He was clothed, as usual, inhis boots, jeans, sweatshirt, and artist's smock. She was nude, asalways. "What does it mean?" she asked the artist.He l...oked at her, his devotion to the transsexual obvious in his lovinggaze. "Mean?" he repeated, as if the concept were alien to him."The painting." It is the story of Jupiter and Io." I know that, silly, but what does it mean?"He smiled at her naivet?. It was one of the things he loved about her,beside her beauty and the fabulous incongruity of. Luckily it was a warm, Indian summer day.She had spent some time that morning thinking about all the changes that had come over her since they had moved here. Changes she would have laughed at if someone had suggested them. The things she had done with Kathy, that night the men were gone and several times since then during the day while the guys were at work.She thought about the images she kept having of Brother Bob fucking her every possible way The way Brother Bob patted her ass and, she had. More

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