Amber speaks first.

“How did things go with Jen?” Amber asked, breaking the spell; I hadn’t realized she knew I was there. I sighed, and collapsed onto the cloth-draped mattress in the corner used for models.
“Not so good,” I admitted. “She finally decided to give a fuck about that loser she’s dating. Though,” I added bitterly, “not until she’d gotten me good and ready. In bed and everything.” I let out another long, tortured sigh.
Amber was standing back, gazing at her painting.
“She’s gorgeous,” I commented. “How do you do it? There’s so much feeling in your paintings.”
Amber sighed sadly. She looked back at me for a long moment, her long, thick hair tied back in a tight braid. Stray wisps fell around her face. Finally she spoke.
“I paint so many women, so many beautiful women’s bodies, all so different.” She gestured around her studio, its wall covered with lovingly crafted paintings and sketches of women of all shapes and sizes.
“I create so many female bodies, and every time I feel like I am creating my own. I have control here.” She gestured to her painting, “on this canvas, these are my hips, these are my breasts, this is my body, and I make love to it as I paint it into existence.” She let out a soft moan of longing, and brought her hands to her chest, “but I wonder, what would this body look like – feel like – if it were female?” she stopped, suddenly embarrassed. “Oh this is stupid, never mind.” She said quickly, her slim arms dropping to her sides. Her shoulders slumped; her dejected head fell to her chest.
I stood and went over to her, putting my arm around her shoulder.
“That’s not stupid at all, Amber.” I said, “You are the most talented artist I’ve ever seen and your passion for the female body really comes across in your paintings. Damn, they make me hot. But listen, sure you don’t have tits yet, and you have a cock, but you are looking more and more feminine by the day. You’re slim, your features are quite feminine and your hair…” I reached up and took out her braid. I shook out her plaited hair and it cascaded in sensuous waves over her shoulder, framing her face. “There, you know who you are,” I comforted, “and that shows. You’re beautiful.” I stepped back, and realized it was true, in the light of the studio, her dark almond eyes shone out from behind waves of raven dark hair, her soft strength and hopeful expression touched my soul. I reached out and touched her clean-shaven cheek.