For four years I have avoided it--the awkward process of staring at, analyzing, and finally rendering in some form or another what appears to be a hack-up, last minute appendage tacked on to an otherwise beautiful human form. I chose angles that hid the beast from view, or tastefully applied a skirt or other piece of clothing to cover it. Even Doug's silent, accusatory glances and Scott's outright criticisms could not prevent my chronic castration of male figures. But today, when our model sat with legs splayed in my direction, his glory facing me head on as if daring me to ignore it, I knew that I finally had to fill in the empty crotch space that has characterized my artwork thus far. And even though it is insultingly diminutive, hastily drawn, an inorganic shade of orange, and resembles a trebuchet or duck more than a propagator of offspring, I did it. I finally drew a penis.