I continuously told myself that I was admiring her form from an artist perspective and that it was a natural, understandable attraction. She had, after all, been the muse for the greatest drawing I had ever put to paper. But I also kept thinking I was wrong for finding her sexy. Especially when I found myself contemplating her neck, breasts, thighs, hell... any part of her really. She had started creeping into my fantasies when I would masturbate, which disturbed me a good deal if I allowed myself to think about it. I felt like I should not be allowing myself to indulge these kinds of thoughts. She was my...