This short story reminded me of being in art school. I was a pretty good at figure drawing, except when it came to one particular female model, Ashton. No matter how I tried, I could not draw Ashton’s naked body. The lines never came out right. One afternoon, after an hour of profuse use of my white rubber eraser, I threw down my pencil in disgust. Why wasn’t this working for me? I had heard rumors that Ashton had previously been a boy. I contemplated her body for a few minutes before once again picking up my pencil and sharpening the lead with my mat knife. I thought of Ashton now as a male model lying before me, even as I drew her round breasts and hips, and shaded the darkness between her legs.
The lead flowed smoothly and surely across my paper.