I pull your t-shirt up slightly, my hands running up and down your sides. Your hands find their way into my hair, you tug at it trying to stop me from...my attack on your neck and collar bone. I flip you over onto your stomach on the table, I pull your hips back so your feet can touch the floor. Your arse is there in all its jean covered glory, I give it a quick hard smack, your back arches, pushing your arse towards me for another hit. I grab your hair, pulling it so your back arches more. I. It was all I could do anymore to focus on anything besides painting and my upcoming racquetball challenge. The more I painted, the more ideas I had for what I wanted to paint. I loved doing suites that told a story. I needed to paint.But my opportunity to win the national championship from the elusive Brian Summers was coming. I’d paint later. I headed for the gym.After two hours of beating a little blue ball into submission, I had my head back on straight. I showered, called the family and. More

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