"I'm done." he said. "We can paint now."She got up and stretched. The robe was tied tightly, but her breasts thrust out, pushing the silk toward him. ...What did you write your poem about?" she asked, as she began walking toward the studio."The woman." he said.She stopped and turned around. "The woman who ... you think about when we paint?" She was looking at him through lowered lashes."Yes." he answered."I think I'd like to hear that poem. Would you read it to me?" She sounded uncertain, her. I went around to her place late that night when the coast was clear of her housemates about 1a.m or so. My heart was pounding and i was really excited, it felt like what i was doing was sneaky, wrong and naughty and i loved it. I parked around the corner as not to raise suspicion, call her then went into her garden, walked over her decking and knocked on her window. She lived on the side part of house with nobody above her. A few seconds after i knocked on the window as i stood in this random. More

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