Julie shoved the window wide open, permitting the hum of the bees and the scent of the honeysuckle that surrounded the frame to enter the room. Through the partially drawn curtains the leafy canopy of oak trees could be seen swaying gently and the breeze carried in the smell of freshly mown grass. The breeze flowed gently over the bed, over the cool blue sheets, and over the woman who lay there.

She turned back to the bed and moved the pillows around Amy's body. Amy complied lazily as Julie frowned, stepped back to eye the composition of Amy's long body, then propped up a knee with a pillow, placed Amy's hand on her belly. Finally she draped the sheet over Amy's calves and patted down the pillow to make sure she could fully see Amy's face. Satisfied, she moved across the room to the overstuffed armchair and folded her legs underneath her bottom, the soft contours of the chair hugging her body. For years she had threatened to swipe one of the armchairs from Barnes & Noble, so for her last birthday Amy had bought her one just as squishy, just as big--and with more fashionable covering. It occupied the corner of their room by one of the windows, next to the shelves of books, art supplies and trophies.

Julie settled her drawing board across her lap, and inserted fresh paper underneath the clips. Then she picked up her box of drawing tools from a shelf and with a piece of willow charcoal swiftly sketched the outline of the bed, the curtains that swayed in the window above it, and the shape of the body and the pillows supporting it. After a couple of minutes she refocused and saw Amy grinning at her, tongue sticking out from between her teeth.

"Stop that." Julie scolded. "How am I supposed to draw when you're laughing at me?"

Amy chuckled and leaned up on her elbow. "Really, I don't know why you even need me to pose for you. I'd think you'd have every wrinkle and roll committed to memory by now." Slowly she drew her other hand down her flat stomach, over her hips, letting her fingers draw trails as she moved it between her thighs.

Julie sighed in mock exasperation. "Quit trying to distract me!" She waggled her finger at Amy, who chuckled again and lay down, settling her body comfortably into the pillows, the naughty hand demurely resting against her belly where Julie had placed it before.

Julie refocused and began to draw her charcoal over the contours of Amy's long legs, the sinewy cords that were visible even while she was at rest. The muscles were pronounced, even after the years of dancing had ended and the running began. Occasionally Julie would allow herself be talked into going out for an early morning jog with her partner, but more often she would beg off with a laugh and sit on the porch swing with her mug of coffee and a blanket, yelling encouragement until Amy turned out of their lane. Her secret, silly worry was that one morning Amy would jog past their gate and somehow never find her way back. Once she had shared her fear with Amy, who had laughed heartily and then hopped up on the swing to straddle Julie's lap and lick her ear before she leaned back and turned mock-serious. "You know I'll always find my way back--where else would I go?" Julie had laughed, but she still waited in the swing until she could see Amy bobbing back up to the house, as sweaty and breathless as she had made Julie feel the night before.

The charcoal curved up Amy's slender waist, over her broad shoulders, and then down her arms to her long-fingered hands with their short nails. Leaving the details for later, Julie traced Amy's head and feet, then the outline of the fabric that cushioned her body, the sheet that was barely draped over her ankles. Carefully she shaded the arms and legs, shaping and caressing as she went, her fingers knowing every dip and ridge. The filtered light cast soft highlights on Amy's mocha skin, giving it the subtle glow Julie loved. Once she had looked up from between Amy's thighs at her partner's sweat-covered face and said, "You taste just like dark chocolate, and what do you know, you're good for me too!" Amy had alternated between gasps and helpless giggles until she was hiccupping uncontrollably. After that she had vowed revenge and soon it was Julie who was laughing and writhing on the bed.

Julie traced the shadows down to the permanently calloused feet she had spent hours massaging, and with a smile rubbed in texture to accent the not-so-graceful shape of the well-abused toes. Back up the legs the charcoal went, then over the calf muscles, pausing as she traced the outlines of the highlights on the inner thighs, moved up to the curve of her hips. Julie traced the patch of hair at the junction of Amy's legs which Julie had shaved into a neatly trimmed landing pad just the day before, an activity that always took them longer than they planned, interrupted as it was by laughter, tickles and interludes.

She shaded the shallow hollow of Amy's belly, moved across the graceful curve of her hips, around her pelvis, shaded underneath her ribs. Amy's chest rose and fell softly with her breath, and Julie's hand slowed as she thought about the nights that she had traced those curves with her fingers, whispering comfort as they both held back the tears, grasping one another as tightly as they could. They could touch, they could hold on for dear life, but even Julie's fragile determination to support her couldn't chase away the nightmares that left Amy soaked and shuddering in her sleep.

Julie shook herself back to the present and moved the charcoal to Amy's hand, fingers curved lightly on her belly, deceptively soft. Amy's handshake was crushing, although every time she drew them across Julie's body, parted her hips, thrust them inside, they were dizzyingly gentle. Up the arm, across the black tribal bands that interlaced all of the way around her tricep, following the path that Julie's fingertips often took, then reached up over the shoulder and spilled down toward her chest. Julie moved across the curve of her neck, the shadows of her throat, over the sweep of her high cheekbones, across the broad nose, curving up to the depth of her eyes, up and over the high forehead.

Julie paused and felt a smile tug at her lips as she watched Amy sleep. After having posed for Julie for so many years, Amy could hold a position for a long time without shifting, even while she slept. Lovingly Julie shaded the eyes with their long lashes, and the heavy shadows that lurked underneath. The shadows never left, no matter how often Julie kissed them, no matter how much Amy slept, and Julie knew they were mirrored on her own face, flanked now by the grey that had appeared in the red of her hair.

Up Amy's forehead the charcoal went, gently scratched in the short hair that covered her head. Sometimes when they were together, fingers clenched in Amy's short tight curls, Julie had a flashback of Amy's hair before, the long tight dreads that she had painstakingly maintained. Although she constantly complained about what a pain they were, Amy was extremely proud of her hair, but the day that they shaved the last of it she was stoic and Julie was the one fighting back tears. When it finally started to grow back, she had laughed. "This is much easier; I'm gonna keep it short." But Julie still saw her run her hand absentmindedly over her head, as if looking for her missing locks.

Julie hesitated as she began the final part of her drawing. Even though it had been three years, a tear rolled down her cheek. Her charcoal traced down Amy's throat the way she often went with her lips, down her collarbone, and ever so gently kissed the scars that puckered all the way across Amy's chest. Amy refused to wear the special bras that gave her a semblance of a chest, or to have reconstructive surgery. Instead she proudly wore whatever she wanted out in public. But Julie remembered one long night a few months later when Amy finally broke down, hysterical with grief. Julie had held her, shaking, unable to find a way to comfort Amy, or draw any comfort for herself.

Julie finished the shadows and studied her drawing. The tips of her fingers worked softly, caressing a spot, rubbing a shadow, smoothing a highlight. Finally satisfied, she sat and watched Amy as the dust motes danced in a stray sunbeam over her body. Then she set her board aside, crossed over to the bed and gently covered Amy with the sheet.