She was sitting on my bed, but closer this time, with the back of her ass pressed against the side of my leg. A hand was draped across my other leg. S...e was wearing only a tight pair of white boyshorts and a tank-top. "Morning babe," she whispered. "Mmph," I mumbled. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was only seven thirty -- far too early for a Sunday. "What?" "I want you to work out this morning," she said. "You need it. You just don't get enough exercise." I sighed, but I knew better than to. "You like?" He asked again, his words thick with an accent Jess could not place geographically."Yes." She stammered. "I like." Good!" The man said enthusiastically. "I am Alesandro. I am arteest. I make theese statues." Ah." Jess replied. "They certainly are, erm, lifelike. You don't see that much these days."The man stamped his foot. "Life ees Alesandro's art! Art should look like life! Alesandro speets on the abstract!" He said after which he spat on the ground for emphasis.Now it was Jess'. More

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