Bob grinned at them, "Let's talk about the weather. Did you get days like this where you came from?"Mom and Dad glanced at each other. "In the summer,...it was fine. We'd get a spell of really good weather," Ana allowed.Bob looked around at the sky and the mountains. "The air's clear, a few nice clouds to break things up. Nice temperature; the air fans your cheek like a silk scarf." He paused a moment. "The sun shines down. It purifies the air, makes the earth grow and lets us see as far as we. Does that sound impossible? That's what artists do all the time, or, as my mom put it:That's what artists DO..."All this performance sex with Al was starting to drive me nuts. I wanted to stop acting, and just be in the fuck, whatever, but, if you're like me, it's not just a matter of words. There's a whole lot of changing sets, costumes and moving furniture for me for that to be simple.I hadn't been too involved with sex with Al, in a way, though a fly on the wall, if asked, would have said. More

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