He wanted to extend this first time for as long as possible, knowing that it wouldn't be as long as he or she would wish for. She was kissing him now,...covering his face with her lips in small, tender touches as he continued his long thrusts into her."Michael ... oh, Michael. It's been so long," she cried softly.He understood the use of his formal name. It was a sign of something he hoped was love. It seemed so much more personal, so much more intense. He took comfort in it."I can't last much. He curled over her, his mouth hovering near her hard-tipped breasts. It was delicately done, how the bodies were solid and the clothes that hung off of them various degrees of opaque. It was his most aggressive, muggy, sexual piece yet. Someone had put it next to the other one of my window. It looked like a before and after picture. When I went home that night, that painting was the image in my head. # It was the Friday before Owen's gallery opening, almost six weeks since I last saw him. For. More

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