what it's like to date an artist, #2
That morning, he woke her up early, before the sun came through his only window, and when she finally spoke, after they had both pleasured each other, crossed that off the to-do list, her voice did not come out like a croak. It surprised her. As if they had already been carrying on throughout the day together. They laid in his dark room. Close.
Suddenly, she remembered, with a hint of glee: "It's Friday."
"I work all weekend," he responded.
She had not known this about him.
He had to leave soon, get to the studio for a 7 a.m. shoot -- fashion photography, you know, the stuff that pays the bills.
For now, she closed her eyes, kept quiet. Her head against his bare chest, enjoying the last of it.
Suddenly, she remembered, with a hint of glee: "It's Friday."
"I work all weekend," he responded.
She had not known this about him.
He had to leave soon, get to the studio for a 7 a.m. shoot -- fashion photography, you know, the stuff that pays the bills.
For now, she closed her eyes, kept quiet. Her head against his bare chest, enjoying the last of it.