I said nothing. Legs spread, my nipples hard from all the scenarios rushing through my mind, drenched from the now steamy hot shower. I just sat there...waiting for his move.He stepped away from my sight for what seemed like minutes, then reappeared completely nude and beautiful, just like his pictures. His cock was hard and standing flush with his stomach, with a slight curve to it. I assumed he was going to join me, but instead he reached for my hand. I offered it to him and gruffly he pulled. In short, the frustrations common among artistes: the composer pulling out hairs in search of the precise notes; the writer getting blocked in search of his poignant phrases; the frustration of the poet’s poverty and such but these tears of artistes were unheard except in privacy… whispered among lovers in embrace as a part of their expressions, conjugations and related inspiring passions.Our precocious Jean was newly located in LPA, an artiste without portfolio as it were, yet to establish. More

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