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He wanted to lay there for hours more. Unfortunately, the day would soon start, and Sherry would soon leave. He would most likely not see her for another year. Would they have to continue the charade and never even write? He made the right call at that moment and decided not to even ponder questions like that. Instead, he just laid there enjoying the moment. His balls still ached from the lack of attention but he would remedy that shortly. For now, he wanted to appreciate her beauty again. That couldn't happen.He heard movement upstairs. He knew was time to leave and get back to the real world. Then to his horror he heard someone coming down the stairs. He would never make it to the bathroom in time much less the sofa. It took Sherry a moment to comprehend the situation until his eyes obviously gave it away. She now fully understood the dilemma at hand. They both were wise enough to remain completely quiet. And Brent knew how he was going to manage this.Since he always went running. Walls, villages in Afghanistan, our friends. She gave out paintings to friends and as payment for big favors. Most of all, she painted me. She painted me sleeping. She painted me reading. She painted me cleaning my M-16. And this time she had painted me right after fucking. I remembered, I was sitting cross-legged in our living room and she came in with just an artist's smock and a smile, her body still shiny from our sex, her taste still fresh on my lips. I remember looking at her, and her looking back through her big, wide lensed glasses, smiling that wide toothy smile. I opened my legs to entice her, arched me back to show her how wet and needy I was. I wanted to make her hungry. She saw me. “Don't move,” she said and picked up her pencil. In a few hours, it was done. She ran to kiss me as I sat there stunned at what she had seen. Now Elizabeth saw me as Carolyn had, naked, wanton, shameless in my lust and need. Her mouth fell open, eyes tracing out every detail. “It's beautiful..
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