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Rough Drafts


(an excerpt)
2001 Elizabeta York

Shasta Honeycutt didn’t think she would enjoy Art History, but as a college senior she needed one more elective to add to her spring semester schedule in order to graduate. And Basket Weaving 101 was already filled.

So here she sat, bored, tired, and thirsty, waiting with the other students for the visiting professor to arrive. She halfway paid attention to a whispered conversation that was going on behind her...

"Who is this guy anyway?"

"I don’t know. The schedule on the door said ‘to be announced’".

"I heard it was some old geezer in his sixties..."

A few students came straggling in at the last minute. One of them was a really cute guy Shasta had never seen before. He took the seat two desks over from her. The rows of desks were angled from two sides of the room toward the center of the class with a large isle down the middle. This arrangement allowed the professor to walk through the center of the class as if it were a models’ runway. It was also more conducive to class discussion.

Shasta glanced over at the cute guy. He leafed through a text book, closed it, then pulled out a small keychain and began mindlessly twirling it around his index finger while he quietly whistled to himself. Shasta took out her compact and checked her makeup and hair.

She had a mass of rich auburn curls that cascaded down past her shoulders and around her arms with a few tendrils that had snaked their way into her more than ample cleavage. The deep red hair against her white angora sweater was striking and she knew it. Devil’s Fire #604 by L’Oreal... it was her color.

The sweater was one of her favorites. She loved the exquisite softness. It had a V neck with tiny pearl buttons down the front. When she was feeling naughty, she would unbutton the first couple of buttons to enhance the view for anyone who cared to look. The sweet innocence of the pure white and pearl buttons combined with the sensuous angora and eye-popping decolletage was quite intoxicating to her male classmates. She knew that too. Especially when she wore the sweater with her black leather pants.

Sometimes, as she would go to sit in her seat, she would stop in mid-sit, leaning forward, pretending to arrange her books on the desk so that whoever the guy was sitting behind her could get a nice, prolonged view of the rounded Shasta-ass-clad-in-leather. She always made sure she sat in front of a guy.

Shasta loved being a tramp.

Finally, the classroom door opened and in walked a gentleman with platinum gray hair, wearing a khaki jacket, panama hat and flashing blue eyes. A hush fell over the class.

The man casually strode over to his desk carrying a long, leather bound case. He sat the case atop his desk, opened it, and pulled out a sword. A wickedly beautiful sword. It was a Damascus blade. He held it up as if to appraise it. Sunlight streaming in through a window glinted off the polished steel blade. The jewel encrusted gold hilt glimmered with emeralds and rubies.

He had everyone’s attention with the exception of one Shasta Honeycutt who was busy losing herself in the reflection of her compact. She sat there, twirling curls around her finger and occasionally dabbing a fingertip at the corners of her lipgloss.

She was completely oblivious to the fact that the professor had arrived, that is until she felt a gentle upward pull on the front of her sweater. She looked down from her compact and saw the tip of what she perceived to be a really big knife plucking at the top pearl button of her sweater. The class sat motionless in delighted amazement. Shasta slowly looked up to see the bluest eyes she had ever seen gazing down at her as if she had been stripped naked.

"Miss Honeycutt... this blade can pierce a suit of armor. Imagine what it can do to that lovely compact."

With the tip of the blade still inserted between the first and second buttons of her sweater, Shasta slowly closed the compact and dropped it into her open bookbag. The professor slowly withdrew the sword. Walking to the center of the room, he ran the tip of his finger along the curved blade and smiled at his class.

"For the next two weeks, we will be focusing on art in the making of weaponry. Our journey will begin with the Crusades against the Muslim nations. A favorite weapon, crafted in what is now Syria, was referred to as the Damascus Blade."

In one fluid motion, the professor pulled a red silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, tossed it upward, raised the sword, and sliced through it while it floated in the air. One half of the handkerchief landed at the professor’s feet. The other half wafted down as a silk dart finding its way into the cleavage of Shasta Honeycutt. The professor smiled and addressed his class...

"Ladies and Gentlemen... this is Art History 521. My name is Doctor Knight."



Rough Drafts