”“Have you seen my pants?” Steve asked, bringing me back to reality.“Folded, clean in the laundry basket, where they’ve been since Friday. I...bet you can’t guess how I know.”“Want to come down to Clay’s and have a beer?”“In a minute.”“OK, see ya,” said Steve as he finished getting dressed and left the apartment.I started out wondering what my daydream meant, but instead of approaching clarity my mind returned to its previously scheduled programming. I was naked standing before my entire English. It was my body, my face, my hair. Mr. Monet had painted me. As I was staring at the canvas, I felt him touching me. He threw his arms around me and pressed his body against mine. He held my hips and lowered his face into my neck. I could feel his breath on my skin, I could even hear it. I tried to keep my thoughts with the painting, but that proved sheer impossible. "I want you to know," he whispered, "I had no such intentions."I already knew that. I did not either, and yet it had happened. I. More

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