I stare at her, shocked.

"What ... what nude of me?"

Her grin widens into a full-fledged smile. "Well, I guess you'll have to model for me so I can draw one."

She reaches over to stroke my neck again. My nipples are tingling, my skin is all gooseflesh. She leans in for another soft, soft kiss, gently tugging at my nipple through the silk. Her eyes are full of mischief.

My hand slips from her neck, "accidentally" brushing the nipple that is showing through the thin cardigan. She closes her eyes and sighs. Brings her fingers up to trace my mouth softly, as if memorizing my face for drawing. I take one of her fingers in my mouth, timing my little tugs on her nipple to my sucking. Another sigh.

"I take it that's a yes?"

I look down, nod silently. I can't say anything.

Silently we get up together and head for her apartment. The walk across the park leaves me a little breathless. The breeze rustles the trees, scattering stray leaves on the sidewalk. The doorman looks pointedly at me, smiles knowingly at her as we pass, taking the elevator to her floor.

The entry hall of her apartment has a series of drawings of women. Most are in the park, sunning on benches, lying on the grass. There is one of me from last summer, wearing the dress that got me the worst leers that first week at work, the one I have never worn to work again. The one that showed my nipples in the air conditioning. Even in the park, it seems almost transparent in her drawing.

Around the bend, the women are less formally dressed, a few buttons open at the top, top open to the waist, sheer bra, topless. I find myself looking more at the yellow oriental carpet than at the drawings.

On the door to the studio is a self-portrait. Of the artist. She is nude, arms overhead. It's hard not to stare at it. I turn to look at her.

She has removed the cardigan and is standing there in a soft white shirt. No bra: she has perfect tangerine-sized breasts. Her nipples and areolas are plainly visible. "You like?" I don't know if she means the drawing or her body. I smile, reach back to put my hand on her neck. She comes forward, touches the tip of my nose with hers. A soft kiss on the lips before she steps back, looks at me appraisingly.

"Have you ever posed nude before?"

"No." I'm whispering; I still can't quite speak. Staring at the leafy pattern in the carpet. I can't look at her, can't look at the drawings. "Am I going to pose nude today?"

She looks at me appraisingly. Gives me a little ambiguous smile.

"Would you like something to drink?"

I nod.

"Go into the studio. I'll be back in a minute."

Inside there is only one drawing. It's the blonde from the park. She's lying on a divan, nude, looking frankly at me as if welcoming a lover.

Then I see the divan, under the skylight. A sheer scrim lets the amazing light in, the soft breeze, the muffled sounds of the city. There isn't anywhere else to sit, so I go over and sit on the very edge. The woman in the drawing seems to smile faintly at me.

The artist returns with tea. Fine alabaster china. A couple of little cucumber sandwiches. Had she known I was coming? I grin at the incongruity of a little plastic honey bear amid such an elegant setting.

She places the tray on a little three-legged calling card table and gracefully hands me a teacup. Jasmine tea, my favorite. She takes a sandwich and gently brings it to my lips, caressing my cheek as she feeds it to me. The touch tingles the entire right side of my face, runs down my neck and arm, brings my nipple back to attention.

I look away, sip my tea, trying desperately not to show how aroused I am. Out of the corner of my eye I can sense her amusement.

I nod toward the drawing. "Has she been here often?"

"Yes."

"She's lovely."

"I think so too."

"How did you meet?"

"She liked my drawing of her in the park."

I swallow. "Are you... are you lovers?"

"Sometimes. I mostly like to draw her making love to someone else."

I will my breathing to start again. "May I see one?"

She smiles. "Maybe sometime. You'll have to ask her."

It's all I can do to keep my hand from touching my panties. I sip my tea and cross my legs. I look at her, see the amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Are you ready to pose?"

Sheepish grin. "I don't think it will get easier if I wait." I set the cup down, rise, and fumble with the top button of my blouse.

She also rises, takes my hands in hers, lifts one to kiss the fingertips one at a time. Leans in to unfasten the buttons. Tugs the shirt out of my skirt, slides it off my shoulders. She leans in and kisses me softly on the side of my neck, stroking my back through the soft cotton half-slip. Then she unfastens the side button of my skirt, unzips the zipper, and lets it fall to the floor. She steps back to admire me, asks me to turn, gently strokes my bottom through the white hiphugger panties. A gentle touch on my shoulder stops me, turned away from her, and she kisses my neck, tugging at the short hairs there with her lips.

The blonde in the drawing almost seems to lean in to watch. I have to close my eyes. The light breeze in the studio makes my goosebumps bigger. My nipples stand up to be touched. Her breathing is a little coarser.

I reach back, take her hands and bring them around to put them on my breasts. She nibbles my earlobe in little strokes and tugs at my nipples through my bra. My skin is all electrified as she makes little circles with her fingers. She lifts the slip over my head in one smooth movement, unclasps my bra and then lightly scratches my back, my armpits, my nipples. Tugs gently at the tufts of hair in my armpits.

Strokes down my sides, my hips, my belly. Kisses my neck as she touches my panties.

"You like?" I whisper.

"Very much."

Still standing behind me, she slips my panties partway down my thighs and starts to tug at my pubic hair. Another light breeze makes me realize how very wet I've become. With gentle tugs, she leads me back to the divan and lays me down on my belly. With sure fingers she starts caressing my neck, shoulders, back, buttocks, firm and light strokes bringing every inch of my skin awake. One hand keeps caressing while the other tugs my panties the rest of the way off. She massages my feet slowly, my calves, my thighs, my buttocks. Again, I have the sense that she is memorizing me with her fingers. Then, with one hand on my hip, she rolls me over, then sits back on her heels to admire me.

"Lovely. You are lovely." I can see she is studying the contrast between my pale skin and the black pubic hair, eyes dancing over my body almost like caressing fingers. I can almost feel her pencil on my neck, my face, my neck, my armpits, my breasts, my belly, as the draws me in her mind. She leans forward to run her fingers through my pubic hair, tugging softly as she combs it straight down onto my lips.

"Close your eyes," she murmurs softly. I do. She leaves her left hand just casually lying over my mound, softly runs her right over my nipples. I become more and more aware of the gentle pressure of her thumb resting on my lips, aching to open my thighs more so she will really touch me, touch my five-alarm-fire center now. I call her my "little friend." I've known my little friend since I was 10, and she's never wanted to be touched more. My whole body is vibrating under the artist's touch. Especially my little friend.

Her hand leaves my breasts for a moment as I lie there with my eyes closed. Suddenly I feel cool sticky liquid dripping on one nipple. Honey, I realize, as she leans in to take my nipple in her mouth. Oh my God, the pressure from her hand, her thumb resting there, is nearly unbearable as she sucks the honey off. She drips a thin trail up my breast, onto my chest and neck, and follows it with her tongue. A drop of honey on my lips, and her sweet mouth is kissing my mouth as her thumb and finger gently open my little friend to the air without touching her.

"Touch me," I whisper, eyes still closed. She kisses me deeper but doesn't move her hand. She tugs on my nipple with her free hand as she kisses me, then leans back again.

"What's the magic word?" she smiles at me.

"Please." I am practically whimpering.

"Please what?"

"Please touch me..."

"Touch you where?"

"On my..." I start to say "little friend," but I'm suddenly embarrassed. I have never said the word aloud before. "On my... clitoris...."

"Show me where."

She lowers her face to between my thighs, taking her finger away. I groan, "Please touch me!"

She laughs gently. "You have to show me how."

Slowly, I bring my finger down, slip it between my lips, and touch the very tip of what is now the center of the universe. "Show me how you touch yourself," she says. I can't believe I am doing this, nobody has ever watched me touching like this before. I take the base between my thumb and middle finger and gently stroke the tip with my index. She strokes upward on my thighs, down my belly, always toward what I am doing with my finger.

"Ahhhh." I am groaning. I am so near to orgasm, so close, I have never been this turned on.

She leans in and captures my stroking finger, tugs it into her mouth. I am so close, almost in tears. I try squeezing with my thumb and middle, but this only makes it worse. "Please touch me!" I whisper. She smiles at me, softly sucking on my finger, eyes dancing. "Please." It's almost a whimper.

Suddenly her tongue is there, right on the magic spot, she's licking me so softly, so slowly. I can feel each taste bud as one by one they touch me. "Please," I whisper. She stops moving, just leaves her tongue there, burning me, her eyes smiling at me, question marks on her face. "Please lick me harder!".

"Ohhh", she almost hums, pushes a little harder, licks slowly, slowly, down to the tip of her tongue. I feel her hot breath on me as she blows gently on me. She goes down for a second lick, long, slow, just barely hard enough. I am groaning, unable to say a word. Once again she just rests the tip of her tongue there, humming. My hips rise up to try to get her to press harder.

A third time she goes down, her tongue partway inside me this time. The long, slow rasp. Suddenly she licks me faster, harder, finally just hard enough, and I am over the edge, screaming, crying, gasping for breath, rubbing my nipples with both hands as she licks and sucks my friend, my clit, oh my God, please, keep licking, never stop, ohhhh, lick me, taste me, suck me into your mouth....

I don't know when she stopped. I don't know how long I laid there in sleepy bliss. When I looked up, I became aware of the sounds of light pencil strokes tingling my neck as she was completing her drawing of me. I beckoned her to me. "Let me see." I tugged her arm to me, kissed her for all I was worth. She tasted amazing, like honey and vinegar and exotic spices. And me.

The drawing made me realize I was still aroused, would be aroused for days. Would be coming here again. I slipped my hand under the hem of her shirt, raised it just enough to bring her nipple to my mouth. She stopped me after a few seconds, smiling. "Maybe next time."

I glanced at the drawing on the wall. The blonde was staring at my body, liking what she saw. "When do we show it to her?"