“Is that Eva Billings?” Miss Webster nodded. “I recall seeing only one piece by Eva Billings at art shows in the last few years. It didn’t sel...l. It didn’t sell because it lacked passion. That display of student work I walked past in the entrance had the same problem. No passion. This...” Mum waved my picture at Miss Webster. “This has passion! And Eva Billings grades the artist who drew this with a C!”Mum snorted in disgust – again.I blinked a couple of times. Mum had called me an artist! I. After each practice…we would go for breakfast and we would chat about everything under the sun…I was more enamoured as the days passed…this girl was smart, funny and genuine..I’m sure she saw in my eyes that I had feelings for her…but she must have been so focused on the mission of impressing my mate that she didn’t even decipher the message…she and I got friendlier too…because of our constant meetings…and on the ball court no less…we were physically closer…touching was part of our thing now…. I love thebubblegum-pink, acorn-shaped tip. I love the silky smooth skin of theshaft. I love the wrinkled, satiny flesh of the scrotum and the egg-shape balls within. I love a flaccid cock. Soft and limp, it seemsvulnerable and needy. I love the power I have to make this spongy,drooping, wilted stalk of manhood thicken and swell and rise to standupright against my man's pubes. I love to stroke and rub and tease andpinch and knead and massage his genitals with my hand. I love to takehis erect. . as she pulled them down from under her dress and took them off over her boots. "Like this?" She stood back up. With the dress on I couldn't see any difference without the panties, but my cock knew. I stood up to touch her and kiss her."Wait, YOU'RE still wearing your panties!" she joked, pointing at my boxer shorts and my obvious hard-on. "Take those off!" So I stripped down and stood there, naked, while she walked around and let me admire her."You look so good..." I said. "Really?" she bent.