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Saturday, February 15th. 7: 30am

I watched Loretta's beautifully manicured hand as she lifted the coffee pot. She smiled sweetly and poured me a cup. At dinner the night before she had told me she would be leaving in a week.

"Leaving for where? "I asked.

"Back home to the oldies I guess," she shrugged.

I had responded by hugging her and kissing her cheek. I was a little surprised but something told me that there was more to this than she was telling me. Still, it was her life. In the month that Loretta had lived with me I had drawn and painted her many times; each work giving me more satisfaction than the last. Loretta had been a good model too: patient and creative in her own way and happy to be part of the artistic process. She was my inspiration; corny as it might sound. I was going to miss her.

She had told me that posing nude and being painted never failed to turn her on. In the last four weeks I had found out just how true this was.

"I thought you said you hated your parents."

She looked at me and was silent for a few seconds. I felt as though she ...

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