, at the drop of a hat. God, the other guys back at the office, especially the office wolves, would never have believed how much of a babe magnet Arthur was on the quiet.

Maybe that was Arthur's secret; perhaps the ladies sensed the utter discretion of the man. Arthur never did brag about his conquests; even to me. And I'd seen him heading for the bedroom with some unbelievably tasty looking females on his arm. Too often, I might add, married females. But then again, they might have been divorcees; I have no idea how to tell the difference for sure.

Whatever, wandering around those art gallery's, raised my appreciation of one particular form of art, nude studies. In particular tastefully drawn studies of the female form, naked of course.

Yeah, all right, most men appreciate the female form anyway. But I seemed to develop a kind of infatuation of pencil or charcoal sketches of slender female forms.

Nothing too detailed, or what might possibly be described as crude. Just a few skilfully drawn lines preferably on a plain background, that implied in the viewers mind, the beauty of the subject.

My trouble was, that I could rarely afford to buy any of those pictures to take home with me and admire at my leisure. I'd soon be very broke, if I got into that game. I liked far too many of them to chose just one or two to purchase.

Then at an exhibition one evening, after I'd lost track of Arthur when he'd latched onto to a very affluent looking female; whom I do believe was possibly spending her ex-husbands retirement plan. I found myself totally lost in admiration of one particular sketch.

It was no more than a few gracefully curved lines, but it had captured my imagination. The price tag however was well over five hundred pounds. And there was no way in the world that I could justify to myself spending that kind of cash on a piece of paper.

I was still staring at the masterpiece, when a guy approached and placed a sold ticket on it.

I have no idea why I said, "Shit!" out-loud, although I'll admit that it was what I was thinking. That label meant that I would not be able to return to the gallery at a later date to study the sketch again.

"Beautiful isn't she? I'm very proud of that one!" A voice said from behind me.

I turned to see that Elvira -- the artist in question -- had been standing behind me; Arthur had introduced us earlier in the evening. Elvira was at least sixty, and maybe even older. Mutton dressed up as lamb, and unless I was very much mistaken, as bent as a nine bob note. Elvira certainly appreciated the female form.

To be honest Elvira must have been a real looker in her younger days. "What a wasted life!" Had been the first thought that had crossed my mind when I had been introduced to her.

"Yes, you really have captured the essence of the sitter in that one, Elvira. I envy you, your skill in being able to interpret her so well." I replied, trying my damnedest to use the same kind of arty-farty language that Arthur appeared to be so adept at.

It must be the cultured way Arthur spoke that attracted those females to him. It certainly wasn't his looks. But then again, maybe Arthur carried something around in his trousers that most of us other mere mortals haven't got? You can never tell with geeks, you know. Well, us guys can't anyway; god alone knows what kind of x-ray vision or radar women have, that can tell the difference between a rolled up sock and human flesh.

"Do you paint yourself?" Elvira asked.

"No, I have to admit that I've never really tried. Well, I buggered about in the art class at school, but I can't say that I was any good with a paintbrush. Don't do a bad job with the old roller on the house walls though." I grinned back at her. Immediately wishing I hadn't tried to be funny.

Elvira smiled, glanced back at the picture before us and then looked at me again.

"Art classes at school rarely inspire anyone...?"

"Jerry." I said in answer to Elvira's unasked question.

"Yes Jerry, I'm sorry; you're Arthur's friend, aren't you? Perhaps, if you tried to draw the right subject, Jerry, one that you found a little inspiring; perhaps then, you might fair a little better." She suggested glancing back that the nude on the wall again.

Following her eye-line I found myself embarrassed and lost for words. I think I quite possibly "Um'd" and "Ah'd" a little; I really can't recall now.

Elvira laughed out loud and I quite possibly blushed even more.

"Oh don't be so self-conscious, Jerry. I can assure you that there is nothing that compares with sketching a beautiful female form, from life. Look, I tell you what, I run a little life class at the college on Tuesday evenings; why don't you come along and give it a try."

I can't quite recall how the conversation went after that. Although by its conclusion I found myself signed up for a hundred pounds worth of life drawing classes. Well verbally anyway.

Jesus no wonder Elvira was such a successful artist; me, agreeing to go to art classes! The damned woman could sell coals to Newcastle.

Anyway as a result of that conversation, seven-thirty eight the following Tuesday evening found me standing by an easel in one of the classrooms at the local art college. Feeling very self-conscious of myself.

Draped on a chaise longue before the class, was a somewhat overweight and very naked female. Who, to put it bluntly, wasn't in the least having the desired effect upon my little grey cells. Or any other part of my anatomy, come to that.

"I'm sorry Jerry. Unfortunately the sitter I had booked for this evening is indisposed; apparently she's had an accident of some kind. I'm quite concerned really; I believe her partner has a bit of a reputation for becoming a little violent on occasions. One has to wonder whether they've had another confrontation."

"Oh, one of that sort, is he?"

"They are not together anymore, but I think he might have overdid things a while back. For some people there is a price to pay, for taking too many trips." Elvira's facial expression confirmed that she was referring to tripping-out on drugs. "Abigail has never said, but I get the feeling he finished up on the hard stuff or something. And it could be that sometimes he searches Abigail out when he needs some money to pay for his fix. I'm sure you know what it's like Jerry; you can't reason with them when they have gone that far down the road."

I had seen the scenario of course. A little grass, leads on to other mind-bending substances; it was usually LSD back in my day. Eventually the idiots among us, finish up on heroin or some other hard drug that they can't break the habit of. Then their whole life dissolves into where the next fix is coming from, and they don't give a fart for any bugger they have to hurt to get it.

I've smoked my share of grass in my younger days, and I've even taken more than a few trips to never-never land on LSD in my time. Most everyone had back in the sixties. But I'd kept my eyes open and seen what hard drugs had done to some of my peers. At a fairly young age, I'd made a conscious decision that that was never going to be a path I'd follow.

The odd thing was that Elvira instinctively appeared to know that I'd lived on the edge of society at one time. I had been a card-carrying hippie for a few years; Elvira still was a bit of a bohemian. Perhaps she saw something in my demeanour that most other people don't

"With any luck, Abigail will be back next week." Elvira was saying, "She was the model for that sketch of mine you appreciated so much; I'm pretty sure she will manage to inspire your hand."

-----

The following week a handsome and somewhat arrogant young man had strutted into the studio just after I'd arrived. He'd promptly divested himself of the dressing gown he had been wearing, even before Elvira had asked him too.

I must admit that he had been blessed with a fine body and some pretty impressive... wedding tackle. The sight of that tackle promptly brought embarrassed sounding giggles from some of the younger female students. And, a lot of admiring glances from a couple decidedly effeminate looking guys who were also in the class.

The sitter took up a pose staring at one particular -- very pretty -- young woman. Who appeared so embarrassed about the fact that she turned a bright shade of pink and couldn't look his way at all. Shortly after the session began, Elvira stepped in and, with a wink in my direction, got the young lady to exchange easels with one of the guys I mentioned just now. The sitter was then lumbered, he'd already picked his spot in the room to stare at, and every time his eyes wandered elsewhere, one of the other students would ask him to return to his pose.

I do enjoy watching an arrogant little shit coming unstuck. So, in a way, it was fun evening from my point of view. But once again unfortunately, not an artistically inspiring one.

By the time I got home that night, I was really beginning to wonder how I'd let myself be talked into going to those bleeding classes in the first place.

Elvira had apologised to me, that Abigail hadn't been able to show-up again. But by that time Elvira's raving on about Abigail had begun to get to me as well. Consequently there was little any chance that I'd cut my losses and throw the course up, until the model had shown at least once.

The third week I was chatting with one of the poofters' when an off-white dressing gown, toped by a tussled looking mop of long jet-black hair entered the classroom.

"Oh goody Abigail is back." My new... er, friend gushed, "Jerry, you've never seen such a gorgeous body, in your whole life!"

I'm not sure what kind of a look I gave the guy.

"Oh come on Jerry, even you have to admit that that boy last week had a beautiful body? All rippling muscles, in all the right places."

"Yeah well, he was well built."

"Well, Norman and I are allowed to appreciate a beautiful female body when we see one. Unlike you though, we wouldn't necessarily want to take it to bed with us." He winked at me, "But, we do know how to appreciate beauty in all its forms when we see it!"

Whilst I had been talking to -- whatever his name was -- Elvira had introduced Abigail to the other new members of the class. I noticed that Abigail kept her eyes down. As far as I could make out, she didn't look directly at anyone. When she eventually did turn my way for a second I was somewhat disappointed that all that long black hair of hers almost completely obscured her face. But I also had to admit that there was something about the woman that immediately got to me; even if she was completely shrouded by her hair and that dressing gown.

Maybe I should point out here, that I'd been a little self-conscious on my first evening. Much to Elvira's amusement, I had chosen myself an easel tucked away at the back, in a quiet corner.

The chaise longue had been returned to dais the middle of the studio. The previous week, the young stud had made do with a chair, that he stood with one foot upon. Abigail actually sat on the chaise longue with her dressing gown still on, only divesting herself of the garment when Elvira requested that she did.

The thought struck me that Abigail wasn't exactly comfortable in her profession. There was an undeniable air of vulnerability about the woman, which for some reason told me she was there by force of circumstance, not by choice.

In her first pose, all the sitters did at least two poses during the sessions; Abigail had her back to me, so I still could not get a good look at her face.

Odd that, even though at that time I hadn't seen her face properly. But it's funny, but the quick glance I had got of it when she was being introduced... well, it had stirred me somehow.

Hey look, we're talking artistically here. I'm doing my best to explain what I felt at the time.

Using charcoal I did my best to sketch Abigail's wonderful figure, even if it was from the back. Well three-quarters from the back, but kind of head on at the same time. i.e. was looking at the back of her head, slightly from above if she had been standing.

"Oh my, I knew that with the right sitter to inspire you and you'd show me that you had talent." Elvira said over my shoulder, after I'd been sketching away for about five or ten minutes.

I think I actually jumped when Elvira spoke. To tell you the truth, I'd completely lost track of time, and just about everything else, as I worked on my sketch. My whole world had become the model Abigail, and the piece of art paper on my easel

I stepped back and sure enough, I'd created a wonderful work of art with my own hand. Hey, this might be a subjective opinion, but that picture still hangs on my wall at home. I'm proud to show it off to anyone and everyone, and I've even been offered a good few bob for it, on more than one occasion.

Mind you, my wife will often cringe when that picture comes up as a subject of a discussion.

Before I'd had time to reply to Elvira she had moved on to the next student. It took me just a second or two to get back into my creative bent.

It seemed no sooner than I had, when Elvira called a halt to proceedings and said we'd take a short break before Abigail took up her second pose. Abigail herself promptly covered her nakedness with the dressing gown the instant Elvira had spoken.