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| He stood waiting for me to say I was fine mature pictures of women so he could leave me. Short of company as I had been for some time and certainly having little hope of such attractive male company again, I sought to delay his departure. Er...youre an artist? I noticed you with your easel. He grinned; I like to think Im an artist. I finished Art School a couple of years ago and Im what is generally known as a Struggling artist. Im hoping that when Im dead Ill be discovered and people will pay fortunes for my work. | |
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