Now that he was lathered up, I put the sponge into the wash dish and used my hands to rub his chest, luxuriating in the feel of his muscles beneath my fingers."What are you doing?" Washing your chest. Does it bother you?" No. It feels good." It feels good to me, too. I could do this all day."I did it a while longer, then got the soap out of the sponge and wiped off the soap on his chest and took my time drying him with the towel. I moved everything within reach, then raised up the bed, and had Anthony lean forward against my hand. Heavy boy.After lowering the bed to give me some room, I wet his back quickly and squeezed some soap on it. My arm in front was hurting from the weight, and the last thing I wanted to do was have him fall forward and have to use his arms to stop his fall. That would do wonders for his broken collarbone. I used the sponge to wash his back, got rid of the soap and dried him. I got the bed back up and him back on the bed just before my arm gave out.He leaned. She’d explained that she wanted to be a photographer, and was going back home at the end of the summer to complete her course, he’d told her he specialised in painting the human body, and the female form in particular.When Jonathan had suggested that they go to his studio to see some of his paintings, Helen was astonished to hear herself readily agree.She had been nervous as she’d climbed the stairs into the loft apartment that Jonathan was renting, overlooking the harbour, but her trepidations were replaced by awe and wonder at the sights that greeted her as he switched on the single bare light bulb that hung from the ceiling.Several large canvasses stood around the large, uncarpeted loft, all on easels with half-finished paintings upon them. A small unmade bed was against one wall, and a small table with two chairs had stood next to it. A single wardrobe and a kitchenette with one small sink, a tiny cooker and a small gas-powered fridge in the corner of the room completed the.
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