I didn’t paint this way just to have frequent free fucks; I was developing a whole new art form. And that girl in the first row of tables had a face...that was perfect for my art.It was fortunate that she liked my poetry so well—that my poetry recitation in that smoky basement room in the Village aroused her to wanting to fuck me. I knew she wanted it because she put the moves on. I was content to go home to Jules and paint this young woman just from memory. She didn’t move me enough to ache for. Once he had done what she wanted, she said, "All done."He turned and was amazed at the results. The colors were slightly darker than those used on women, but just as subtle. Small imperfections seemed to have faded away and his face glowed with a beauty he hadn't known he had. He briefly wondered why men on his world didn't wear make-up if results like this were possible.His mom asked, "Like what you see?" Peter nodded. "Good. Now don't muss yourself. I've got to go get myself ready."His mom. More

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