The bearded guy, larger and broader, hummed his way to the stereo, put on Elton John’s “Saturday Night’s Allright For Fighting” and cranked it... “I-um-I guess I should be getting home,” I said. “Still have a beer buzz,” Jake said. “Not safe to drive just yet.”The bearded guy looked at him. “Not a car, anyway.” Jake flashed a wicked smile.The bearded guy jumped onto the bed, landing on his back, legs slightly spread.I had never seen shorts like that. They were regular blue jean shorts, faded as. " Good. Go back to the same pose. You look lovely there."She was, it seemed, the consummate professional. If ever I could imagine being a model for a professional artist, in a professional setting, she was doing it. Then she went back to the canvas, now painting over the sketchwork she had done earlier. She worked intently for at least another hour, casually bouncing one leg off the other. I began to notice that there was a lot of leg under that smock. And thigh. Maybe it was the dope, but I. More

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