I can almost feel her pencil on the back of my neck as I watch her draw. The artist. I don't know her name. She's down here in the park nearly every lunchtime, drawing intently as I watch. I nibble quietly on my salad, slowly letting myself relax after a morning of petty slights at work. "Get us some coffee, Jane." "Jane, this needs to be copied before the client gets here." "Hey, looking good today, Jane, got a special d...

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...

"Ah, here you are, Jane, I've been looking for you for weeks!" I looked up to see the strawberry blonde from the park. The park I had been avoiding for two weeks. The girl I'd been avoiding. Her smile was mysterious, like the Mona Lisa's. Her accent was impossible to place, sort of French with a little British and maybe a little Swedish intonation. She smelled of fresh cut grass and flowers. "You don't like the other part...