Natnwe - Roman woman dies

At sixteen, I was truly beautiful. With a round face, piercing eyes, a straight nose, red lips, and white teeth. My mother used to say that I looked like the Virgin Mary. It was as if I had been told that I looked like a famous movie star. That was why I did my hair like the Virgin Mary. My mother said that my body was a hundred times more beautiful than my face. She went on to say that there was no one in all of Rome with a body like mine. At that time, I didn’t care much about my body. I thought that a pretty face was enough. But now I admit that my mother was right. I have straight thighs, a slender waist, a long back, a narrow waist, and broad shoulders. My stomach is firm and toned. The navel was so deep that it almost disappeared. But my mother said that it was more beautiful to be puffy. She thought that women should have a full belly rather than a sloppy one, as is the fashion these days. My breasts were very well developed. They were firm and firm. When I was told that I was too big, my mother said that was true beauty. She said that women today had no breasts. When I was undressed, I was tall and well proportioned. They later said that I looked like a sculpture. But when I was dressed, I was a slender girl, and no one would have thought that I had such a figure. The artist who first posed for me said that this was because the parts of my body were in perfect harmony and proportion.

My mother had found this artist for me. My mother herself had been a model before she got married and became a seamstress. When I first went to see this artist, I said I would go alone, but my mother insisted. I was more embarrassed by the thought of having to undress in front of a stranger than by the thought of her talking to him. She really did. After my mother helped me undress, she made me stand naked in the middle of the room. Then she said passionately to the artist,

"Look, how big her breasts are, how big her buttocks are, and look at her big thighs. Where can you find these thighs, these thighs, these breasts?" My mother said this, pointing, patting, and touching my body parts. It was the way they show animals in the market to make people want to buy them. The artist laughed. I was embarrassed. And it was winter, and it was cold. However, I understood that these displays were not in an unwanted way, but rather to show off my beauty as a mother. If I was beautiful, it must be because my mother was beautiful. The artist seemed to understand this too. So I felt relieved and tiptoed to the stove to warm myself. The artist was about forty years old and a friendly man. He did not look at me with lust, but as an object. That made me feel better. Later, when he got to know me, he treated me with kindness and respect. He didn't treat me as an object, but as a person. I immediately liked him. I secretly loved him because he treated me so kindly. But he never pushed me. He always treated me as an artist. He never treated me as a man. Our relationship was always pure and honest.

When my mother had finished praising me, the artist went to a large pile of paper and took out a piece of colored paper and showed it to my mother. “That’s your daughter,” he said, and I stepped away from the stove and looked at the picture. It was of a woman lying naked on a bed. The woman really looked like me. However, she was naked, but she was wearing gold, silver, and rubies. So she must have been a queen or a woman of honor, and I was just an ordinary girl. “Yes. She looks very much like Adriana. Who is she?”

"Dinny"

The artist replied with a smile.

"Where is Danny?"

"An ancient goddess"

My mother told me to pose as the artist wanted, lying down, standing up, or sitting down. The artist said that she understood better than he did, and she immediately told me about her life as a model. At that time, she was the most beautiful model in Rome. The only thing that ruined that was her marriage. At that time, the artist made me lie down on a sofa. He adjusted the positions of my arms and legs as he liked. But he handled me gently. There was hardly any skin contact. Then, while my mother was talking, he began to sketch. When my mother realized that he was no longer listening to her and was absorbed in his painting, she asked:

"How much do I pay my daughter per hour?"

The artist gave me a price without taking his eyes off the canvas. My mother grabbed the clothes I had piled on a chair and threw them at me -

"Get dressed, let's go"

"Wait, why?"

The painter stopped working and asked in surprise.

"It's okay, come on, Adriana, that's enough."

My mother pretended to be very polite and answered. But then my mother's behavior was terrible. How could she get that much money? Are you crazy? She started shouting at him at the top of her voice. She kept shouting that I was not an adult, that I was only 16 years old, and that this was the first time she had shown herself. When my mother wanted something, she would shout very loudly and pretend to be very angry. In fact, she was not really angry. However, my mother shouted like a buyer who had given a low price and a seller who had shouted. My mother shouted more at polite people. Because they would give her concessions.

Indeed, the painter finally gave in. While his mother was arguing with him, he smiled and tried to say something. He was so tired that his mother stopped talking and asked him how much he wanted. However, his mother still didn't say anything directly.

"How much did the artist who painted that picture pay to pose for him?"

"What's this about? It's from back in the day. I'd rather just give you a bottle of wine or a pair of gloves."

My mother started shouting again. She put him down and praised my beauty. Then, suddenly, she pretended to be satisfied and asked for the price she wanted. He nodded. Finally, they got on. My mother happily accepted the money he offered. Then, after a few brief words, she left. The painter closed the door and walked to his workbench.

“Is that what your mother yells at?”

"Mom loves me very much"

That's the answer.

“I think your mother loves money more.”

"No, that's not it. He loves me the most. But my mother doesn't want to see me poor. She wants me to be rich and happy."

I simply responded with a curt nod.

There are two reasons why I am telling you about this artist in such detail. The first is that it was the first day I worked in my life.

It was the day of the Lord. The other thing is that this incident shows my mother's character and how much she loves me.

After work, I went to the milk shop where my mother was waiting. My mother asked me everything. She asked me what the painter and I were talking about. Then she explained that they usually wanted to keep their models as concubines.

"They're not people with a single penny, you can't get anything from them. With your looks, you can go a long way, you know?"