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The artist returns with tea. Fine alabaster china. A couple of little cucumber sandwiches. Had she known I was coming? I grin at the incongruity of a little plastic honey bear amid such an elegant setting. She places the tray on a little three-legged calling card table and gracefully hands me a teacup. Jasmine tea, my favorite. She takes a sandwich and gently brings it to my lips, caressing my cheek as she feeds it to me. The touch tingles the entire right side of my face, runs down my neck and arm, brings my nipple back to attention. I look away, sip my tea, trying desperately not to show how aroused I am. Out of the corner of my eye I can sense her amusement. I nod toward the drawing. "Has she been here often?" "Yes." "She's lovely." "I think so too." "How did you meet?" "She liked my drawing of her in the park." I swallow. "Are you... are you lovers?" "Sometimes. I mostly like to draw her making love to someone else." I will my breathing to start again. "May I see one?" She. Stacey was a bit flirty as always, and Frank seemed to be enjoying the conversation - I interjected where I could. During the discussion I couldn't help but notice Stacey glance down at Frank's shorts every so often. I looked to see what the problem was. I was surprised to see that Frank appeared to have a massive outline of an appendage running down his basketball shorts. It appeared absurdly big and I couldn't confirm if it was really a penis or just the parking lot lighting and shadows playing tricks on me. I shrugged it off and after a bit more pleasant discussion we exchanged goodbyes and headed home for the evening.A couple months went by and my friendship with Frank was proving to be a good one. The two of us would often hit bars after the games, Stacey sometimes in tow - we even had him over for dinner on a few occasions. We learned that Frank lived in a small apartment near the high school, he was currently single - his ex-wife apparently leaving him with very little, taking.
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Wendy looked up to see what she assumed was the gang foreman walking towards her. He was a slim, dark haired, tanned faced, white guy of about 40. Looking at him as he got close she thought he slightly resembled Al Pacino playing Tony Montana in the movie Scarface. The foreman's sleeveless jerkin was unfastened open at the front and Wendy was fixated by a large snake tattoo whose tail appeared to begin somewhere behind his right shoulder and whose head presumably ended down the front of his jeans, which was sadly out of view to her."Excuse me," he repeated, less patiently this time, "You can't stay here, there's dangerous machinery being used, you have to move back now."Wendy seemed to come out slightly from her trance-like state. She looked into the foreman's dark eyed face. He looked annoyed, but then he seemed to look at her more carefully and dropped his gaze down, checking out her ripe body and the obviously erect nipples jutting out through her dress. Now, he looked somewhat.

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