ã€ŠTRANSCIETYã€‹


 Chapter ONE - The BOUNDARY

    Tylene Gunn was not attractive, even by eccentric standards. She was too short and too fat, and sported too much nose on her long, drawn-out face. Not that it bothered her in the least, for she knew she was no supermodel.

    She sat perched upon the edge of a bed in one of the nicer hotels in town. "Breathe deep," she said in a sweet sexy way, her painted lips sporting a smile.

    Bob did as he was told. With his eyes closed, he inhaled through his nose, then exhaled strong through his mouth. As he repeated the effort, the therapist in the room spoke next.

    "I want you to keep your eyes closed and continue to focus on breathing. I won''t tell you when I turn on the link, but you''ll notice it shortly thereafter."

    She tapped an interface on her bitwatch, communicating with a second therapist in an adjoining room. At a silent signal, they each activated the link. Nearly an instant later, Bob brainboarded with his wife.

    Hi Bob! Cecilia said to him in his brain.

    Bob felt immediately better, so much so that he no longer needed to concentrate on proper breathing. Now with each inhalation, he could almost smell the sweet amber scent of his beloved''s perfume, with notes of honeysuckle riding on nutmeg. He thought of himself as a left-footed clod in the presence of her fashionista friends, but with her with him inside his head, his confidence among them soared.

    Seas, he calmly thought to his beautiful wife, hidden in the adjoining room. I''m glad to be with you.

    He keenly felt her joy. Oh! I''m happy with you too! Tell Ty I say hi!

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    "Hi," Bob said at almost the same instant as his wife thought the word into his brain, opening his eyes to look at the woman who sat beside him on the bed. "Cecilia says hi," he clarified.

    "Hi Seas," Tylene said. "We''re going to make sure the link is secure, and then we''ll try doing some walking.

    "Okay," Bob replied.

    Okay! Cecilia thought back, at the same time as Bob said the word.

    For years, Cecilia had aspired to be a runway fashion model. But after winning beauty pageants in her youth, adulthood graced her with hips that were a little too wide, and a lack of height which didn''t offer a manner of compensation. These obstacles didn''t stop her, however, from making friends in the high fashion industry, with Tylene Gunn being both one of her oldest and one of her best.

    And one of her most successful. "She wishes she could see you," Bob said for his wife to Tylene.

    Tylene smiled anew. "I''m right here, Seas," she said to Bob as if talking to her dear friend. "Use Bob''s eyes to look at me."

    Bob could easily relay his thoughts and impressions of Tylene through the brainboard link he shared with his wife, but allowing her to make impressions of her own was a feat the couple had yet to master.

    "You''ll get the hang of it," Tylee said as she noticed Bob struggle with the link. "What I want from you now, dear Seas, is to please help Bob feel at ease. Show him the confidence you have in him. Let him know you''re excited!"

    Bob''s expression changed in a way that reminded Tylene of her hidden friend. "We''re looking forward to doing this!" he said in a way that sounded like Cecilia.

    Tylene stood up from the bed, signalling to Bob that he should also stand. "Push beyond the boundary," she said, instructing Bob/Seas with what to do. She gave a silent nod to the therapist still in the room with them, indicating she should wait beyond the bedroom door. "You''re not alone with me," Tylene said only to Bob, his eyes wide with anticipation. "You are with your wife. She sees in you what I see. And through her, you can see how both of us believe in you."

    The confidence shining on Bob''s face faltered for the tiniest moment, until it was bolstered by encouraging thoughts from his wife.

    I can do this, she thought into him.

    "I can do this," he said to Tylene.

 Chapter TWO - The WALK

    Tylene trailed behind Bob as they walked from the room they were in to a skywalk that connected the hotel to the city convention center. Although checking him out from behind was a pleasure, her gaze on his butt was professional. She coached Bob as if he were Cecilia, who still brainboarded with her husband from her room.

    "I want to see more force in your step. Act like you''re stomping on bugs."

    Bob/Seas complied. He/she also swung his/her hips, playfully showcasing two handsome buns.

    "That''s good," Tylene said with a smile. She enjoyed watching her best friend work Bob''s body with ease. "Now center your feet. Think about where you place your toes. Widen your stance and walk like a man."

    Bob giggled, sounding like his wife. "This is so cool!" he admitted with honesty.

    Cecilia could sense his emotional state. You''re terrified, she thought into his brain, also being honest.

    With you in me, it''s still cool.

    Bob also sensed the state of his wife''s emotions. The appreciation she had for him bolstered his confidence. Before they had both gotten brainboarded, it had been hard for them to get along. Cecilia wanted to remain a part of the crowd she hung out with as a teenager. As they became young adults, she watched many of them become successful artists.

    Her good friend Tylene was no exception. In fact, she became a superstar. Models and millionaires and actors sought out her creations, begging her to let them wear the outfits she crafted to gala balls and award ceremonies.

    Cecilia never became anyone famous, but she did get to wear Tylene''s clothes. She even owned a few outright, as Tylene gave them to her as gifts. They were one-of-a-kind designs and thus priceless, but that didn''t matter to Cecilia.

    She wouldn''t give them up for the world. Despite the fact that her blue collar, work-a-day husband was far from anyone special, Cecilia would sometimes wear a priceless Gunn gown to something as mundane as a brat fry.

    Bob used to dress up too, pleasing his wife to no end. He often donned a silk suit and tie in colors complimenting her garb. At times during their courtship, he''d show up in a tuxedo with flowers, taking her to nothing more fancy than a movie or a local bar.

    She loved the attention he gave her, and soon loved him very much. They became wed in an instant, and for twenty happy years raised two lovely kids. Though they were now both forty-one, Bob could pass easiiy for twenty-five.

    He was just that drop-dead gorgeous. But he no longer dressed like he used to, and Cecilia''s designer outfits hung unused in a closet. They didn''t go with the t-shirts and jeans her husband now often wore.

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    The society they lived in willingly allowed itself to be surveiled. The Big Eye watched benignly from doorbells, and peered down from streetlights and drones. It didn''t bother most people, but it forced them to conform. A quick glance on a bitwatch¡ªwhich everyone wore nowadays¡ªbrought up every fact about a person with ease. And a bitwatch that told its owner the person sitting beside them was the recipient of an uncontested divorce was fate worse than being told that the person was a convicted criminal.

    The rare few who broke the law no longer rotted in prison, but instead received professional treatment. A wire mesh was inserted in their head, resting carefully atop their brain. They then brainboarded at regular intervals with a behavioral therapist.

    Those who contemplated getting an uncontested divorce received no such help. Thus, they were often perceived as having behaved inappropiately, with their muddled brain not getting the treatment needed to prevent its owner from wronging society further.

    Recently, this sort of peception was changing. Rather than getting a divorce and being treated worse than a criminal, spouses having trouble in their marriage were allowed to receive the wire mesh implant, and brainboard with each other. Under the guidance of a therapist, who observed rather than brainboarding with either person, couples resolved their differences by seeing the world through the eyes of their loved one.

    The boon was monumental. Not only were disgruntled couples finding new ways to get along, but they were falling in love again. Bob and Cecilia were no exception. While observing the world through the eyes of his wife, Bob saw how much she loved her friends.

    And Cecilia, as she looked through his, saw how he loved her very much. So much so that he''d do anything he could to please her. While watching the world through his wife''s eyes, Bob realized every single one of her friends thought her to be the luckiest girl in the world.

    Because again, he was just that gorgeous.

    "Lengthen your stride but don''t hurry," Tylene instructed Bob/Seas as they walked. "When you take a corner, pause and then shorten your steps, turning your body to face the new way."

    Bob giggled again, this time more in his own voice. "This is kind of fun," he admitted. "Weird, but also not."

    Tylene sighed, as the sway of Bob''s butt was getting the better of her. "You''re good at this," she remarked. "It''s like you''ve had years of practice."

    I was a teenage beauty queen!

    "It''s not me," Bob admitted. "Seas says she''s a beauty queen."

    "You''re the beauty now. You''ve got what it takes to be famous."

    Oh my love! I love you so!

    I love you too, very much. You make me happy inside.

    Tylene stopped Bob at a door leading backstage at the convention center. She smiled warmly and held him by his shoulder. The touch of her hand offered encouragement while at the same time sending chills through Cecilia, still sitting in her hotel room.

    "You''re going to be amazing," Tylene said. She gave Bob his last instructions before handing him over to the backstage director. "You''re also going to be busy, with wardrobe changes and accessories and makeup. Let yourself go and have others take care of you. Don''t let them mistreat you or mess things up."

    "Isn''t it hard to do both?"

    She patted him and opened the door. "You''ll learn that in there, the best person for you is you."

    And me! Cecilia thought into Bob''s head, bringing a smile to his lips.

    "Everyone backstage has one job¡ªto make the models look perfect. Help them, and you''ll be the most amazing model of all."

    Cecilia nearly willed Bob to gambol through the door, headlong into the chaos.

    This is going to be so much fun!

    "This will be fun," Bob said to Tylene, saying so mostly for the sake of his wife.

 Chapter THREE - The DIRECTOR

    Tylene used a friendly hand to steer Bob/Seas through the backstage crowd, looking for the director. He/she alternated between Cecilia eyeing up the models like a kid ogling candy, and Bob looking ill at ease, feeling nervous and out of place.

    "Ah! Geraldi! There you are!" Tylene exclaimed upon finding the man.

    She gave him Bob''s composite card. "Steph will be your dresser," Geraldi said, giving Bob a discerning look.

    Tylene spoke while the director read the card. "Bob will be fourth in the Grand Parade, before Petru and after James."

    "Ah! Okay!" Geraldi said with distraction. He flipped the card back to Tylene and dug through an inside pocket, pulling out a pair of wayfarer eyeglasses, their thick frames a light transculent blue.

    "You''ll look better in these," he said, putting them on Bob.

    "I don''t need glasses," he said, confused. "My eyesight is fine."

    Geraldi placed a hand on Bob, taking over for Tylene the act of steering him through the crowd. They headed towards a backstage room, further into the chaos.

    "They''re not real," Geraldi said of the glasses. "The lenses are plain glass. They make you look young, which you need. And you look smarter too."

    Bob began missing Tylene, while his wife used his eyes to explore. My gosh! Ceclia exclaimed, seeing gorgeous people everywhere. Did he call us stupid?

    Enjoy yourself, Bob demanded. It''s why we''re here.

    Cecilia continued ogling. Guys are so lucky. You get to look. Women can''t. She sensed her husband''s confusion, so she clarified. Girls aren''t allowed to check out guys. It makes us look desperate. Bob thought to disagree, so Cecilia defended herself. A pretty girl gets eyed by a guy every time one walks by. If we look back, they think we''re available.

    A significant number of gay men responded to Bob/Seas'' stares, driving home the point. Bob felt as if he were already posing on the catwalk.

    Geraldi handed Bob off to Steph in a backstage room. A second model was also there, getting ready for the show.

    Oh! Cecilia said of the model. He is really cute! She had her husband give him a sly smile, almost winking along with it. Clearly not gay, the man smiled back.

    Knock it off, Bob demanded, taking greater control over his actions.

    Okay. But you said to have fun!

    "You''re late," Steph said while working to clothe the other model.

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    No we''re not, Cecilia thought.

    "No we''re not," Bob said simultaneously.

    Steph griped without pause."Get undressed. You''re on after Marc."

    Bob looked around for a place to do as Steph commanded. The available floor space in the room was tiny as a shower stall. Shelves of accessories and racks of clothes cluttered up the room.

    Steph sensed Bob''s hesitation, and quit fussing with Marc. He cleared off a folding chair near a tall thin locker.

    "Put your street clothes in there," Steph said. "Your first outfit is this."

    Steph swatted at clothing in a clear plastic bag hanging on a rack. After doffing his shoes and pants and outer shirt, Bob opened the bag. Inside was a doublet waistcoat, looking straight out of seventeenth century Europe, but colored a modern flesh beige. A triangular stomacher with a simple collar also hung on the same hanger, meant to be buttoned in along the bottom of the doublet. It had as decoration an inordinate amount of beadwork, with large square rustic gold inlays strung on tassels that hung past the waistline.

    Accompanying this was a pair of bombasted men''s hose, Venetian red and shiny. They were fluted and pleated and stuffed with enough tulle to make Bob''s butt three times its size. He stared at the outfit in confusion, scarcely knowing how to get it off the hangar, much less put it on.

    Steph stopped fussing with Marc''s clothing and stepped in to help Bob, tut-tutting the whole time. "Ach, here!" he said, removing the stomacher from the hanger and placing it on the chair. He undid the doublet''s fifteen bronze buttons and put it on Bob.

    Now clucking like a mother hen, Steph spoke in soothing tones. "We button up a few of these," he said of the bronze buttons. "Then put on the inlay."

    He placed the stomacher in place below Bob''s breast, instructing him to hold it in place by jiggling it against his tummy. After complying, Steph hooked it into the doublet via two rows of tiny shank buttons. He fastened the inlay''s collar to Bob''s neck with a strap assembly in the back, then finished buttoning the doublet.

    He fussed with the outfit''s lacy high collar and its long puffed sleeves. "Lovely," Steph said to himself. Then with a frown, he examined Bob''s left wrist. "You have to remove this," he said of Bob''s bitwatch, as it interfered with the lay of the sleeves.

    Steph deftly removed the bitwatch, placing it on a shelf in the locker. "I need that," Bob protested, now having no way to contact Tylene or his brainboard therapist.

    "You can''t wear it with this outfit. It goes against the flow." Steph cooed sweet and calm to Bob, fussing again with the sleeves and collars. "You''ll be fine, Love. I''ll take of you."

    Steph took the fluted men''s hose off its hanger, undoing the clasp in the back. Then, staring at Bob''s feet, he stopped dead in his tracks.

    "You''re not wearing grey socks," he said to Bob''s white ones. "You''re supposed to have grey socks."

    Bob huffed to scold himself, realizing his mistake. "I left them in my car."

    In calm panic, Steph searched the room. "I don''t have any socks. You''re supposed to have the socks."

    Bob quickly put on his street pants. "I''ll go and get them. It''ll just take a minute."

    In agreement, Steph shoved Bob towards the door to the room. "Go! Hurry up! Right now!"

    Bob found a rear exit door that led to the convention hall''s parking structure. How could we be so stupid? Cecilia thought into his brain, inferring that it was his fault.

    Bob defended himself. I asked you to take care of things.

    I gave the socks to you after making sure you put on the right underwear. I expected you to put them on too.

    Well I didn''t, Bob thought, shaming himself.

    He got the socks from his car and headed back towards the hall. The door he had used to enter the parking structure self-locked upon closing, so he sprinted to another door near the front of the building. It didn''t lead backstage, but instead to a deserted public hallway.

    Unsure of where to go, Bob stopped dead in his tracks. A problem of much greater concern filled him with heartstopping dread.

    Seas? he thought to his wife.

    His brainboard link to her was gone. Without a bitwatch on his wrist, he was unable to contact anyone.

    Where did you go?

 Chapter FOUR - The SHOW

    Bob walked in the direction he hoped would lead him backstage. The hallway seemed to go on forever, with no doors on either side. He felt certain the auditorium in which the fashion show was being held was on the other side of the wall to his right, but upon reaching the end of the hallway, all he saw was a second one angling off, leading further towards nowhere.

    The panic welling in his throat increased, made worse by the tight collar of the doublet, along with the second collar supporting the stomacher. He felt ridiculous sprinting in a garb so obviously not meant for running, yet glad to be at least wearing his street pants and tennis shoes.

    The second hallway ended at two sets of double doors¡ªone set leading straight ahead and another off to his right. Upon examining them, he realized that whichever set he chose to go through, they would lock upon closing behind him.

    "Augh!" he cried in anguish at his predicament.

    What are we doing? his wife thought into his brain.

    "Seas!" he said out loud, practically cheering. I''m lost!

    No kidding, she scolded. The link broke. Where are we?

    I used a different door to get back in. Where''s the auditorium?

    Good Lord, Love. How do I know?

    He looked closely at both sets of doors, giving his wife a full sense of the choice.

    Okay. Let''s peek through and see what''s there.

    Bob opened one of the two doors in front of him. It led to a continuation of the deserted hallway. He tried the set of doors to his right, but both were locked. They looked to be more like service doors, unlike the decorative ones leading down the public hallway. He pounded on the locked doors as hard as he could. When no one responded at first, he pounded again.

    A maintenance man in blue hotel garb opened the door a small crack. "I''m in the fashion show," Bob said, relieved to find a living person. "Which way is it to backstage?"

    "?Qu¨¦?" the man replied. It was obvious he didn''t speak English.

    Bob referenced the doublet and stomacher with his hands. "The fashion show!" he said. "I''m a model!"

    The man stared at Bob in confusion, not moving to get out of the way, or opening the door any further. It seemed clear he was not letting Bob pass.

    Ach! Cecilia scolded again. You need to learn Spanish.

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    "I''m a building contractor," Bob said out loud, while brainboarding to his wife. I don''t need foreign language.

    Well you do now. Say this: Estoy en el desfile de moda. ?Qu¨¦ camino es detr¨¢s del escenario?

    "Ester desfile de moda," Bob said, mangling most of the words. "Kay camino destress..." I can''t remember all that!

    The man smiled a bit at Bob''s street pants and tennis shoes. "?De modelo?" he asked. "?De moda?"

    Say yes! Cecilia thought.

    "?S¨ª! ?S¨ª!" Bob said, referencing the doublet again.

    Say ''detr¨¢s del escenario!''

    "Backstage!" Bob said at the same time. "?Detr¨¢s del escena?"

    The man understood. "Ah! ?S¨ª! ?S¨ª!" He let Bob through the door and guided him down the hall.

    "Gracias," Bob said in thanks.

    "?S¨ª! ?S¨ª!" the man repeated. He pointed to another door. "?Aqui!"

    Bob opened it and peered through. Inside was another hallway, meant strictly for non-public access. The floor was bare concrete instead of carpet, with walls made of cinderblock.

    "Backstage?" Bob asked, concerned.

    The man showed confidence. "?S¨ª! Backstage! ?Aqui!"

    Bob entered the hallway further. Stacks of risers lined one side, with other metalwork that looked like spotlight catwalks. Scattered throughout were other items, mainly chairs of various kind.

    "Which way?" Bob asked as he walked slowly.

    ?Por d¨®nde? Cecilia thought into him.

    "?Por d¨®nde?" Bob asked, turning to look behind him.

    The man was nowhere to be found. Bob was again alone.

    "Great," he said to no one.

    Keep walking, Cecilia suggested. This looks right.

    Bob spoke out loud with exasperation. "What choice do we have?"

    After passing a stack of risers higher than his head, a series of long folding tables appeared, with some chairs in place around the few tables that were set up. Seated in one of the chairs was Steph, with the bombasted men''s hose on the table before him.

    Unaware of Bob''s presence, he feigned banging his head on the table. Bob sprinted towards him with joy. "I''m here!" he called upon approach.

    Steph eyes grew wide as he stood. He seemed frozen and still in a panic. "You''re on in, like, a minute," he said.

    Despite being in a hallway, Bob stripped off his tennis shoes, white socks, and pants. "Then let''s go!" he said, putting on the grey socks.

    Steph helped Bob into the hose, cinching them to his waist with a thin leather belt. He looked at the shoes that went with the outfit and again froze.

    The shoes were made of floppy pigskin, brocaded and meant to be laced up to a point near Bob''s shins. Each one had at least twenty grommets, half of which had not been laced.

    "You''re on," was all Steph said, staring at the shoes.

    Cecilia took control. She had her husband whip off the grey socks. Then grabbing the shoes, he/she tied the laces together.

    "What did I need the grey socks for?" Bob asked, as Cecilia had him toss the shoes over his shoulder like a hand bag. "You can''t even see them with these things on."

    "You''re supposed to have grey socks," Steph repeated, nearing a panic again.

    "Oh well. Let''s go!" Bob/Seas looked for which way to head.

    "You have to put on the shoes," Steph said. "The designer will be mad."

    "He''s going to have to get over it," Bob said, nearly grabbing Steph by the throat to force him to react.

    "It''s Ch¨¦," he said of the designer. "She''s a woman."

    Bob/Seas grit their teeth. "Show me where to go," he/she snarled through them.

    Steph guided him/her to a door. It led directly backstage. Beyond a set of black curtains lay the runway.

    "We look like Aladdin in this get-up anyway," Bob/Seas said to Steph as they watched the model ahead of them walk out on the stage. "He''s barefoot in the movie. No one will care if we''re not wearing the shoes."

    "Ch¨¦ might," Steph said, pushing Bob/Seas into position.

    Screw Ch¨¦, both Bob and Cecilia thought, as she made her husband strut his stuff out onto the runway.

 Chapter FIVE - The SEA NYMPH

    The after party for Tylene''s show was held at a place called Benjamin''s Manor. Benjamin himself was a big gay bear of a man who worked as a stained glass glazier. His shop was a loft in the cultural district, and the manor he owned used to be part of a vast estate from more than a century ago.

    The land around the manor had been sold off by previous owners, while the building itself lay abandoned for decades. Having decayed over the years, Benjamin was able to buy it for a song. It had become uninhabitable, and though still not suited for permanent use, he and his artist friends had fixed the place up enough to allow it to host lavish parties.

    Tylene''s after show party was the most lavish of all. Oh Love! Cecilia thought into Bob. I''m so glad we''re here!

    I wish you were really here, Bob thought back.

    I know. Me too. But I have to fly to Spain.

    Cecilia was a first-class flight attendant who worked on international routes. Within hours, she would be traversing the Atlantic Ocean.

    I''m taking Bab with me, she thought into Bob, referring to her therapist. She''s excited about seeing Madrid. She''s never been overseas!

    Bob wondered where his therapist was. He examined the mob of people at Benjamin''s, looking for both her and Tylene. He still wore the bombasted hose, with the brocaded shoes now on his feet. Mercifully, he was allowed to not have to wear the doublet, as its collar was too small to fit him. He wore a waistcoat of a different sort, still beige but instead sleeveless, with a loose fitting white poet''s shirt underneath. The shirt had a simple cut, made of linen with bishop''s sleeves big enough to hide a pumpkin.

    The stomacher he wore in the fashion show lay over the shirt but under the waistcoat, and thus was largely hidden. The waistcoat was not cut open in front like the doublet, allowing no way for the stomacher to be showcased. The gold inlaid glass beads strung on tassels, however, hung down below his waist. These could be seen, which was why he''d been instructed to keep wearing the stomacher.

    Cecilia had Bob fiddle with the beads so she could admire them. Oh these look so much like Big Ben made them, she thought, referring to Benjamin. He, like Tylene, was another of her successful and very best friends.

    Why does everyone have a nickname with you? Bob thought at his wife.

    It''s fun! It''s what we do!

    And your therapist is now your friend, Bob thought with certainty, as he could sense Cecilia''s feelings as easily as she sensed his.

    Yes! She''s Bab and you''re Bob. And when you''re in me, she calls me Seas/Bob.

    Bob laughed, enjoying the mirth bubbling in Cecilia. Bab and Bob and Seas/Bob, he thought back.

    We''re going to have fun on the plane flying to Spain. But then we have to split up. She''s going sightseeing, but I have to work.

    Bob already began missing his wife. When will you be back?

    Oh dear. I don''t know. I''ll grab a couple jump flights while there, to let Bab spend time having fun. But I have to fly back to the States in a few days, and of course she''ll be coming with me.

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    Bob knew their link soon would break, as brainboarding didn''t work over great distances. I''m surprised I still hear you.

    We''re at a coffee shop very near by, but I have to go in ten minutes. I''ll see Bab on the plane, but I won''t be with you until we get back.

    Bob''s heart sunk like a stone as his wife thought her words into him. Having been with him so often in his head, she knew how devoted he was to her. Originally, she had been the one wanting the divorce, which was how they got permission to be brainboarded together.

    She now knew with utmost certainty that no one could love her better. Bob''s lack of interest in her high society friends had to do with his ignorance of the subject, and nothing to do with her. His love for her was complete.

    She had him walk into a room an artist friend of Benjamin''s had decorated. Rectangular in shape, one short wall of the room consisted of cupboards while the other housed the doorway to gain entry. The carpet was a maelstrom of blues, with specks of green and white splashes looking like froth. The pattern swirled across the floor, giving the impression of a stormy sea.

    The floorspace of the room housed various sculptures and works of art. Benjamin had bought some and others had been given as gifts. He also allowed the room to be used as storage space for his friends. Either way, these items lined one long wall, as the other was reserved for showcasing a bas relief. It spanned the room from end to end, standing floor to ceiling high. Weathered to look like stone and pockmarked with streaks of green in the crevices, the effect was to make it look ancient, like it spent centuries near the sea.

    Bob felt Cecilia''s heart race as she had him look at the bas relief. He in kind, felt his sink lower. Yet still he examined the piece, for he knew it made his wife happy.

    Melancholy, yet happy. The piece depicted a sea nymph, naked from the waist up. Her breasts were young and pert, her eyes sad, yet her face expressed fierceness. From the waist down, one could see why she was sad. Rather than legs and hips, she instead had six massive fishtales, serpentine and writhing in coils. Embossed onto the tails were the faces of men, looking to have died in horror.

    The fierceness in the sea nymph''s face was depicted by a snarl of hound dogs sprouting from her waist. They stuck out further than any other part of the bas, giving the impression of reaching for the throat of the viewer. Their muzzles were contorted with teeth exposed, looking ready and willing to kill.

    Sea snakes sprouted from the nymph''s shoulders, rising up to crawl near the ceiling. But Bob kept his focus on the woman''s face.

    That''s you, he felt with certainty.

    Cecilia couldn''t disagree. She did her best to think nothing to Bob, but it was no use trying to hide the truth. Bob had seen the sculpture before, and also had met the artist.

    He fell in love with you.

    Again, Cecilia could not disagree. Bob knew this happened often with his wife. Although she was not the right size and shape to be a model, she was as gorgeous as he. Many of the men she met thought they might have a chance with her, upon finding out her husband was a lunkhead when faced with high art. A mid life crisis of sorts had struck when she met the artist who crafted the sea nymph, and he presented it to her as an expression of his desire.

    It''s why they call you Scylla, isn''t it? Bob thought into his wife. He knew it to not be entirely true, but he liked the way she felt when she sought to explain.

    The name Scylla started out as a joke. You know¡ªthe Greek monster who ate men when they got too close. Then Dean came along and proved it to be true. I ate the hearts of men who got close. Like it was sport for me, I suppose. It made me feel pretty.

    You''re beautiful Seas. You know that.

    I do! But girls often feel insecure.

    I never thought you insecure. You''re the fiercest person I''ve ever known.

    It''s a girl thing, Love. All of us feel it sometimes.

    Bob/Seas examined the sea nymph''s face, and her perfect pert naked torso.

    It looks just like you.

    I know.

    This Dean guy almost cost us our marriage.

    But now, with his sculpture, we know I could never love anyone but you. Any other man, I''d eat their heart.

    But not me. Because I ate yours.

    My heart is forever yours. I gave it to you when we first met, and you''ve never let it go.

    I love you so much, Seas, I could die. I''d die without your heart in me.

    You''re perfect for me, Bob. I know. He felt tears welling up in his wife''s eyes, knowing both how sorry she was for having doubted him, and how happy she was he didn''t let her leave him.

    She had him fiddle with the tassels of the stomacher dangling along his waist. Now let''s find Ben and ask if he made these pretty beads.

    Bob was happy to have the subject changed. I bet he did.

    Me too.

 Chapter SIX - The GLAZIER

    Benjamin was two meters of frenetic fun, with a smile always beaming above his bearded chin. He unintentionally tickled Bob''s tummy while fingering the tassels he was wearing.

    "Oh yeah! Let me see!" Benjamin said, examining the glass inlays.

    Bob squirmed and giggled. "Stop it!" he laughed, swatting at Benjamin''s enormous hands.

    Still smiling, Benjamin stopped fiddling and stared Bob in the face. "What? I wanna see!" He again poked at Bob''s stomach, trying to see more of the objet d''art he was wearing.

    "Stop!" Bob demanded. "Let me unbutton the coat!"

    Benjamin had already undone the bottom few buttons of the waistcoat that lay over the stomacher. He examined the smaller beads that decorated the upper section.

    "Nah. These guys are kind of tiny," he said, thumbing some of the beads. "I can''t make stuff this size."

    He stuck his two big mitts near Bob''s beaming grin, comically displaying how his huge hands were too large to make such tiny beads.

    He went back to examining the stomacher. "Oh! I think I made this one!" he said, poking at a big bead in the center.

    It lay directly over Bob''s navel. "Ah!" he squealed. "Just stop!"

    Benjamin again stared at Bob''s face, this time with a grin. "Is Scylla in there with you?" he asked quietly.

    Tell him to not call me that, Cecilia thought into her husband.

    "Please, Ben," Bob said. "Her name is Cecilia."

    Benjamin stopped smiling. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry," he said.

    No one should call me Scylla. Not after the whole ''Dean'' thing.

    "Scylla was Dean''s nickname," Bob said to Benjamin. "So let''s not use it now."

    Benjamin became more apologetic. "Well, everyone called her Scylla. It''s kind of a joke. But yeah. Dean wrecked the fun."

    Bob buttoned up his waistcoat. "We went to look at his sculpture."

    "You mean the bas relief? And by we, you mean you and Scyl¡­ ah Cecilia?"

    He can call me Seas.

    "Call her Seas," Bob said at the same time. "It''s all right to use my nickname for her. She is my wife, you know."

    Benjamin put a kind hand on Bob''s shoulder. "I know Bob. I''m really sorry. Tell Seas I''m sorry too."

    Bob merely stared, unblinking. Tell him I''m with you, Cecilia thought. It''s okay. He kind of knows.

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    Bob disagreed. I don''t think so.

    Benjamin used the hand he had on Bob to guide his attention. He spoke in hushed tones.

    "Ty uses all kinds of boarders as models in her shows. She loves the flair it adds. I know it''s kind of secret, and you definitely ought not talk about it to anyone but me. Well, and her too of course, since she''s the one who''s doing it."

    "What are you talking about?" Bob asked.

    I told you, Cecilia thought. He knows.

    "Look," Benjamin said, guiding Bob''s gaze with his own. "Like, half the models here. They''re probably all boarders. Especially the straight ones, like you and James and Marco."

    "Marc?" Bob asked, stating the name of the model he saw Steph dressing when he went backstage.

    "Yeah. Was Steph the guy who dressed you?"

    Bob gave a slight nod.

    "Ty has Steph dress the boarders."

    "Does he know too?"

    "Probably not explicitly. But yeah. I think he knows." Benjamin bent low, to whisper in Bob''s ear. "Just don''t tell anyone. It''s not meant to be common knowledge."

    Bob felt his wife huff. If Ben knows, it will be common knowledge soon enough. We don''t call him big just because of his hands. Sensing Bob''s confusion, Cecilia clarified. He has a big mouth too.

    Bob stifled a giggle at the joke. Benjamin again stared at his face, grinning ear to ear.

    "You sound like Seas when you do that," Benjamin said.

    "Do what?"

    "When you laugh. Your giggle sounds like her!"

    Benjamin also giggled, and used the hand he had on Bob to steer him onto a portico spanning the back half of the manor. Several wooden tables and benches graced an area where eight people were seated, engaged in meditation.

    "You see them?" Benjamin asked. "They''re boarders, just like you."

    "They''re brainboarding with each other?"

    "No. Their partners aren''t here. They were boarding, but now they''re gone."

    "Where did they go?"

    "Well," Benjamin asked in kind. "Where''s Cecilia? How come she''s not with you?"

    "She was at the fashion show with Tylene, but then she had to leave. She''s manning a flight to Spain."

    "So there you go. Pretty soon you won''t be boarding with her anymore either. It kind of hurts this way, you see¡ªleaving your mate without saying goodbye. It''s hard enough to do when you''re face to face. When boarding apart, it packs a wallop."

    I miss you already, Seas.

    Me too, Love! I have to leave! I''m running late!

    Benjamin gestured at a scattering of yunomi teacups, along with a half dozen Japanese kyusu pots. A chawan bowl sat at the center of each table.

    "Look here," Benjamin explained. He showed Bob what was in one of the bowls. "This is ground hazelnut shell and skin. You make a tea with it and you drink it, and it takes off the edge a bit of not boarding with your mate."

    Benjamin took a yumoni and spooned in some of the powder. He then poured light green tea atop it from one of the kyusu. After stirring it, he handed the cup to Bob.

    "You''ll need this when Cecilia leaves."

    Bob took the cup and sniffed it. Ty gave me tea as a going away present! She said I''d need it when I left.

    "Tylene gave Cecilia some tea to take with her on her flight," Bob said to Benjamin.

    "That''s right," Tylene said, walking up on he two men as they talked. Bob''s therapist was with her. "Sit down," she instructed Bob.

    She took a seat herself at one of the tables and waited for Bob to comply. After doing so, she handed him a leather fob strung with beads, one of several laying around. As he examined it, he noticed most of the other people sitting at the tables on the portico either had a fob of their own in their hands, or were in the process of making one from materials in supply.

    "These are nice to have," Tylene explained. "They''re like worry beads. You rub them when you''re anxious to make yourself feel better. Making one of your own is relaxing too. It gives your hands something to do."

    "We have to break the link," Bob''s therapist said with slight urgency. "Cecilia''s therapist has informed me that we must do it soon."

    Right now! Cecilia thought. I have to go!

    "She has to go," Bob said of his wife. "She''s running late."

    The therapist concurred. "Please say goodbye," she instructed.

    Goodbye Monkeypants! Cecilia thought into her husband, knowing the nickname made him laugh.

    Goodbye! Bob thought while smiling.

    With that, the link was gone. And as Cecilia left, so did Bob''s smile.

 Chapter SEVEN - The MAORI

    Tylene and the therapist left Bob soon after breaking the link, feeling it was for the best. He had to agree, as he felt they were the ones responsible for his sudden dour mood. He knew in his heart it wasn''t their intent, and that it was Cecilia who requested he model for Tylene in her fashion show. But he wasn''t going to blame the person he''d walk over broken glass to please, so Tylene was next in line.

    Benjamin stayed a while longer, showing Bob how to make a fob. Bob found it comforting to be with a friend who appreciated him in a way not unlike his wife. Benjamin enjoyed it too, acting girlish while whirring with activity.

    "Ooh! Use this one!" he exclaimed, picking up a bead of azure blue.

    After Bob punched a hole in the fob he was making, Benjamin instructed him on how to tie the bead in place using a leather lace. When Bob fumbled a bit with the knot, Benjamin snatched it away.

    "You turn it sideways in the hole," Benjamin instructed, "and that hides the knot. You see?" He stuck the fob in Bob''s face for a second before pulling it back to work further. "You can also use a dot of glue, or some people use glue and no lace, because they find it easier."

    Bob patiently waited for Benjamin to shut up and stop moving. After several silent seconds, Benjamin came to his senses.

    "Oh," he said. "You should do this."

    "Yes. I should."

    Benjamin gave the fob back to Bob, then rubbed his hands on his knees, breathing deep and heavy. "And I should probably go."

    Bob said nothing in reply, as he did like the big bear''s company, if only for the laughs. He offered polite conversation as Bob worked on his fob.

    "Hey. Does Seas ever talk about selling the bas relief?"

    Bob concentrated on his craft. "What are you taking about?"

    "The sculture in the trophy room, taking up the whole wall. It belongs to her, you know."

    Bob stopped working on his fob and looked at Benjamin''s face. "No. I didn''t."

    "You don''t know it''s hers? I mean, it''s not mine, and we don''t see¡­ ah, the guy who made it anymore. So yeah. It''s totally hers. I know it would sell for up to a hundred thou in auction, especially with the story behind it."

    Bob spoke in measured tones. "No one is telling the story."

    Benjamin blinked, confused. "Everyone knows the story."

    "No one is telling it," Bob repeated.

    Benjamin nodded profusely, his whole body bobbing up and down. "Ah. Got it. No story."

    Bob tried to speak more kindly. "Just keep it, Ben. We don''t want it. I mean, he left it with you. It''s yours."

    "Well, it didn''t actually get left. I mean, Dean made it here."

    Bob again used measured tones. "My wife modeled naked in that room while he made that thing?"

    "Yeah. Well! Really, it was all in fun." Benjamin tried his best to shut his big fat mouth. "I mean, things can get wild around here, you know!"

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    Bob took a slug of hazelnut tea and went back to making his fob. "No, Benjamin. I don''t."

    "That''s okay! It can stay." Benjamin got up to leave. "I guess I don''t even know how we''d get it out of there. We''d have to take a stone saw to it, and cut it into pieces."

    "That sounds like a great idea. Take a stone saw to it."

    Bob stopped working on his fob soon after Benjamin left. He found it relaxing to be alone inside his head. Cecilia had often left him alone in their house in the bright city, and the dark and peaceful night that Benjamin''s backyard offered was a relaxing change of pace. While the party inside roared along, many untamed acres lay between the manor and his home. Trees and scrub grew thick just twenty meters from the portico, and all that could be heard from where Bob was seated were crickets and tree frogs.

    He took another sip of tea and stared into the woods. The blinking lights of a passing plane traced a path on the stars. Looking up, he wondered how far away Cecilia was.

    Something odd skirted through the dark between the manor and the woods. When it passed by again in the opposite direction, Bob heard it making noise. He got up to investigate, as it seemed no one else noticed but him.

    "Who''s there?" he asked the shadow, as it murmurred when he got close.

    It stopped making noise at the sound of his voice, and stopped moving as he drew near. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out the shape of a woman. Strikingly tall and just as thin, her skin was so dark that all he could see were her eyes and a shimmer of metallic thread on her fluted sun dress.

    Realizing she''d been spotted, the woman bared her teeth and growled, murmurring odd words.

    "Can I help you?" Bob offered.

    The woman opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue, making a monstrous sound before dashing into the woods. Altough Bob cold no longer see her, he knew she must be just out of sight, as she stopped moving and again made no sound.

    Bob stood and patiently waited, seeing what might happen next. "It''s kind of dark out here," he said. "You could get lost, or fall down and hurt yourself."

    Out of sight, the woman hissed.

    "Would you like some tea?" he offered. "Ben''s got some great stuff to drink."

    To her silence, Bob tried a new tack. "There''s probably wild animals out there," he said as a warning. "Bears, or maybe coyotes."

    "Maybe there are snakes."

    The woman barrelled out of the woods, again making faces and growling. She glanced against Bob as she passed, knocking him off balance to guarantee her escape. He trotted after her as she ran into the manor, where she made a quick left and disappeared.

    Bob stopped at the spot inside where he last saw the woman, looking to see where she went. Benjamin showed up soon after.

    "Did you see a woman go by?" Bob asked. "Dark skin, shiny dress, sleeveless and fluted at the bottom?"

    "Like, a black dress with silver threads and gold highlights on the top and hems?"

    "I guess so," Bob replied, as he hadn''t noticed the gold highlights. "Her skin was really dark, and so was her hair. Long with lots of curls, but not kinked or anything."

    "That sounds like Mahui," Benjamin said. "She''s really dark. Does she look like she weighs ninety pounds?"

    "Yeah. She is super thin."

    "That''s her."

    "She came running in here screaming, but then she disappeared."

    Benjamin motioned at a door two meters in front of him. "I think she ran into the basement."

    "What''s down there?"

    "Nothing. Stuff from when I fixed the house, like crown molding and old doors and things. But other than that, it''s just junk."

    Bob stepped up to the door and peered through a small window. Nothing could be seen but the dark, as no lights were on.

    "Why would she go down there?" Bob asked.

    Benjamin peered through the window with Bob and gave his big shoulders a shrug. "Mahui is kind of fiery. She a little whirlwind today in that dress."

    "Should we go and get her?"

    Benjamin gave a giggle. "There''s no light switches down there until you get to the root cellar. I''m not going into the dark with her acting nuts."

    Bob made an odd face. "She''s a little girl."

    "She''s not little and she''s not a girl. She''ll kick in your sack."

    Bob scoffed and opened the door. He stuck in his head and peered in the dark.

    "Mahui? Are you there?"

    "Let me get a flashight," Benjamin said, turning and preparing to leave.

    Still growling, still baring her teeth and still running, Mahui raced up the stairs. With her nails clawed and her face contorted, she made a beeline for Bob''s bombasted balls.

    Calmly, he shut the door. Coincidentally, it was right in her face and, unfortunately she bounced off it and fell down the stairs.

    "Do you think she''s all right?" Bob asked, concerned.

    Benjamin dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Ah, she''ll be fine. Let me get that flashlight."

 Chapter EIGHT - The PAINT

    Bob waited about five minutes for Benjamin to return before opening the door to the basement again. Mahui made no sound.

    "Are you there?" Bob asked. A whimper came up the stairs from the dark, and he took one step down towards it. "Did you hurt yourself?" he asked next.

    Mahui spoke in a little voice. "I hurt my knee. I think it''s broke."

    Bob took a few more steps down. He stopped when he saw Mahui''s eyes shining bright. She gave him another sad whimper.

    "It hurts bad!"

    Bob stayed on the stairs, as the woman still acted strange. She had her left hand hid behind her knees, where the flute of her dress parted to expose them. She hobbled towards him while in this odd posture, her face alternating between a leer and a grimace.

    "Why are you walking like that?"

    "It hurts!"

    Bob remained cautious, as her behavior was not convincing. She stopped at the base of the stairs, craning her neck to look up at him while still crouched. With the light from upstairs shining down, he could see that, rather than holding onto her knee, she had something hid under her dress.

    "What are you doing?" he asked.

    Mahui took three quick steps up the stairs and removed her hand from under her dress, revealing an open half pint can of yellow paint. Bob reared back as she flung its contents at him. Since he was still a few steps above her and gravity tends to pull things downhill, most of the paint splashed on her and the steps in between them.

    She breezed past, lithe as a puma, dropping the can at his feet. "For heaven''s sake!" he exclaimed at her assault, as she cackled and ran back outside.

    If it weren''t for the fact that Mahui dropped the can at his feet, Bob would have escaped unscathed. As it was, the near-empty can bounced off the step where he stood, splashing splotches on the brocaded shoes of his outfit.

    Further examination of the paint on the stairs revealed that she was barefoot. He followed her yellow prints out the door and across the portico, where she again disappeared into the woods. With a huff of exasperation, and partial amusement, Bob pulled a nearby chair up to the treeline and sat, waiting for Mahui to emerge.

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    "Benjamin''s going to be upset with the mess you made," he said afer a long moment had passed. To another length of silence, he added, "And Ch¨¦''s going to be mad about her shoes."

    "Screw Ch¨¦," Mahui said, hidden in the dark.

    Bob laughed heartily. "What?" Mahui asked when he stopped.

    "That''s what my wife said too."

    Mahui drew a little closer, enough so Bob could make out her eyes. "Your wife said ''Screw Ch¨¦?''"

    Bob laughed again. "Yeah. She did, when I decided to throw her shoes over my shoulder rather than wear them."

    "You''re the barefoot model," Mahui said upon realization.

    "I am."

    "You weren''t wearing shoes when you walked."

    "I was not."

    Another step closer, and Bob could see Mahui''s dress. Its shimmer of silver and highlights of gold were in stark contrast to her jasper brown skin. Its stretchy top was also in contrast to its skirt, which hung loose and flounced around her knees.

    Her knees were in contrast to everything, as from there down she was covered in paint.

    Bob rose and pulled up a second chair. He patted its seat and sat back in his.

    "Come sit," he said to his assailant. "I don''t want to talk to the trees."

    Tentatively, Mahui approached. Without taking her eyes off Bob for a second, she sat facing him on the edge of the chair.

    He leaned back and relaxed. "That''s better," he said to her with a smile.

    "Why are you here?" Mahui asked after a moment. "I''ve never seen you before."

    "I''m Cecilia''s husband. My name''s Bob."

    He leaned forward and held out a hand. Mahui took it and didn''t let go.

    "Scylla?" she asked with a polite leer. "The slut who posed nude in the trophy room?"

    Bob squeezed Mahui''s hand until she winced. "Let''s call her Seas," he said with an equal leer.

    Mahui''s eyes grew wide. "Wow," she exclaimed. "You''re her husband, huh? You''ve got some nerve, showing up here."

    Bob leaned back again and breathed deep. "Why? Benjamin is a good friend. So''s Tylene."

    Mahui became impressed. "You''re friends with Tylene Gunn?"

    "Yes. Very much. She''s been best friends with my wife since childhood."

    "The one who posed nude for the sculptor?"

    Bob gave a slight eye roll. "Let''s try to get over that. She knows Benjamin and Ch¨¦ and Ty, and a whole host of other designers. Our closets are full of their clothes."

    "Benjamin doesn''t do clothes," she said, testing him.

    "No he doesn''t. He does glass. The transom windows above my doors were created by him." Bob acted nonchalant. "Plus a bunch of other stuff lying around. My house is full of art."

    Mahui nodded serenely. "I''m sorry I threw paint at you," she said after a while.

    "You better be sorry to Ben. There''s paint everywhere."

    A look of sorrow washed over Mahui. She cast her eyes to her yellow legs. "I am."

    Bob stood and again offered his hand, this time to help Mahui to her feet. "Come," he said after she accepted. "Let me show you something."

    He led her by her hand to the tables where the hazelnut tea was being served. After seating her at a spot where they could be more to themselves, he retrieved the fob he''d been working on earlier. Sitting beside her, he poured two cups of tea. After stirring in the ground hazelnut, he held up his as a toast.

    "To your yellow feet and to screwing Ch¨¦," he said with a smile.

    With laughter from full lips through perfect teeth, Mahui clinked her cup to his.

    "To yellow feet," she said, sipping and giggling.

 Chapter NINE - The CONFESSION

    Mahui sat in slience, sipping her hazelnut tea while watching Bob string another bead on his fob. Like Benjamin had shown him, after securing it with a bit of leather lace, he turned it sideways in the hole to make it stay in place.

    "Do those things really work?" Mahui asked. She picked up a pre-made fob that lay on the table, idly running her thumb and fingers over the beads.

    "I don''t know," Bob said, fumbling a bit with his.

    He grew vexed as his bead fell out of its hole, requiring another knot in the lace to make it stay. Putting it down with mild frustration, he turned his head to look his assailant in the face.

    "Are you going to tell me your name?" he asked.

    Mahui met his stare. "Don''t you already know?" She glanced at other partygoers. "I''m the only person who looks this way."

    Bob resumed work on his fob. "You mean with yellow legs and bare feet?"

    Mahui snorted a laugh into her tea. To hide her embarrassment, she fiddled with the chawan full of beads.

    "I''m the only one who''s M¨¡ori," she said.

    "M¨¡ori? You''re Polynesian? A Pacific Islander?"

    Mahui bared her teeth and hissed. Having grown used to it, Bob only blinked.

    "My people are from Hawaiki, fished from the sea by M¨¡ui for our great chief, Te Kupe."

    Bob blinked again. "Okay," he said slowly. "You sound American."

    Mahui resumed fiddling with the beads. "I''m from Somoa," she said to them.

    "Great!" Bob said, enthused. "I know Samoa. That''s really interesting."

    "Uh-huh," she said, merely shrugging.

    "But you''re not telling me your name," he said as a matter of fact.

    Mahui picked out a flat red bead from the bowl. Unlike most of the others, it didn''t have a hole through its center. Instead, it could only be mounted by using some glue.

    She held it to Bob''s bombasted hose. They appeared to be the same color.

    "What are you doing?" he asked.

    "Give me your foot," she ordered.

    "I don''t know. You''re kind of dangerous."

    She giggled sweet and bent low, tugging at his ankle. "Please," she said to his resistance. "I promise to be kind."

    He let her place his foot on the bench between them. After examining his brocaded shoe, she fished through the bowl of beads with a smile, finding other flat red ones of various size. She placed them one by one in the splotches of yellow paint on the shoe, matching the size of the bead to the size of each splotch. Satisfied with her choices, she retrieved a bottle of glue from the table and secured a bead to each splotch.

    She turned her smile toward Bob. "I think that looks pretty good," she remarked.

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    Bob gave her his other foot. "Only if you do both," he demanded.

    Mahui fished through the bowl to find more red beads. "What do you think Ch¨¦ will say?" she asked.

    "Well, you know the answer to that," Bob said, as both he and Mahui laughed.

    Benjamin came barrelling up as Mahui finished her artwork. "Bob! Mahui! You''re getting along!" he shouted as encouragement.

    Bob continued grinning as Mahui rolled her eyes. "Are you okay?" Benjamin asked, concerned about her trip down the stairs.

    Bob spoke for Mahui, as all she did was grunt. "We''re doing fine," he said. "But I can''t say the same for your stairs."

    Benjamin looked confused for a moment, then continued acting garrulous. "Hey! And you''re drinking tea," she said to Mahui. "That''s good. I knew it would calm you down."

    Bob took up on the teasing. "I don''t think the lack of tea on her part was the problem."

    Benjamin had to agree. "She might have had a little Chianti."

    "I sober up fast," Mahui said in her defense, her eyes fixed on the bowl of beads.

    With her percentage of body fat equal to that of a fruit fly, Bob had to agree. "So," he drawled, still teasing. "Mahui the M¨¡ori."

    She bared her teeth and stuck out her tongue, but produced no sound. "Yeah! That''s her!" Benjamin concurred. "She and her husband are big philanthropists."

    Bob turned his teasing to praise. "Oh. So they support the arts?"

    Benjamin squeezed his beefy body onto the bench between them. "They''re great," he said while jostling Mahui with his shoulder to get her to smile. "I think they''ve given millions."

    "Wow," Bob said still praising. "How so?"

    "My husband is Makani Tuigamala."

    "The football player?" Bob asked, impressed.

    Mahui turned her smile to Bob, having to lean behind Benjamin in order to show it. "You know him?"

    Bob searched his mind for football facts. "Ahm¡­ Defensive back for the Orlando Raptors."

    Benjamin put a big hand on Bob, patting him as a reward. "Voted Defensive Player of the Month last year," Benjamin said. "Twice!"

    "Twice?" Bob asked Mahui.

    "They''re for different seasons," she explained.

    Benjamin''s knowledge of sports was far less than Bob''s or Mahui''s "Yeah! So anyways, that''s great!"

    "Where is your husband?" Bob asked, interested in meeting him.

    "He''s not with us," she said, turning gloomy. "During the season, we''re rarely together."

    "Mak has to travel a lot when the game is on," Benjamin began.

    "Makani," Mahui corrected.

    "Yeah, Makani. So when he''s on the road, Mahui spends her time with others." Benjamin put his other big hand on her, engulfing her tiny shoulder. "And today, she''s with us!"

    Bob leaned forward to look around Benjamin. "I''m glad we have the pleasure," he offered as a compliment.

    Benjamin squeezed both their shoulders. "Me too!" He released them and rubbed his hands on his knees. "So. You''re getting along," he confirmed while nodding.

    "Yes," Bob said. "And she''s drinking tea."

    "That''s good," Benjamin said. "And no one got hurt."

    "I can''t say the same for the stairs, though."

    "Oh? What do you mean?"

    Bob showed Benjamin one of his now beaded and brocaded shoes, using it to point at Mahui''s yellow knees. "We may have had an accident," Bob said as an apology.

    Benjamin became confused. "Huh? What do you mean?"

    "I may have spilled paint," Mahui sort of confessed.

    Bob offered clarification to Benjamin''s continued confusion. He drew attention to one of Mahui''s yellow footprints on the portico, indicating how they lead back to the manor.

    "She may have thrown it at me," Bob said of the paint.

    "You pissed me off," Mahui said.

    "I did nothing of the sort. You were being mean."

    Mahui bared her teeth in a silent hiss, as Benjamin rubbed his knees. He re-examined Bob''s shoe and Mahui''s knee. "There''s yellow paint on the stairs?"

    "Yeah," Bob said, feeling sorry. "And on Ch¨¦''s shoes. We glued red beads on the spots of paint to make them match the pants."

    Benjamin scrunched down as low as he could go, to touch a finger to one of the beads. "Oh, this is great story!" he enthused. "Scylla''s husband, the Barefoot Model, got paint thrown on his shoes."

    "By fiery Mahui," Bob added.

    Benjamin grew animated. He stood up and looked around. "This is great, this is great," he repeated. "Oh, this must be preserved."

    "Preserved?" both Bob and Mahui asked.

    "Yes! Oh, no one must muss up these prints! I have to save them somehow!" He carried on, distracted. "I''ll cover them with boxes, I think. Or maybe build wooden frames. Yes!" He turned to face Bob with glee. "Then we''ll get paint that matches your pants, and create a red path around the prints."

    He set off to take on the project. "Oh! People will talk of this story forever!"

    Bob smiled deep into Mahui''s worried look. "Well. Now you''ll be as famous as my wife, the naked sea monster model."

    Mahui hissed to herself, showing dread.

 Chapter TEN - The BATH

    Benjamin whirred with activity, building frames and laying them over each of Mahui''s footprints. Her face became a mask of fright as he drew near with his project. Although neither she nor Bob could hear what was said when a group of curious partygoers engaged him in conversation, they both knew how the story would end.

    It didn''t make Mahui look better. "Let''s get out of here," Bob said, coming to her rescue.

    He led her back out to the yard, near the tree line where the chairs they sat in earlier remained. It was dark enough and quiet enough there for no one to take notice. Mahui''s jasper skin made her nearly invisible, save for the silver and gold threads highlighting her black dress.

    And her ridiculously bright yellow legs.

    Bob again took pity. "Stay here," he commanded. "I''ll be back in a moment."

    He returned with a bucket of water and a brush. After rolling up his puffy sleeves. he got on his haunches before her.

    "Put your foot in here," he said of the bucket. "Let''s see if we can clean you up."

    Mahui gave a yelp of surprise when she did as she was told, for the water was ice cold. Bob set about the task of scrubbing the paint from her legs.

    "I got it from an outside tap," he said of the water. "So I''m sorry about its temperature."

    "It''s okay," Mahui lied, holding back shivers when he had her switch feet to do the other leg.

    Bob threw the yellowed water into the line of trees. "That''s about the best we can do, until we get you to soap and warm water."

    This time, Mahui took control. She led him through a rarely used door, back into the manor and then up two flights of stairs. The third floor was mostly unfinished and, after rounding a corner and passing through the door of a sparsely furnished bedroom, they entered a vanity with a sitting tub and running water.

    Mahui sat quiet on the vanity chair while Bob filled the tub with warm water. It nearly came up to her knees when she put her tiny feet in the tub. To keep her dress from getting wet, she bunched it up around her waist, revealing shimmering silver bikini panties.

    Bands of black tribal tattoos adorned the upper half of her right leg. Bob stared at them politely while she glared at his face.

    "Those are pretty," he said of the tattoos. "Do they mean something to you?"

    Mahui relaxed her expression. "They do." She ran a finger along the path of the uppermost band, nearly touching her vagina. "This is my puhi."

    Bob blinked and reared back, thinking she''d said something else. "Your what?" he asked.

    She smiled at his misunderstanding. "My puhi tattoo."

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    At first glance it looked solid black, thick and encircling her leg. But upon closer examination, it revealed feathery designs in its pattern.

    "It''s my first one," she said. "I got when I turned fifteen. It signifies I''m a virgin. A woman of noble descent."

    "So you''re a virgin? I thought you were married."

    Mahui''s smile grew prettier. "No. I am not now a virgin. I was then, before I got married."

    She pointed out the next tattoo, which was thicker and more ornate. It seemed to almost have a face, with circles for eyes and a triangle nose.

    "This is my mata hoa. It represents my husband, showing I am married."

    She pointed out the next band. Like the first tattoo, it was mostly solid black. But instead of sporting feathery traces, this one looked like thick twisted branches, and brambles with spiky thorns.

    "And this is my p¨¡pua. It shows I''m fully grown." She looked deep into his bright blue eyes. "A mature woman, fertile and willing."

    Bob gently touched the tattoo, as it had on it a small spot of paint. Between it and the next band lay space for more tattoos.

    Mahui spoke soft and low. "This is the place for my children. When I become a mother, their bands will be here."

    "You''re going to make a wonderful mom," Bob said to the bare flesh on her leg.

    She breathed deep and sat up straight as the comment filled her with pride. "Thanks," she said. "I hope I do. And do you have children?" she asked.

    "Two. Fully grown and already moved out."

    It was Mahui''s turn to rear back and blink. "What? Did you have them when you were thirteen?"

    Bob laughed. "I look really young for my age."

    "I guess so."

    She gently took hold of his hand, to get him to stop touching her leg. He pondered what to do, as there was no way for him to get at the paint in the cramped space of the room, save for reaching around her from behind.

    "I''m going to get totally soaked," he surmised.

    Mahui stared with wide eyes as Bob began stripping off clothes, He placed them on the bed in the other room until he was left wearing grey Speedo briefs and a stretchy white Lycra t-shirt. Upon approaching her looking sexy and buff, she instinctively stuck out her tongue, opening her mouth wide.

    "Why do you make that face?" he asked, perturbed.

    She took a moment to realize what he meant. "It is of the haka," she said. "A dance we do before battle, to show respect and sow fear."

    Bob set about the task of removing the paint from Mahui''s legs, using a bar of soap and a washcloth. "So what?" he asked, confused. "You think we''re still fighting?"

    She smiled pretty to his close face, as he hunkered over her to reach past her ankles. "No. It''s just a bad habit, I guess."

    Bob disagreed. "I think you do it because it''s cute." She gave him a dirty look. "Scary and weird," he said. "But still cute."

    He paused when he got near her knees. "Listen," he said. "This paint has dried on real good, and I can''t keep scrubbing you up here without your dress getting wet."

    "The only thing I have on besides it is underwear. I''m not wearing a bra."

    Bob left to search through the bedroom closet. "There''s got to be some clothes around here."

    Except for a fitted sheet on the bed and a pillowcase on the pillow, the room was bereft of fabric. He returned to the vanity empty-handed, finding Mahui still seated, but with her dress balled up in her hands and pressed against her chest. She slowly exposed her upper body, holding the dress out to give it to him.

    Her breasts were tiny but her nipples huge. They began puffing up noticeably, like marshmallows toasting over flame, until they themselves were bigger than the rest of her breasts. Bob''s manhood responded in kind, puffing up in his form-fitting briefs.

    He held her balled up dress near his nose and breathed its scent in deep, causing his chest to expand. "Well," he said, exhaling big. "You are beautiful."

    She referenced his crotch with her eyes. "Thanks. You''re pretty hot stuff yourself."

    He left to place her dress on the bed beside his outfit, then returned and pulled off his t-shirt, giving it to her to wear. Although the shirt had stretched tight across his pectoral muscles, on her it hung like a smock. It offered a bird''s eye view straight down its collar as he reached over her from behind to scrub paint off her knees.

    His rock hard rod bumped against her at times as she sat still while he labored, causing her nipples to puff up more. Neither of them seemed to mind.

 Chapter ELEVEN - The BED

    A spot of paint on one of Mahui''s tribal tattoos proved difficult to remove. Bob scraped at it with his fingernail when the washcloth proved itself unable to do the job. Suddenly, and without warning, she grabbed him by his arm. Inhaling deep as her grip tightened, she forced him to keep his hand in place.

    "What?" he asked into her wide open, dark brown dilated eyes.

    "Nothing," she blurted. "You startled me. That''s all."

    She released him, and he went back to scraping the spot with his finger. She grabbed him again within seconds, her other hand fluttering near her loins. He held her by the hips as she writhed, keeping her from accidentally launching herself off the chair and into the tub.

    An amused look grew on his face as she shot hot glances at his body, it being clad only in grey briefs.

    "Are you having an orgasm?" he asked.

    "No! Just be careful."

    "Uh-huh," he said, disbelieving. "Hold still now."

    "Okay," she managed to gasp, closing her eyes tight.

    The next lurch was undeniable. Mahui sputtered and twitched when Bob placed his thumb near her groin, bracing his hand on her inner thigh to scrape hard at the paint. Her pubic mound swelled as her vulva became engorged.

    The scent of her pheromones filled the room. "You''re cumming," he said with full knowledge.

    Mahui grinned. "Well, maybe a little."

    Bob gently squeezed her shoulders and placed his chin near her ear. "We''ll leave that spot alone," he said with understanding. "You can work on it later."

    Still in the throes of ecstasy, she rested her head against his. "Yeah. Thanks." she said after sighing.

    The tender moment passed and he helped her to her feet, making her stand on a hand towel. Besides the washcloth and the soap, and a half-used roll of toilet paper, the tiny towel was the only thing to be found in the vanity. He used it to dry her feet and shins while she held his head with both hands, keeping herself from falling into him while he labored.

    They both found joy in having his face so near her crotch. "Go to the bedroom and get dressed," he said to it. "I''ll clean up in here."

    After sensuously squeezing his head, Mahui did as she was told. Bob watched her silver pantied ass disappear through the door. He cleaned the yellow paint from the tub using the soap and towel, then joined her while dripping wet.

    Rather than having gotten dressed, Mahui had folded both his clothes and hers neatly into small piles. They sat in a corner on the foot of the bed, while she lay on the other side with her head on the pillow. The scent of her hair and perfume mixed with that of fresh soap on her legs and the honey roiling her loins.

    Bob breathed it in, enjoying himself fully. He carefully lay beside her, placing his head on the pillow near hers and angling his body so they didn''t touch.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    "Do you think the party is still going on?" he asked, to share pleasant conversation while the air dried them.

    "I don''t care. I''m not going down there. Everyone''s talking about me by now, with Benjamin crawling around on the floor, enshrining those stupid prints."

    He looked at her bare feet. "Where are your shoes anyway?"

    She pondered for a moment, then sort of half laughed. "I don''t know. Where I left my glass of wine, I suppose."

    Bob sighed. "I wish we had some wine right now."

    Mahui glanced his way. "Me too."

    She gently rubbed her knuckles against the back of his hand, until he made her stop by placing his on hers.

    "So you''re husband is Tuigamala, huh? Plays football for the Raptors?"

    "Yeah."

    "The season hasn''t started yet. It''s not even pre-season for another three weeks."

    "He has to prepare," she explained. "You know. Training and playbooks and stuff."

    Bob thought for a moment and released her hand. "I see. That must be tough." They lay in silence a while longer, before he turned to face her more fully.

    "Were you brainboarding with him when we met? I mean, before you ran into the woods?"

    Mildly perturbed, Mahui grabbed Bob by the wrist. "Are you bitwatching me?" she asked, searching for the electronic spying device.

    Bob took back his hand. "I''m not even wearing one. I took it off so it wouldn''t get wet."

    "Then where is it now?"

    "In the bathroom. Thanks for reminding me. Where''s yours?" he asked after she huffed.

    "Mine''s in my purse. I left it in my car."

    "Why? I mean, you know. People do usually wear them."

    "I don''t. I hate the thing."

    "I don''t much like mine either," Bob said for the sake of agreeing. "I almost never look anyone up. I''d much rather get to know them the old-fashioned way."

    Mahui glared, trying to not be confrontational. Bob parried with a smile.

    "You know," he quipped to disarm her. "By talking face-to-face."

    "You will learn to hate your bitwatch, just like I hate mine." She stared up at the ceiling. "The more you brainboard with your mate, the more you''ll curse the damn fool thing when the link is gone. You''ll blame it for your sour mood, then people will use theirs to look you up, to figure out why you''re pissed."

    "So you were brainboarding with your husband just before we met," Bob guessed with certainty, since Mahui hadn''t answered his question. She grit her teeth as he carried on. "You can be honest," he explained. "I was boarding with my wife too, throughout the whole fashion show."

    He placed his hand again on hers. "Right up until we met."

    "Uh-huh," Mahui said. "And so?"

    "So I understand how you feel. It was the first time for me, doing it for so long, and while she was far away. It hurt when Tylene cut the link."

    Bob felt Mahui''s head nodding on her side of the pillow. "Yeah. It hurts when they leave."

    Bob presssed for more information. "It''s weird boarding that way, isn''t it? When they''re not in the room with you."

    "You can''t do it together without a therapist. You''ll go insane with your mate in your head for that long if you''re not with someone who knows how to help."

    Bob disagreed but said nothing.

    "It''s easier when they''re far away," she said. "Like talking on the phone."

    "You know," Bob said with sudden realization. "At the fashion show my dresser had me take off my bitwatch to get the sleeves of the outfit I modeled to lay straight."

    "While you were brainboarding?" Mahui asked.

    "Yeah, and then I had to go to my car to get something, and I lost the link to my wife."

    "I''m not surprised," Mahui countered. "You have to be near either her bitwatch or yours to keep the link alive. Who was dressing you?"

    "His name was Steph."

    "You''d think he would know better."

    Bob stared quietly at Mahui as she calmly stared back.

    "Does everyone know Tylene uses boarders?" he asked Mahui''s close face.

    "Sort of. It''s kind of her secret thing."

    Bob turned his head to stare at the ceiling. "It''s not much of a secret if everybody knows."

    "Just don''t talk about it. She could get in trouble."

    "I don''t think it''s that bad."

    "Misuse of brainboard technology can cause a therapist to lose their license. Plus they may take yours away." Mahui rose up on an elbow to get Bob to look at her. "Not everyone is a big fan of married couples using them. If they knew how much we brainboard with our spouse, they might never let us link up again."

    "Huh," Bob said to the ceiling.

    Mahui returned her head to her side of the pillow and joined him in staring at the ceiling.

    "And that would really suck," she said. "I''d miss my man so much."

    "Yeah. I''d miss my Seas too."

    "So please," Mahui begged. "Keep it to yourself. Okay?"

 Chapter TWELVE - The ESCAPE

    Long after the air had dried them, Bob and Mahui got off the bed to get dressed.

    "I''ll help you look for your shoes," he said, taking back his t-shirt from her.

    "No thanks. I don''t need them that bad."

    She turned away to keep him from seeing her naked breasts while slipping her dress over her head. He looked with disdain at the complicated shoes that he''d been forced to wear.

    "Yeah. I don''t want to wear my shoes either." He looked with equal disdain at the bombasted men''s hose and beaded stomacher. "I don''t want to wear any of these things."

    Mahui giggled cute, racing around to his side of the bed. She stood before him while adjusting her dress.

    "Then don''t!" she said. "You don''t need them."

    "All I have on now is underwear."

    She rapped him on the arm for encouragement. "Ah, you look fine."

    She took the poet sleeved shirt from his hands and laid it out neat on the bed, alongside the other clothes he''d been wearing.

    "Just leave all of it here. You''re not allowed to take stuff home with you anyway."

    Bob knew enough about fashion models to know that wasn''t always the case. Still, he had no desire to add any of the items he''d been wearing to his wardrobe.

    Especially the shoes. Now clad only in a tight white t-shirt and form-fitting grey briefs, he slapped his outer thighs to relieve the tension.

    Still standing close, Mahui grinned ear to ear. "You ready?" she said with cheer, forcing herself to not let her gaze go lower than his chest.

    Bob scowled. "You really want to be seen with me like this?"

    "Yes! Yes!"

    She tugged on his hand to get him to trail after her down the stairs. Despite being strong for a woman of her size, he easily stood his ground.

    She tried cajoling next. "Look. People are going to say all sorts of stupid stuff about those stupid prints I left down there. And I want them to say stupid stuff about what we were doing up here."

    "We didn''t do anything. I washed your feet."

    "Yeah. That''s right. But most people don''t come up here to get their feet washed."

    "It''s a guest room. So what?"

    She began tugging on his hand again, playfully hopping on her toes. "During a party, some guests come up here just long enough to get it on."

    Bob laughed. "We''ve been up here for hours!"

    She stopped tugging and got back in his face. Her tongue poked out through her perfect white teeth as she allowed her gaze to rake his body.

    "Exactly," she said, now bouncing instead of hopping. "It''s the story I want them to tell."

    "That we were having sex?"

    She focused again on his chest. "Naked," she said to it, still bouncing. "In bed. Soaking wet. For hours."

    He put a hand under her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. "You want people to think we were screwing each other for hours," he said to confirm her crazy wish.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    "Yes. So I can bitch slap them up when I tell them it''s a lie."

    "What if I tell them it''s true?" Bob asked, playing along, as Mahui was acting silly.

    She traced patterns on his chest like tattoos. "Then I will bitch slap you," she said sweetly to her wayward finger.

    Bob grabbed her finger in his fist and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "I want to tell them something that''s true."

    Mahui kept getting sillier. "You mean like you really did screw me?" she asked.

    She let him possess her finger. He kept kissing it while she yammered.

    "I mean, you can''t. Right? Screw me? Screw Ch¨¦, yeah, and her shoes. But not me. Definitely don''t screw me. It''s not right! Right?"

    He released her finger and made her shut up by grabbing her ass with both hands. She yelped with surprise as he thrust her pelvis into his. Her nipples swelled as the hardness of his penis enticed her basal instincts.

    "You''re as cute as a button," he said to her wide open eyes.

    She freed an arm from their embrace and beeped him on the nose. "Boop!" she said while doing so, before becoming demure. "Maybe we''ll come up here again someday, Bob the Button Man."

    He released his grip on her ass and took gentle hold of her hand, placing it back at her side. "I don''t think so," he said. "But the thought is nice."

    "Well, what will we say then that''s true?" she asked, rising to her tiptoes to get her face near his.

    "I don''t know," he replied, breathing hot. He lowered his head nearer to hers. "Maybe the lies will be better."

    Her eyes closed as her lips parted. "Oh. I doubt it."

    Time stood still while they kissed.

    Mahui acted like a schoolgirl trying to sneak her beau out of the house while her parents were still awake. She held Bob by the hand while scampering down the stairs, making him stop just before he could be seen by anyone who might be in the room below. After pressing him to a wall, she peered around the corner to see if the coast was clear.

    Finding the room empty, she scampered with him again down the next flight of stairs, repeating the same girlish act. Although the room attached to this landing was also devoid of people, a small group stood between Mahui and the room where Bob''s street clothes were.

    Mahui slammed Bob against a wall upon catching sight of the group. She pressed her body tight to his, keeping both of them from being seen.

    He kindly pushed her away. "This is ridiculous," he said. "I''m going to go and get dressed."

    Mahui bared her teeth and hissed, poking him in the sides to get him to stop pushing her. "No no no," she whispered cute. She peered around the corner again to eye up the group. "They''re leaving, It''ll just be a minute."

    "I''m leaving too," Bob said. "It''s fine. I am not embarrassed."

    Mahui tried to make him shush every time he opened his mouth, but he would have nothing of it. Finally, and in desperation, she heaved down on his neck so hard that she almost lifted herself off the floor.

    When his lips were close enough, she plastered them with a wet kiss. "Shut up," she whispered into his mouth. "Shut up shut up shut up!"

    He grabbed her ass as a sign of compliance, making her shut up as well.

    By the time they were done kissing, the group in the other room was long gone. Mahui scampered to the door of the dressing room with Bob still in tow. She again made him stand with his back to the wall, while she opened the door and peered in.

    He again kindly pushed her aside, entering the room and finding his clothes. She sat on a settee with her hands between her knees, leaning forward while swinging her feet.

    "What are you going to tell Scylla?" she asked, watching his every move.

    Bob stopped dressing and stared. "You have to quit calling her that. Her name is Cecilia."

    Mahui stuck out her tongue through a toothy smile. "You can call my mate Mak. It''s okay. The guys on the team call him Tuggy because no one can pronounce Tuigamala."

    "What do you call him?" Bob asked while pulling up his pants.

    "I call him my man."

    Bob spoke with his head in his shirt, putting it on while it was still buttoned. "And I call my wife Seas."

    Mahui swung her legs wildly. "So what are you going to tell her?"

    "We brainboard," he said as a matter of fact. "I have to tell her the truth."

    Mahui shook her head enthusiastically, causing her body to swing side to side. "It''s not that you have to be honest. I brainboard too, you know. It''s how you feel when you tell them." She pressed her fists to her chest. "It''s what''s in here that counts."

    Bob sat beside her to lace up his boots. "Well, what are you going to feel when you tell Mak?"

    Mahui hissed to the ceiling, sounding wistful. "I going to tell him I''ve never had so much fun while being left alone at one of Benjamin''s parties. Like, ever."

    "That sounds like a good idea. I''ve never had so much fun either."

    "What are you going to say about the paint?" Mahui asked, concerned.

    He gave her a peck on the cheek. "I''m going to say that of all the oddball people I''ve ever met at these fancy pants, artsy fart parties, fiery Mahui was the only one I''ve ever cared enough about to want to get to know better."

    If not for her jasper brown skin, Mahui would have blushed beet red. "You''re a swell guy, Bob," she said after she composed herself. "I can''t wait to introduce you to my man."

    "Thanks. And I hope you get to know Seas."

    "Oh. I''m sure I will."

    With Bob now fully dressed, Mahui opened the door and peered out, to see if the coast was clear.

    Apparently it was. "See you later, Mister Button Man!" she announced before bolting for the driveway outside.

    Bob arrived in time to see Mahui''s car kick up gravel as she sped away.

 Chapter THIRTEEN - The WIFE

    Cecilia came home exhausted from her overseas stint as an airline stewardess. With two days off to get rest, she spent the first day in bed, overcoming jet lag. On the morning of the second day, Bob waited for her in the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee.

    "Are you staying home this evening, before taking off tomorrow?" he asked, preparing to go to work himself.

    Cecilia was slow to answer, as the caffeine in her coffee had yet to wake her up. "I''ve missed you," Bob added as she sipped.

    "I missed you too," she said around the rim of her cup, more as a reflex than with sincerity.

    "Barbara came home as well, right?" he asked, referring to his wife''s therapist.

    Cecilia pursed her lips with her cup near her mouth. "You want to board with me, don''t you? Our next session''s not until after this flight."

    Bob fumbled with his words. "Well, the fashion show wasn''t exactly an actual session. We did it for fun."

    "We did it to help out Tylene. She needed another model."

    "Aw, Seas. That''s not true. We did it because we wanted to!"

    Cecilia left the kitchen to drink her coffee some place else. "You need to go to work," she said, trying to end the conversation. "I''ll talk to you when you get home."

    Bob followed after her. "I want to board with you before you take off."

    "Why?"

    "It''s important to me. Isn''t that enough?"

    Cecilia stopped trying to escape, and gave her husband a peck on the cheek. "Perhaps we''ll go and see Benjamin at the manor. He has something he wants to show."

    Bob knew what awaited them there. "Just promise you''ll board with me," he said.

    "We''ll see. I could meet Bab at the coffee shop again, before I head to the airport. That was a lot of fun."

    "What? Being with her, or boarding with me?"

    "Yes," Cecilia said with sass. She entered the bathroom and closed the door, ending the conversation for good.

    Benjamin was more animated than usual when Bob and Cecilia arrived. He gave her a big bear hug, then enthusiastically shook Bob''s hand.

    Bob smiled at his friend''s behavior. "You can hug me too," he offered, holding his arms wide.

    "Oh goodie!" Benjamin tittered, squeezing Bob hard enough to make him squeak. "There''s so much you need to see!"

    "Ah yeah. About that Benj¡ª" Bob began, cutting himself off after the big man had bolted from view.

    The couple entered further into the manor, finding their friend in the next room. He held something hidden behind his back, with an enormous smile on his face.

    "You are going to love this!" he sang, pausing for effect.

    His joy was infectious. "What have you got?" Cecilia asked, her own smile beaming.

    Benjamin presented the latest copy of the Fashion Faire magazine, holding it straight out with his arms extended. "Look who''s on the cover!" he sang.

    The edition had as its title ''Fashion at Forty.'' Upon it was a three-quarters shot of Bob posing in Tylene''s show, wearing Geraldi''s translucent blue wayfarer glasses and Ch¨¦''s brocaded shoes slung over his shoulder.

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    "You''re famous!" Benjamin sang.

    Cecilia snatched the magazine away. "Oh my God, Bob! We are!"

    "And I''m actually forty-one," Bob added about his age.

    She held the magazine near his face for both of them to admire, before rifling through it with anticipation. Inside was a full-body photo of Bob highlighting the main article.

    "They''re talking about your feet," she enthused as she read.

    "They call him the Barefoot Model," Benjamin teased, giving Bob a poke with a finger.

    Cecilia clutched the magazine to her chest, her eyes darting between the two men. "This is awesome. I can''t believe you might be famous!"

    "He already is," Benjamin said. "I know Ty¡ªand even her competition¡ªare designing outfits to highlight men''s feet."

    Cecilia acted as if she wanted to dance. "I knew this would happen! I''m so happy!"

    "I wonder if I have to keep wearing glasses?" Bob pondered, sharing in his wife''s good mood.

    She was adamant. "Oh yes sir, you do." She again admired the picture. "And this exact style too."

    "But maybe in different colors," Benjamin added. "Like red ones! And yellow ones too!"

    Bob expression fell, knowing why Benjamin chose to mention those colors. As if the big man had read Bob''s mind, Benjamin drew his guests further into the manor.

    "There''s more for you to see!" he said, leading them to the portico.

    "Yeah. About that," Bob began. "It''s kind of embarrassing."

    Benjamin didn''t get the point. "No, It''s all right. You will see."

    He showed them how he had painted a path around Mahui''s yellow footprints, as they led up the basement steps and out to the yard. Each dot of yellow and crease mark left by her skin was meticuously encased in red.

    "I didn''t go with Venetian," Benjamin said about his choice of color. "It didn''t match the yellow. So I chose a brighter color!"

    "What are we looking at?" Cecilia asked, confused.

    "Fire engine red," Benjamin said over her words. "Just like fiery Mahui!"

    "Mahui?" Cecilia asked, looking at both Benjamin and Bob. "The M¨¡ori woman?"

    Benjamin carried on. "Yeah! Bob and her hung out the whole night." He took in Cecilia''s sour face. "You know. I mean, at the party."

    "Oh really?" Cecilia asked.

    "Ah. Well, at first they kind of fought, but then yeah. They made up."

    Bob silently begged his friend to shut up. Unfortunately, it was too late.

    "After I left for my flight, you hung out with that¡ª" Cecilia chose not to swear. "That wife of a football guy."

    Benjamin didn''t catch on. "Yeah! That''s her! Makani is his name."

    "I know," Cecilia said, clipping her words. She turned to speak to her husband. "The Tuigamalas. Did they have anything to say about me?"

    "He wasn''t here," Benjamin said. "Just his wife."

    "He''s not the one I worry about. He''s nice. Her, not so much."

    "She was alone," Bob said. "Just like me."

    "And so you decided to spend the night with her."

    "She was missing her husband, like I miss being with you. So we had something in common."

    Benjamin spoke to intervene. "Gosh, guys. I didn''t mean to start a fight."

    Cecilia apologized. "No, Benjamin. It''s all right. I just¡ª I''ve had a hard day."

    "I kind of have one more thing to show," Benjamin said in a small voice. He held the doorknob to the basement in his hand. "It''s down here."

    "So let''s see," Cecilia said.

    Benjamin opened the door and showed them Ch¨¦''s shoes, on the stair where Bob had been standing. He went to them and picked them up.

    "You can see how, right here," Benjamin said to Bob, "the paint she threw left an imprint of where you were standing."

    Cecilia glared at her husband, speaking in measured tones. "She threw paint at you?"

    Bob tried to explain. "It was kind of done in fun. She was mad because she fell down the stairs."

    "And she blamed you?"

    "It''s a long story, I guess."

    "I''d like to hear it."

    Bob placed his hand on his temple, near where his brainboard sat. "I want to show you," he said.

    To Cecilia''s silence, Benjamin spoke. "Ah... guys? It really is all great story. I think it''s why you ended up on the cover of Fashion Faire magazine."

    Cecilia sighed. "Well, at least they weren''t talking about me. Or, not anyone I care to listen to."

    Benjamin pressed his big hands together, and stepped between the quarreling couple. "So, um, now I''d kind of like to ask a favor. I''m pretty sure Ch¨¦ doesn''t want her shoes, especially since they got paint on them, and then you glued on some beads."

    "You glued beads on Ch¨¦''s shoes?" Cecilia asked Bob.

    "Like I said. It is a long story."

    "So anyway," Benjamin interupted. "Even if I have to buy them, I''m going to glue the shoes down to the place where you stood when Mahui, ah... you know. Went by. But If you could, I''d like to ask you to model, and pose for me while I trace your outline."

    Cecilia huffed with exasperation. "What are you saying, Benjamin?"

    "Ahm. If Bob could stand there, please, on that step, and let me trace the outline his shadow makes on the wall, I could paint it in black like he''s staring down the stairs."

    "Like he''s looking at where that¡ªwoman fell."

    "Um. Yeah," Benjamin said. "That''s the idea."

    Cecilia headed back toward the car. "You boys do what you want. I need to get ready for work."

    "Are you flying out tonight?" Benjamin asked. "Overseas?"

    "Yes. So it will be at least for two days." She gave her husband an icy look. "Maybe three if I take on some jump flights."

    "And maybe, can I meet you and Bab for a coffee? So I can¡ª" he tapped again where his brainboard lay. "Be with you before you go?"

    She gave him a peck on the cheek, getting close to speak in private. "Maybe Monkeypants. We will see."

 Chapter FOURTEEN - The PROJECT

    Benjamin instructed Bob on how to pose as he modeled for him on the staircase. "I need you to lean forward, like you''re peering into the dark."

    Bob placed a hand on the wall to keep his balance. "It''s hard to stand this way, with where I have my feet. I wasn''t really peering down the stairs. Mahui was acting weird, and if anything, I reared back. Especially when she came charging at me with a can of paint."

    Benjamin fussed with the position of a narrow beam spotlight he had mounted on a pole, using it to cast a sharp shadow. "Let''s see what we can do with the angle. And don''t touch the wall. It throws off the perspective and draws attention to your hand."

    He got the light to shine in a way that made Bob''s shadow fall far down the stairs. Satisified, he approached to demonstrate how Bob should hold his arms.

    "Crook your elbows a bit, but keep them tucked in. Maybe make it look like you''ve got your hands in the pockets of your pants."

    "Those stupid pants I was wearing that night didn''t have any pockets."

    Benjamin busied himself with a carpenter''s pencil, outlining the shadow on the wall. "Well, you know what I mean." Using his height, he reached over Bob. "Did you have fun getting to know Mahui?" he asked as he labored.

    Bob made a face. "We didn''t do anything when we went upstairs, if that''s what you mean. I only washed her feet."

    Benjamin stopped working and blinked, looking deep into his friend''s eyes. "Ah. No. That isn''t what I mean. It''s just that it can sometimes be a little hard getting to know her. She doesn''t always make a very good first impression."

    Bob silently agreed, looking at the yellow paint splattered on the stairs.

    "But she''s really swell!" Benjamin added, sensing Bob''s disgruntlement. "I''m sure everyone knows that!"

    Bob smiled as his big gay friend bent low, fussing with outlining the shadow his legs cast on the stairs. "Everyone''s going to know her now, with you and this project of yours."

    Benjamin stopped again and stared up, crouching at Bob''s feet. "You like it, right?" he pleaded. "I mean, with what we''re doing?"

    Bob smiled. "I think it''s really fun. I can''t believe that instead of getting mad about having paint splashed all over your house, you instead decide to keep it and make something of it."

    Benjamin returned to his work. "It''s great, Bob. You''re going to be famous. And I''ll forever have right here the highlight of the evening following your first gig."

    "I don''t see Mahui feeling the same way."

    "Oh yeah!" Benjamin said, agreeing. "But that might be the best part." He stood close to speak in confidence, as if someone might be eavesdropping, despite the two of them being alone. "She''s hard to get to know, right? She doesn''t make good impressions. And she does what might be the most horrible thing one person could do to another, yet instead of you getting upset with her, you become her best friend."

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    Bob laughed. "If she had gotten as much paint on me as she got on herself, that might not have happened. She looked ridiculous!"

    "And that''s what makes the story great. A humorous turn of events."

    "What do you think her husband will say? Does he even know?"

    "I bitwatched him to make sure he was okay with the project. He laughed so hard when I told him the story that I barely got all of it out."

    Once finished with modeling, Bob stood by Benjamin''s side to assess the art. "Has either of them seen it?" he asked.

    Benjamin readied a can of black paint to begin filling in the outline of the shadow.

    "They''ll be here any minute," he said.

    Bob did his best to act cool while shaking the hand of Makani Tuigamala. "It''s a pleasure meeting you, sir," he said.

    Makani laughed. "Oh please. Call me Mak."

    His grip was firm and his hands large, with long arms to go with what might be expected of a professional football player. He was lean and lithe, despite his chiselled body, with perfect white teeth showing through in a smile much like the one Mahui possessed. Her smile was huge, nearly spanning ear to ear, as her husband and Bob conversed.

    "I''m sorry, sir," Bob flustered, fumbling with being humble. "I''ve never met a big football star."

    "You''re the star here, mate!" Makani countered. "I''ll bet most of the people Ben knows couldn''t even describe what a strong safety does."

    "Oh. So they switched you from playing corner?"

    Makani nodded while continuing to smile. His complexion was not as dark as Mahui''s jasper brown skin, but he definitely had the look of a Pacific Islander. Part of a solid black tattoo peeked out from the collar of his shirt on the right side of his body, speaking of his Samoan heritage.

    "Wow," he said, impressed by Bob''s football knowledge. "You pay attention to the game."

    Bob shrugged. "I like sports."

    "Our long game''s a little weak," Makani confessed. "So we often give a four corner look, to keep the play in tight."

    "I see. Well, I think moving you inside is a good idea. You''re too good a tackler to be left hanging out to dry."

    Makani reared back and released a loud laugh, before giving Bob a chuck on the shoulder. "Hoo boy! I like this guy!" he said to Benjamin. "I might have to come to your parties more often."

    Mahui grinned so hard it looked like her face hurt. She rocked on her heels with excitement, while Benjamin clasped his big hands together.

    "So. Um, would you like to see our project?" Benjamin asked of Makani, hoping the talk about football was over.

    "Do you know what happened?" Bob asked Makani, as Benjamin led them towards the portico.

    "I sure do!"

    "Mahui told you?" Bob whispered.

    Makani tapped his temple. "Better than that. She showed me. I hear you brainboard too."

    Bob nodded. "My wife and I sometimes have sessions."

    "Aren''t they great?" Makani enthused. "It''s been like a godsend for me. It really helps cut through the barriers we have with communicating. Mahui is a primary English speaker, and my first language is Samoan. But none of that makes any difference when we board together."

    As Mahui and Benjamin discussed the paint on the stairs, Bob continued to talk with Makani about brainboarding. "I haven''t told my wife yet what happened with me and yours."

    "You haven''t?" Makani pursed his lips. "Oka e! You better."

    "It''s dificult to explain, and easier to show in a link."

    "Mahui was impressed with how well you handled her outburst."

    Bob smiled as he reminisced. "Your wife is a special person. She''s amazingly unique. Funny and very intelligent."

    Makani held out his hands to get Bob to stop. "Okay! No need to lay it on thick!"

    "You''re lucky to have her as your wife."

    Makani agreed. "It''s why I let her talk me into getting a brainboard. But kind of keep it to yourself. There''s a lot of stigma attached to being boarded, as they were first used on crooks. Some people just don''t understand."

    "Well, you have a believer in me," Bob said. "I wish I were boarding with Seas right now."

    "That''s your wife?" Makani asked. "Cecilia? I know her."

    Bob looked down. "In a few hours she''ll be gone for two days. Three if she takes on more flights."

    "That''s because she''s a flight attendant, right? Doing long hauls overseas?"

    Bob nodded. "I miss her already."

    Makani tapped at his bitwatch. "Well then. Ola. It is done." He looked at Bob and grinned.

    "What?" Bob asked. "What is done?"

    "I contacted Tylene and asked her to bring our therapist over. We''ll have you linked with your mate in no time."

 Chapter FIFTEEN - The LINK

    Tylene arrived at Benjamin''s manor with the therapist who worked with the Tuigamala''s. She also brought a folder containing sketches of concept ideas for her next fashion show.

    "You''ve created a phenomenon," she said to Bob, smiling while clutching her folder.

    "I suppose," Bob said, sounding uncertain. "But you have to thank Seas. All I did was try not to panic."

    "Yes. Well, I''ve thanked her several times. We''re looking forward to our next show!"

    She paused to kindly stare, waiting for Bob to react. When he blinked, she carried on.

    "It''s going to be a group effort, with other designers on board. We''re following the theme you created."

    "Bare feet and fake glasses?"

    Tylene''s smile never faded. "Well, yes I suppose." She pulled sketches from her folder, laying them on a table. "You''ll model my clothes, along with Marc. Remember him? And of course, Steph will be your dresser." Her smile brightened. "You''re the star, so you get first pick!"

    She showed him several sketches. "Honestly, Ty," Bob confessed. "You''re asking the wrong guy."

    Mahui gave a snort of contempt, standing on her tiptoes to peer over Tylene. "Those are more outlandish than the last get-up you wore," she said to Bob.

    Tylene was unfazed. "You''ve got to strike when the iron''s hot!"

    "I like this one!" Benjamin said, pawing a sketch with a big hand.

    It showed a man wearing giant bloomers the color of a green pasture. They were paired with a high-collar shirt, blocked in lilac and white and red. It buttoned up asymetrically, resembling a woman''s shift; tight-fitting yet with outlandish sleeves, loose like a kimono.

    "I think we''ll make the hem of the shirt asymetrical too," Tylene said of the sketch. "It will be silk, like the waistband of the pants, so they''ll be a good match."

    Bob rolled his eyes as Tylene carried on, with Benjamin offering comments. The cheesy grin Mahui wore indicated she shared Bob''s view of high fashion. Makani stepped in before either of them said something they might regret.

    "This is Magdoeline," he said to Bob of the therapist. "She works with Mahui and me."

    "Please call me Maggie," she said, shaking Bob''s hand.

    "If you want, she can work with you," Makani said.

    Tylene stepped away from Benjamin and her sketches, tapping her bitwatch for a moment. "I sent word to Bab," she said of the therapist with Cecilia. "She''s with your wife, having coffee. Seas says she can link for an hour before boarding her flight."

    Bob grew excited. "Please have a seat," Maggie said, guiding him to a sofa in an adjoining room. She sat in a nearby chair. "Close your eyes and focus on breathing while I open the link."

    In a few seconds, Bob felt the presence of his wife, like dafodils caressing his skin.

    Hi Bob!

    Hi Seas! Oh! I have missed having you inside me!

    Bob opened his eyes. "Thank you," he said to Maggie. "If I may, we want to be alone for a while."

    Say ''Hi'' to Bab too! Cecilia instructed. Through her eyes, Bob saw his wife''s newest friend seated across from her in a booth. She idly tapped at her bitwatch, giving the couple a semblence of privacy.

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    Cecilia took a sip of her coffee. Ooh! Bob thought into her, making her wrinkle her nose. You like too much sugar.

    She made her husband wince, chastising him with love. And you like that sassy M¨¡ori.

    Bob opened his heart and soul, pouring forth love for his wife. He let her experience the loneliness he felt when she worked overseas flights far away, and how being at Benjamin''s party without her had caused him to freak out. How jealous he was, a small bit, knowing she was having fun, jetsetting in Europe with Bab.

    He thought into her about Mahui. She''s the only person I''ve ever met at these parties who feels the way I do. Sad and scared and awkward, without her mate at her side.

    She''s mean, Cecilia pointed out, expressing scorn.

    I think she''s kind of funny.

    He stood at a spot in the doorway to the room where Mahui could be seen, leering at Tylene''s sketches while Benjamin fawned over them.

    She has no appreciation of art.

    She doesn''t understand high fashion.

    Like you, Cecilia realized.

    Grinning, Makani whispered into Mahui''s ear. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, making her husband laugh. Although Bob/Seas couldn''t hear what was said, Tylene and Benjamin turned toward Makani, making Mahui puff up with pride.

    Look how much she loves him. How happy she is at his side.

    Like how you are with me.

    I''d die without you, my Seas. You''re the only person I''ve ever loved. I don''t know what I would do.

    Cecilia could do nothing but honor her husband, showing him the respect she held. His love for her was keen. It flowed towards her like a river, effortless and everlasting. She saw the joy he felt having made a friend who thinks and feels the same as he.

    A new friend. I haven''t had one in ages.

    Cecilia knew she made friends all the time. A friend who is not one of mine.

    Don''t be mad. Understand. She and I think alike. I''m a new friend for her who isn''t one of her husband''s.

    Not yet anyway. I see you guys hitting it off.

    Cecilia let Bob experience the depth of her passion. How precious she cherished his honesty. How heartfelt her feelings were toward his loyalty. She held for him the kind of love a person has, knowing they''ll not be bereft.

    You''re a good man. I am lucky.

    I''m proud. Humbled in your presence.

    Makani caught Bob staring, and gave a sly wink.

    He''ll be a good friend too.

    You think? Gosh, I hope. It would be so much fun!

    Bob/Seas strode into the room. "Well!" Tylene remarked. "Somebody''s got their moxie!"

    He/she struck a pose, examining the sketches on the table while pushing them around.

    "What do you think?" Tylene asked.

    "I want to wear this," he/she said, picking up a sketch to hold at arm''s length, assessing how he/she would look.

    It showed a man wearing cut-away cullotes, with strips of fabric sticking out stiff and veined, like the leaves of a pitcher plant. His legs were visible underneath, and where the pants ended near his calf, pirate boots with enormous cuffs made the fabric stick out all the further.

    "Oh yes!" Tylene agreed. She snatched the sketch away. "This will be the piece you''ll wear in the grand parade. Of course we''ll have to ditch the boots, as everyone will be barefoot. And you''ll have to wear nude hose, or shave your legs and apply make-up."

    Bob and Cecilia had an internal debate, as she wanted him to shave. "We''ll wear hose," they said instead. "Make sure the tone matches my skin."

    Tylene grew excited. "We''ll keep the boot cuffs and end the hose there, so you can be barefoot. And of course, you''ll carry a pair of Ch¨¦''s shoes slung over your shoulder."

    "Or loeferls!" Bob/Seas enthused. "I could match them with an alpine hat!"

    "Or a bycocket!" Benjamin offered. "You know! Like Robin Hood! That sounds fun!"

    "You''re really into this barefoot thing," Mahui remarked to no one in particular.

    Cecilia had Bob eye her up, turning his head while choosing between a few snide remarks to say.

    Bob forced his wife to say nothing. He smiled wisely instead.

    "God, you''re gorgeous," Mahui blurted, letting out a cute hiss.

    Makani and Benjamin reared back in surprise, while Tylene burst out and laughed. "I know!" she said, agreeing. "It''s something, isn''t it?" To the shocked silence that held the room, she offered a more subtle comment. "I mean, yes. Bob is handsome. That is true." She shook her head slowly in wonder. "But there''s something about when Seas is in him that makes him simply amazing."

    Cecilia accepted the praise. "I''m sure you''re pretty when he''s in you too," she had Bob say to Mahui in an off-hand way, shifting his eyes between the two Samoans.

    Makani egged Bob/Seas on. "Oh ho!" he said. "Do you think? And what about when she''s not wearing shoes?"

    Benjamin clasped his hands together, making noise to ease the tension. "Hey, ah... Seas," he said to Bob''s face. "Come on. I want to show you the thing."

    Makani also spoke up. "Yeah. You guys go ahead. Mahui and I want time to ourselves, to have a session with Maggie."

    Tylene gathered up her sketches. "I''ll be going," she said, giving Bob a peck on the cheek. She spoke into his eyes to his wife. "I can''t wait until you get back."

    Bob/Seas gave Tylene a hug. "I can''t wait to see you too. It''s so much fun modelling for you!"

    I''m glad you''re enjoying this, Bob thought into his wife.

    I wish you were too.

    I am. I feel it through you.

 Chapter SIXTEEN - The UNDERSTANDING

    Through her husband''s eyes, Cecilia observed the outlined shadow Benjamin had painted on the wall leading down the stairs.

    "You see where he''s looking?" Benjamin asked Bob/Seas. "At those spots of yellow paint on the floor below? Then where he is standing -- where Ch¨¦''s shoes will be glued down -- that''s where the red path starts, following Mahui''s footprints up the stairs."

    Bob/Seas admired the artwork, but found his/her eyes stuck on one print. Cecilia made her husband''s face scowl over knowing who it belonged to.

    Benjamin was astute. He sensed Cecilia''s discontent. "You know how this piece of art correlates with your bas relief in the trophy room," he queried. "Right?"

    For a time that rarely happened, Cecilia didn''t see the artistic connection. Benjamin sought to explain.

    "I spent weeks cutting up little bits of carpet and gluing them to the floor in there, making it look like water. And Dean spent months on his piece."

    "Let''s not talk about Dean," Bob said, as Cecilia apologized again in his mind for her tryst.

    "Okay. But that piece of art took a year. This one took only a day," Benjamin said, referencing the stairs. "The only visible medium besides paint is the shoes."

    He paused to see if his point sunk in. Realizing it hadn''t, he carried on.

    "The whole piece of art that you and... you know. That guy made. It''s enormous. It''s huge. It can''t be ignored. It dominates the room, and can''t be moved or made to go away."

    Benjamin paused to gather his houghts, while Bob and Cecilia sought comprehension. They followed the path outside to the portico, where they sat side by side at a table. Benjamin played with a leather fob, while Bob/Seas idly picked through a chawan filled with colored beads.

    "You''re big," Benjamin said, referencing Seas. "Your personality is huge. Everyone knows who you are, and feels your presence when you enter a room. Their behavior changes, because who you are alters the flow.

    "Dean... Ah, I mean that guy -- he was big like you. Even bigger, but now he''s gone. We had to choose between you and him, because together you would have imploded, destroying everything."

    "I''d eat him up and spit out his bones," Bob said for his wife, agreeing with her in her mind.

    Benjamin also agreed. "Yes. That''s right. But that thing -- not the artwork, but the thing you guys had -- it will never go away. Everything you did remains frozen here, and everyone will always know what happened between you and that guy. The sea monster frieze only proves it."

    Forgive me, my love! I was wrong!

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    I can do nothing but forgive. I need you! You''re everything!

    Benjamin touched Bob/Seas'' hand, to regain his/her attention. "Now, Bob, we know you''re a good man. Honest and trusting and faithful. You and I together, we''re a pair of great friends."

    "Thanks, Ben. You''re the best."

    "But nearly no one else knows who you are when you hang out around here. You''re not around much anyway, and when you are, you just don''t stand out. You know?"

    Bob nodded. "I''m like the shadow on the wall."

    "I could cover this path with a carpet, or paint the wall black and you''d be gone. All that would be left is the shoes, and they belong to Ch¨¦. And that is all you''d be. You would be the guy who didn''t wear the shoes.

    "And Mahui too. She''s like you, Bob, in that way. Nobody understands her. She''s the skinny woman hiding in the woods. If it weren''t for the fact that she takes off her shoes and leaves them lying around, we''d never know she was here.

    "But her husband? Makani? He''s the most famous of all, and by a country mile. A football star, a big philanthropist, a patron of the arts. He''s internationally known! And now you, Bob, will be too. You''ll soon be widely known. You''ll probably be a supermodel, leaving Mahui to still be unknown."

    Together, they looked at the path.

    "To be nothing but little bare feet," Benjamin said to one of her yellow prints. "Running to hide in the woods."

    Tears nearly formed in his eyes as he continued explaining. "I''m not going to let that happen. She won''t be unknown. I won''t let her become another Dean either, forcing us to have to choose between you and her. I like her, and I like Makani. And I know for a fact they like you." Benjamin pointed a finger at Bob. "And I mean you, Bob. You specifically. They like you a lot."

    Benjamin spoke with more cheer. "And together, we''re making it happen! You and Mahui will be known around here, and not just as the the spouses of somebody more famous. So this art is a very good thing!"

    Bob felt his wife grow understanding. He filled her with resolve.

    "Could we be alone for a while?" he/she asked. "We kind of want to be with our thoughts."

    "Oh yeah. Sure!" Benjamin got up to leave. "I''ll bring you hot water for tea."

    "That would be nice," Bob/Seas said.

    She''s like me, Bob thought into his wife as they picked through the beads. She doesn''t fit in with the crowd, but wants to because she knows how important it is to her husband. And she loves him very much, just like how I want to fit in because I also love you.

    And through you, now she does.

    Yes. And through her and Makani, I will also fit better.

    You do have me, you know. I''m pretty popular too.

    It''s not the same, Bob thought back, making his wife think about Dean.

    In silent shame, Cecilia had Bob pick out red beads that were flat with no holes, like the ones Mahui had glued to Ch¨¦''s shoes, now sitting on the stairs by the shadow. He/she lined them up on the table, making a little red path.

    She threw paint at you, Cecilia reminded her husband.

    Well, I did knock her down the stairs.

    She attacked!

    Bob laughed. I really don''t think she could hurt me.

    I don''t know, Monkeypants. She seems tough.

    Well if she ever comes at me again, I''ll hit her in the face with another door.

    Bob and Cecilia both laughed at that, she into her coffee at the coffee shop with Bab, and he into the bowl of beads at Benjamin''s manor. He returned with hot water for tea, making a cup for Bob/Seas as he/she played with the beads they had lined up on the table.

    "So?" Benjamin asked. "Are we good?"

    "We''re great, Ben. Thanks a lot."

    Benjamin sat down and made another cup of tea for himself. "Can we do somethng?" Cecilia had her husband ask.

    "Sure," Benjamin said. "What''s up?"

    She had her husband push the red beads towards Benjamin. "Let''s glue these to the little spots of paint on the basement floor. The yellow ones that aren''t part of the path."

    Bob/Seas smiled big into their best friend''s eyes. "That way, they''ll match the shoes."

    Benjamin rose to take on the project. "Oh! That''s a good idea!"

 Chapter SEVENTEEN - The INTRUSION

    Bob awoke the next morning, alone and with a start. He hated waking up this way, as it usually meant he''d be bothered by his dreams all day. Today would be particulary troublesome, as not only were his dreams erotic, but they had also hardened his loins.

    "My God, Seas," he grumbled to himself. "I miss you when you''re away."

    His arousal came with scents; so many and so strong. They lingered long after having awakened, like a blanket on his brain. Perhaps a shave and shower would get thoughts of his wife to stop thumping on his manhood.

    "It seems so real," he said, rubbing his eyebrows and chin.

    Bob struggled with the fog that lay between imagination and reality. In the dim and frozen dawn, Egyptian lilies and tuberose floated lemon-light on oaky moss. It lay upon a bed of fresh coffee, French vanilla with hazelnut cream.

    The perfume was familiar. The scent of coffee, even moreso, for it came from his kitchen.

    "Who''s there?" he asked upon the realization.

    The scents began making noise. They thunked the drawers of his dresser. The sounds of them opening and closing were as real as the the burble being made by the coffee maker in the kitchen, brewing its final drops.

    Bob sat up straight and in alarm. He pressed the bed sheets against his hard-on, hoping it would not get in the way should he have to grapple, naked, with the intruder. Her back was to him as she pulled items of clothing out of the pockets of a silver maxi length, down-filled coat. Tall and strikingly thin, waves of curly black hair spilled over her narrow shoulders, spreading out and curling further due to the faux fur rim on the hood of her coat.

    Two mugs of coffee sat atop his dresser, steaming in the dawn chill. They laid down the base notes to the woodsy aroma spilling from the woman placing clothes in the dresser. A woman who, despite the morning darkness, despite the fogginess in his head, despite having only noticed her hair, Bob knew in an instant.

    "What are you doing here?"

    Mahui spoke with her back still turned, fussing with the contents of his dresser. "I made coffee and brought you some."

    Bob scarcely realized he spoke. "Thanks."

    "You should lock your doors at night."

    "I don''t usually have intruders."

    Mahui turned to face him, standing at the foot of his bed. She clutched her coat at the collar, holding it shut, as it was unzipped.

    "We''re intruding?" she asked, saying it more like a statement.

    Her eyes were wide and bright. She blinked twice in quick succession, forming her lips to make a silent hiss. Visibly saddened and hanging her head, she began to leave.

    To Bob''s amazement, he spoke again. "No. It''s okay. Don''t go."

    Now at the far side of the room, Mahui stopped walking. She faced away, still clutching her coat. Silence lay atop the scent of her perfume and that of the coffee, almost as if it were filling the room with a fragrance of its own.

    "I want you to dress me," she said to the doorway leading out.

    "Why?"

    Her nostrils flared as she raised her head, causing her hair to flow back. She heaved in air before sucking her lips into her mouth, turning only her head to face him.

    "You buy the same coffee as we do. Probably from the same store."

    It was Bob''s turn to heave in air. "Okay."

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    The intruder''s eyes went to the mugs steaming on the dresser. "I know you like cream because I smelled it on your breath at Benjamin''s yesterday."

    Bob said nothing, merely blinking.

    "We don''t know, though, if you like sugar."

    She blazed her victim with dark brown eyes, her libido clearly visible. Bob gulped before speaking again.

    "Yes. I like sugar."

    Mahui moved towards the mugs on the dresser, never breaking eye contact. "White sugar? Or raw?" she asked while digging in a pocket of her coat. "Or perhaps, Sweet and Low?"

    "Raw is what I like."

    She dug further in the pocket. "One packet? Two? Or three?"

    Bob wondered if he was still dreaming. His bedroom had heavy shades and drapes, drawn tight to keep out the chill. Outside it was not yet light, and the room was deathly dark.

    "Ahm." He hesitated, still clutching the sheets, his penis hard as a rock. "One is good for me."

    Mahui''s lips popped out from her mouth. No longer being sucking on, they brimmed caramel wet and full. She smiled beautifully.

    "We always knew you were sweet."

    She performed the task of preparing his coffee, stirring in sugar from a packet she produced from her pocket. "I want to be called Ma''amusa while we''re here," she said with her back to Bob. She turned and approached with the coffee, as he sat up further in bed. "La''u Ma''amusa. I''m your heart of stone."

    The weather outside was brutal, and coffee in bed while naked never tasted so good. After the first sip, though, Bob eyed it with suspicion.

    Ma''amusa rolled hers. "Here," she said, gently switching her mug of coffee with his.

    She took a big swig of his, telling him with the way she smiled that everything was as it seemed. Bob sipped at hers and, finding she didn''t like sugar, switched the two mugs back.

    Ma''amusa stood up straight and tall, sighing with her eyes closed. Her shoulders rose and fell, feathered with curly hair and the faux fur rim of her jacket. Speaking soft and true, she lowered herself to sit on the edge of Bob''s queen size bed.

    "I want us to trust one another."

    "You''re not starting off on the right foot."

    He caught her with her coffee to her lips. She became animated and hurried with swallowing, so as to reply.

    "I know. I know. I''m not often good at chitchat. And after today, we may never see you again."

    The heat of their bodies being so close together filled the air with a different type of fragrance as she carried on. "You stared at me, and I guess I stared back, all the time at the manor the other day. I felt your eyes on me. I feel them all the time. They excite me."

    Ma''amusa slipped closer to Bob, who sat propped up on pillows at the head of his bed. "You excite me," she concluded.

    Bob fidgeted before speaking. "You excite me, too."

    Her eyes slid down, settling where the sheets fought to cover his erection. "Do we excite you now? With what we did? With what we''re doing?" She returned his gaze, pleading, begging, wanting. "Do I?"

    Bob sipped his coffee. "Yes. You do."

    Ma''amusa rose to stand, lowering her coat to reveal delicate jasper shoulders. "I want you to dress me," she repeated, burning his face with a stare. "Will you?"

    The sight of her bare shoulders heightened his arousal. Now fully awake, he wondered if instead of dreaming, he was going insane. Sensing his alarm, she covered herself back up. After placing her coffee on the dresser, she produced from his closet two woman''s suits sporting skirts. Both were covered in plastic, having been brought fresh from a dry cleaner.

    "I picked these up today, before... ahm..." She paused.

    "Breaking into my house?" he offered.

    Ma''amusa tried not to smile. "I don''t know which one to wear. I thought with your sense of fashion, you''d be able to help."

    Bob laughed. "My sense of fashion? For someone who says they know me, you obviously don''t know much." To her newly returned, downtrodden face, he spoke kindly while querying further. "Where are you getting these ideas from? And how do you know where I live?"

    Ma''amusa moved with care. She slowly unwrapped each outfit before placing them on the bed, at Bob''s feet on either side.

    "It''s not hard finding out where a person lives," she said as she labored. She paused to soften his glare with a look of doe-like innocence. "You have a lovely home, Mr. Rohan. You do. It''s amazing."

    Ma''amusa''s downy coat fell open when she bent low to lay out the suits. "Yeah," was all Bob said, responding to both her nakedness and the compliment.

    She straightened, breathing hard, billowing small lungs. "You do. We live in a dump. I guess we''re not good at decorating."

    Bob pressed his lips shut, pondering if he should call the cops. While doing so, Ma''amusa again bent low, exposing her body a second time. She lifted the suits off the bed, holding them by their hangers while seeking his approval. One was azure and pencil-thin, its skirt tastefully slit to expose her knees. The other skirt was dusty red, paired with an open jacket, full and flouncy and fun.

    He felt his lips part without permission. To his gaping face, she continued. "We know you have a favorite. You can''t tell me you do not."

    She was correct. The blue suit, tight and expensive-looking, exposed the athletic lines of her body. Yet the red one, light and loose, left room to grope and play, should a man be so lucky.

    A strip of nakedness ran down her body as she held up the clothes, centered where her coat fell open, all the way past her knees. A pomegranite garter belt was strapped around her waist, clipped to smoky stockings.

    "We want to be dressed by you, Mr. Rohan, on this most important day. Dress me for your pleasure."

    The pleading, begging and wanting returned to Ma''amusa''s eyes, more so with every blink.

    "Please," she said to him through them, speaking with wet caramel lips.

 Chapter EIGHTEEN - The CHOICE

    Bob set his coffee by the alarm clock, turning it off before it buzzed. Ma''amusa stood in silence, holding her outfits aloft. He rose to kneel before her on the bed and, wrapping a sheet around his waist to cover his nakedness, he exposed Ma''amusa to hers. She gasped and closed her eyes when strange hands, so familiar, slipped warm beneath her coat.

    Her body wavered when he stopped touching her to rise higher on his knees. The sheet around his waist fell away as he plucked the hangers from her hands to lay the outfits back on the bed. She kept her hands in the air where he had left them, and her eyes shut tight, until he again touched her to gently lower her arms.

    Her downy coat fell to the floor, and sexy nipples puffed, warm and soft and full. They blasted Bob with a woodsy aroma, causing him to swoon. He cupped her tiny tits, making cleavage appear by compacting them to a central spot.

    He played his thumbs across her nipples as he spoke. "Did you bring a proper blouse?"

    Ma''amusa''s response came in squeaks and pings, her eyes remaining closed. "Uh huh. We brought one for each."

    She felt his breath on her face, morning rough and scratchy, creamed with coffee and vanilla. Manly scents escaped the bedding that now lay at his ankles.

    "I like the red one best," he said, speaking in measured tones. "I''m imagining the blouse you might wear with it. Will it offer peeks of your bra, should you choose to allow it?"

    Ma''amusa swallowed visibly. She kept her eyes clamped shut, knowing nudity was being shared. "Um... I don''t wear bras," she stammered. "You should know that by now."

    "So you''ll show off these cute little breasts roaming free?"

    "I''ll wear a chemise. They''re in the dresser."

    Bob kissed each nipple hard. He suckled and bit the last one, making Ma''amusa''s knees quake. She shoved him away with a peep of titilation, stepping back to escape his force.

    He stood on the floor before her, paperclip close, before leaving to approach the dresser. Besides holding his own clothing, it now contained woman''s undergarments. He rifled through and held up a few chemises, assessing them in the dark.

    He reached over the dresser to let in light by opening the drapes and shades a crack. "Well then," he said as he searched. "Let''s see what we''ve got."

    The dawn haze spilled on his brawn as he dug through the dresser drawer further. He chose a deep red chemise that sported black highlights, lacy and thought-provoking.

    He turned to present his find. "I''d like to see you wearing this when we''re done having fun."

    Bob found his intruder with her tongue hanging out, heaving on ragged breath. Her eyes were glued to where his ass had been before he turned around.

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    They were now glued to his dick. The longer he stood before her, facing her while holding the chemise, the harder she heaved and gasped. Shrouded sun, cracking fog and mist, played upon the breastbone that lay between her tits.

    He watched in amazement as freckles appeared, darker than her skin, glowing and growing brighter. Her line of sight never left where his meat hung as he slipped the chemise over her head. She fell into him when he reached down to take hold of her wrists one by one, pushing her arms through the sleeveless straps. With his beefy chest pressed against her face, he reached around to pull her hair out through the neckline, laying it on her back.

    Ma''amusa slouched forward from the hips, until her pubic mound met manly pride. "You need underpants," Bob said as she ground against him.

    She made no noise, but her lips curled to form a snarl, demanding he stay where he stood. She held his pretty ass with one hand to keep him in his place, while using the other to work his cock and balls against her vagina.

    Her eyes fluttered shut when he leaned back to better position his meat, and to admire her skill. The wetness from her pussy made many inches of his penis glisten. He tried pulling away after a minute, but she forced him to let her continue by digging her nails into his butt and more firmly gripping his meat. He obliged until the friction she created caused her to tremble ferociously.

    The freckles on her chest looked like fire as orgasms roared through her body. He fought his way out of her clutches and resumed rummaging through the dresser.

    "Let''s see what kind of panties you''ve brought," he said with his back to her.

    Ma''amusa gasped and rasped. "No! No no. You can''t."

    He paused to turn and stare, noticing her having trouble with focusing her eyes. "What do you mean, I can''t?"

    "You... you can''t put panties on me. I''ll just soak right through them." She heaved and gulped and shuddered. "I''ll soak right through my skirt!"

    His eyebrows shot up at the revelation. Looking down, he noticed his cock was sopped, dripping with her juice. If not for her holding her crotch with both hands, she''d be making a puddle on the floor with her ejaculate.

    Bob glanced at his alarm clock. It told him there was time to pleasure this interloper further, but to satisfy his desire, he wanted Ma''amusa for hours. There was no way he would give her a quickie unless she gave him the opportunity to split her in two with his rod.

    He headed towards the bathroom. "I''ll get you a washcloth," he said.

    Upon returning with one dampened on an edge, Bob found Ma''amusa digging in her purse. He squelched the urge to flee as primal instinct told him to fear a weapon.

    She produced a day-liner instead. "I''ll need this," she said.

    Her face softened into the young woman she was, impish and impulsive. She smiled crooked at her victim, his scowl betraying confusion.

    "You''re having your period?"

    She bit her lip, but still smiled out the corner of her mouth. "Um... no. She plucked a pair of panties matching her chemise from the dresser. After sticking the day-liner into them, she traded Bob the panties for the washcloth.

    She busied herself with cleaning her sopped pussy. "I wear these often... ah... especially with you." She folded the washcloth neatly, placing it in a hamper near the closet. Her smile brightened, easing his concern. "Sometimes... ah... and with you..." She stammered. "I gush."

    Bob stood stock still, holding her panties with his middle fingers and his thumbs. "You gush?"

    She sashayed up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I do. I gush for you."

    With her other hand, she cupped his neck, pulling his head down so they could kiss. Her panties tickled against her chest, until she grabbed his neck with both hands.

    He dropped the panties to the floor and filled his hands with her skinny butt. "I gush so hard for you sometimes," she teased, speaking sloppy while kissing his lips. "I feel your big eyes on me. I love knowing that my ass is all you see."

    She pried her body from his grasp and danced on her toes excitedly, her puffed tits bouncing in her chemise. She fairly called out as she danced, her voice ringing with laughter.

    "So come on, you big stud! Dress me! We''re going to be late!"

 Chapter NINETEEN - The TOILET

    Ma''amusa placed a hand on Bob''s back for support as he stooped to slide her panties over her stockings and garter. He snapped her with the elastic band after he had finished.

    "Where''s the blouse?" he asked.

    Ma''amusa bounced and pointed. "It''s in the closet! Over there!" She cheered him on as he went to fetch it. "The frilly one, with no collar!"

    The blouse was white and hung half open, to highlight her cute little breasts. He held the blouse up for her approval, smelling the floral aldehydes of the dry cleaner''s soap and softener.

    "That''s it! That''s the one!" Ma''amusa bounced and turned around, presenting her pantied butt. She splayed her arms out wide. "Oh Mr. Rohan! Oh my! Dress me! Dress me please!"

    He placed the blouse over her shoulders while pressing his cock to her crack. After reaching around to button it up, she reached around behind them both, to grapple his glutes and savor his meat.

    He nipped at an ear, tickling her neck with an unshaven face. "Now the skirt?" he asked.

    Ma''amusa squirmed while squelching giggles. "Oh God yes! The skirt!"

    He disengaged his cock from her crack, and worked at separating the skirt from the dry cleaner''s hanger. Ma''amusa stood frozen in place with her back turned, waiting where he had left her. With gentle hands, he turned her around, making her face him. She laid both hands on his back this time, as he stooped to slide on her skirt. Once done, he satisfied curiosity about the garment, wadding up its many pleats to grab two handfuls of the ass that lay underneath.

    She squealed as he groped her, unable to maintain her composure. With strength that spoke of workouts at a gym, she shoved on his chest. Though powerfully built, he found himself helpless, with his hands trapped under her skirt. She backed him up with force, until he fell on his back on the bed. She then clambored up his body, mounting him until her crotch was a scant inch from his face. From there, she lowered herself until her crotch rested on his thighs, causing the length of his erection to curve down towards his knees.

    She pressed hard upon it. "Are you going to leave a pecker trail on my skirt, Mr. Rohan?" she asked.

    He grinned. "I might."

    She flew off in an instant, landing on the floor. "Uck! You need a shower!"

    He rolled to his side, striking a Playgirl pose by supporting his head with a hand. "You still need further dressing," he remarked. "Your jacket and your shoes."

    Ma''amusa resumed bouncing. "Oh! I do, Sir! Yes, I do!"

    She turned and splayed her arms again, presenting her backside to her prey. With a theatrical grunt, Bob rose to stand on the floor. He removed the jacket from its hanger and placed it on the intruder. He again hoisted her skirt, to press himself naked to her pantied butt.

    He reached around to grab hold of her tits, but she skittered away. "No peckers on my skirt!" she announced. Then casting her gaze to the floor, she spoke submissive and demure.

    "I left my shoes by the door, Mr. Rohan, to keep from tracking mud through your home." She lifted her eyes to look upon him. "Shall I go and get them?"

    Bob sized up his unusual guest. "No," he decided to say. "I''ll go."

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    He returned with a pair of pumps sporting two-inch heels, glossy black and made sassy with silver buckles and piping. He used the washcloth in the hamper to wipe away the mud and dirt before presenting them to Ma''amusa. She held onto his shoulders with grace, lifting one foot up.

    "Mr. Rohan," she implored, brown eyes shining bright. "If you please."

    He crouched before her and together, they put on her shoes. He then rose to stand close, clapping his hands against his thighs.

    "Well," he said, "that''s it."

    Ma''amusa took a step back and bowed, low and with humility. She held her hands to her legs with her elbows tucked in, addressing the floor at her feet.

    "Thank you, Mr. Rohan." Lifting just her eyes, she strained to see his face. "And now, perhaps, you shower?"

    Bob stooped a bit, positioning his face to better see hers. He spoke slow and with purpose. "And, that will be..." He paused. "While you do what?"

    Ma''amusa straightened her posture and returned to sucking her lips, a look of disappointment growing on her face.

    "Do you want me to leave?"

    A prolonged moment of silence followed Ma''amusa''s offer to leave as Bob pondered his options. On what was the strangest day of his life, the presumptious M¨¡ori woman he''d known for just one week wanted the right to roam through his house, unattended while he showered.

    Slowly, Ma''amusa bent at the knees, lowering herself to retrieve her coat from the floor. Looking small, she slipped into it and headed towards the door, hanging her head in shame.

    Bob forced her to stop by hooking a finger in the hood of her coat when she passed by. She shuddered, as if in fear, while he removed her coat, laying it on his bed. He then strode to be at her side and, with a firm hand on her elbow, led her into his bathroom.

    He made her sit on the lid of the toilet. Only then did she dare look at his face, and just for a glance. She lowered her gaze back to the floor, traveling the length of his body while inhaling every atom of his scent.

    The man she was intruding on spoke as if he were addressing a child. "You stay there, and you do not move."

    "Okay," Ma''amusa blurted, barely moving her lips.

    The tub in the bathroom had sliding glass doors for the shower. Bob bent low with his ass near her face while readying things for his use. When he turned to check on her, he caught her leaning forward, smelling his morning butt. Caught unaware, she reared back in alarm. Knowing what she''d been doing, he lolled his head with a smirk before gracing her with a smile.

    He tried to not sound condescending. "You need to get up."

    "Yes sir, Mr. Rohan," Ma''amusa said, deferential and polite. He took her by the shoulders and made her sidestep towards the door.

    He stammered while explaining. "Ahm... I have to pee."

    Pleading and begging returned to her eyes, as she dared staring into his blue ones. "Please, Mr. Rohan, if I may. Could we stay and watch?"

    Surrealism slapped reality in the face as Bob thought about his answer. "Sure," he said for some reason.

    Moving carefully, Ma''amusa closed in. She rose to her toes and peered over his shoulder as he positioned himself to urinate while standing. It wasn''t easy to pee with a cock that was mostly hard, but Bob was well-endowed, and blessed with a pecker that hung down, rather than one that stuck out.

    He had drunk a sizable amount of coffee, so he really had to go. She pressed close as his stream strengthened, and he leaned forward to accomodate her curiosity. He placed a hand on top of the toilet tank so he''d no longer have to hold his cock, giving her a more unobstructed view of the action. While pressing his other hand to the small of his back, he stretched to pop stiff joints and vertebrae.

    Ma''amusa took advantage of his posture to position herself so that his elbow, ever softly, pressed against her breast. Her breath quickened as he worked to release the last of the contents of his bladder. Upon completion, she reached around to tear off four squares of toilet paper from a roll that hung near his thigh. She folded it precisely in half, then folded it again, before using it to massage the last drops from the fleshy head of his pride.

    After dropping the paper into the toilet, she placed a hand above his groin, guiding him back to protect his penis while closing the lid. Finally, she flushed, then left to wash her hands.

    She assessed her victim''s mood by stealing a wary glance before speaking into the sink. "Thanks. That was nice."

    He gave her a hand towel to dry with, then placed her back on the lid of the toilet. He took the towel from her when she was done and laid it on the counter. Then to assess her mood, he held her face in both hands and gave her a full kiss.

    Ma''amusa brightened, as his act of kindness surprised her. They kissed again, polite and with manners.

    "Stay there," Bob ordered, keeping hold of her face. "Don''t move. Not an inch."

    She beamed, sitting straight and proud. "Yes sir, Mr. Rohan! We will!"

 Chapter TWENTY - The REQUEST

    After shaving while in the shower, Bob exited to find Ma''amusa exactly where he''d left her. The bathroom had grown steamy, as he''d taken longer than usual, to come to grips with the nature of the day. He plucked her off the toilet and guided her back to his bedroom, setting her on the bed where her coat lay.

    "It''s pretty damp in there," he said. "I don''t want you to sweat."

    Ma''amusa lips were pressed flat. She said nothing, merely nodding. Despite an honest effort, her gaze kept drifting back to the piece of meat dangling near her face. It smelled like cocoa butter and mangoes, and combined with the earthy scent of the bed, she began to swoon.

    "What?" Bob asked, confused, taking note of how she swayed while he dried his hair.

    Her hands rose from the bed. She flexed them lightly into fists and then slowly relaxed. After a languid breath, she used them both to grab the pelvis of the naked man standing before her.

    His penis was gone in a flash, its full length down her throat. She gagged and sputtered a little, but once her face found comfort in the warmth of his pubic hair, she sucked with all her might. Her hands grasped and clutched and squeezed, desperate and with purpose. She groped every part of him she could -- his glutes, his back, his balls -- rubbing him, massaging him, possessing him.

    After seconds that went on forever, she reluctantly released. She angled her head up and gurgled, swallowing spit and foam. With a determined gulp, she engulfed him again. His penis had grown harder, and greatly increased in length. She struggled to cram it in, working her head from side to side.

    At last, Bob''s cock disappeared. To aid Ma''amusa in her quest, he held her by the back of the head, rubbing her nose in his pubes. She struggled against him feebly, burbling and releasing spit that soon dripped from his balls.

    When she fought with greater fervor, he released her from his grasp. Without his monster in her mouth, she hung her head and rasped. A thin stream of mucus fell mercifully on the bath towel at her feet.

    He petted her hair kindly as she fought to breathe. "Good heavens," he said. "That was... amazing."

    Ma''amusa choked on spit while speaking. "Oh my God, it was. Oh God, you''re huge."

    "Thanks. No one''s ever done that before."

    She bent to retrieve the towel, using it to dry off his cock and balls while speaking to them with admiration. "No one''s ever... you know?"

    Bob smiled, amused by her confusion. "No one''s ever swallowed me up. Not like the way you did."

    Ma''amusa''s eyes rose from the treasure before her to its owner''s face. She smiled full and bright. "I''m happy we please you. You have no idea how much this means."

    He took the towel from her and perched beside her on the bed. Choosing his words carefully, he spoke into her eyes.

    "I don''t get it, really. Why are you here? This is... kind of... "

    Bob fumbled on his words, unsure of how to put things into context. Ma''amusa''s smile grew until her caramel lips had to part, showing perfect teeth.

    "I''m crazy," she said. "We admit it. I mean, we know it, and sometimes... Yeah. It scares me."

    Bob narrowed his eyes, looking quizzical. Ma''amusa winced in a humorous way.

    "I guess we''re really aggressive. You know?" she added while shrugging, not knowing what else to say.

    Bob''s eyes narrowed further. "Are you boarding with your husband?"

    "What makes you think we are?"

    "Well, first off, just that. You keep saying ''we'' all the time."

    Ma''amusa fiddled with the sheets on the edge of the bed where she sat. "It''s not an uncommon way to speak," she offered as an excuse.

    "Don''t mess with me, Mahui."

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    "Ma''amusa, please, Mr. Rohan. I want to be your heart of stone."

    He forced her gaze back on him by placing a hand upon the one of hers nearest him. "And there''s another reason. You say your name is Ma''amusa."

    She smiled crooked out the side of her mouth. "I like pet names. They''re fun."

    When I board with my wife, we have pet names too. She calls me Bob/Seas."

    "How original," Ma''amusa snarked.

    "And there''s Reason Number Three. That last crass comment aside, you''re being far too nice."

    She leaned in close, speaking breathless and sweet. "So if I were meaner, you might think me to be myself?"

    "You could try," he said, unconvinced.

    Playfully, and with a smile, she slapped him in the face.

    "Ow," he said, more from reflex than from pain. He touched the spot she struck. "What was that for?"

    She reached into the neckline of her blouse, rubbing a tender breast. "That''s for biting my boob, you bastard. It still really hurts."

    Bob smiled apologetically. "Oh. I guess I''m sorry. Seas kind of likes it rough."

    "Well we do not, Mr. Rohan."

    "You said ''we'' again."

    "I''m a sensitive girl," she continued, trying to deflect.

    "You''re also a liar if you don''t tell me where Makani is right now."

    Ma''amusa pursed her lips while still holding her tit, thinking about what to say.

    "He''s nearby. We have a nice van. He''s kicking back with Maggie, our therapist."

    "While you sit with me and board."

    Bob moved in with force, sitting close enough to press his hip to his guest. Her eyes widened as she inhaled deep, alarmed but under control.

    "Do not lie, Mahui. Or Makani or whoever you are."

    She begged. "Ma''amusa. Please Mr. Rohan, sir. La''u Ma''amusa for you."

    "And what does Makani like being called when you board?"

    She blinked, and finally confessed. "He is Ma''a Taua. My precious gem."

    Bob nodded while assessing her story. "And I suppose now, he''s my precious too."

    Ma''amusa expression showed so much contrition, that it looked for a moment she might grovel. "Please, Mr. Rohan. I''m begging. You mustn''t tell a soul."

    "You said you want my trust. You''re still failing miserably."

    "I know! I know! I''m sorry!"

    Her eyes darted as if seeking escape, or perhaps a place to hide. He put an understanding hand on her knee, but instead of calming her, it drove her further into panic.

    She stood up suddenly, as if to run, but sensing kindness, she tried to relax. "Mr. Rohan," she began, raking his nudity with her gaze. "Will you please help me with my coat?"

    "You don''t have to leave," he replied, complying nonetheless.

    "I know. But we''ll feel better if we have it on."

    He performed the task, fussing with the collar and hood to keep her in his clutches.

    "Could you please fix my hair?" she asked, seeking closeness from him as well.

    "I want the truth," he demanded, pressing her face to his chest while laying her hair out on her back.

    "Have you ever had sex with your mate while boarding?" Ma''amusa asked, keeping her face pressed to him.

    Bob stroked her hair, making scents escape. "Of course not. It''s impossible."

    She draped her arms around him, begging for a hug. He did not comply.

    "That''s right," she said. "It''s a shame. The worst part, I think."

    He said nothing, making her continue. "This morning I woke up a wreck. I actually couldn''t sleep."

    "Because of me?" he asked.

    Ma''amusa laughed sweet and sassy. "No sir. Not for that. Although if it were the reason, it would be nice. Today is an important day."

    She nestled her chin in the hair on his chest to look up at his eyes. "Do you know what I do for a living?" she quizzed.

    "Well. You attack men," he replied as a joke.

    "We do," she said, squeezing his butt. "But only you, Mr. Rohan, and I swear it to be true. I could eat you like candy."

    He scrunched down to kiss her forehead. "Mmm," he moaned in bliss. "You''re going to get that dreaded pecker trail on your skirt if this keeps up."

    "Oh, I don''t care," she blurted, nestling her face back in his bristly chest. "I''ll sit in the bathroom later and lick it all off."

    Bob laughed so hard, it made Ma''amusa''s ears hurt. Once done, she confessed further.

    "I''m a history professor. Ancient world history, to be precise. I''m seeking tenure at Concord University. What do you think about that?"

    "No kidding?" he asked, impressed, while kissing the top of her head.

    "Yes. It is no kidding. Today I''m giving a presentation on the Roman Army, and how they instilled uniformity across Europe and the Middle East. How, thanks to the way they behaved for over a thousand years, the world we live in is as it is today."

    "Hmm. Sounds interesting. I''d like to see it."

    "Ah!" Ma''amusa said as a gutteral response. "I knew it!" In her enthusiasm, she nearly climbed into his arms.

    "What is it? What did I say?"

    She pecked at every square inch of his face, plastering him with kisses. When done there, she worked on his neck, heading towards his chest.

    "Okay," she said as she pecked. "This is Ma''a Taua. When I saw La''u Ma''amusa struggle this morning with so much as putting on pants, I knew I had to get in her head, to see what was the matter."

    "And it was you!" Ma''amusa said, sounding more like herself. She released Bob and paced in small circles, working the air with her hands to help her think.

    "Okay. Okay," she repeated. "Here it is." She ran her words together. "I hate where we live. It''s a dump. But we can''t afford anything nicer. In fact, we have to move to Orlando and live in another dump because pre-season starts in a week and we can''t afford to rent two places.

    "I''m hoping... my Ma''a Taua is hoping, that is... we''re hoping he can get franchised when his rookie contract expires. It will be a big deal. Millions of dollars for sure."

    Ma''amusa grabbed Bob by the shoulders, placing her face an inch from his. The pleading and wanting and begging in her eyes never shone so bright.

    "But my chance for tenure is now. If I don''t stay here and pursue it, everything will be lost. Next year, maybe we can afford two places, but right now we can afford only one. And that place must be Orlando, so La''u Ma''a Taua can play football.

    "So please, Mr. Rohan. Please! Will you let me live with you?"

 Chapter TWENTY-ONE - The JEWELRY

    Bob again stood in silence, staring at his intruder while thinking about what to say. The look of exuberation on Ma''amusa''s face began to fade. Knowing it would be replaced by a look of failure, and when that happened she''d likely head for the door to leave, he gently took her by the hand and walked her out of his bedroom.

    He let go of her in the hallway. "Go back and get our coffee," he instructed. "We both need a refill."

    Ma''amusa did as she was told, and brought the empty mugs to the kitchen. She found Bob standing by the coffee maker, looking relaxed but under control.

    "Please, Mr. Rohan, if I may," she began, placing the mugs on the counter. "I do not need more coffee. I''m freaked out enough as it is."

    Bob gave a staccato laugh. "You''re freaked out? This thing is your idea."

    "Yeah. Well. Um." Her hands fluttered while she stammered. "Like we said. I scare me too."

    Bob poured another coffee for himself while shaking his head. He turned to find Ma''amusa digging in the fridge to find the coffee cream. She held the bottle in both hands, looking servile and meek. Upon realizing her intent, he stepped aside with grace, indicating she could finish preparing his coffee. She added a dollop of cream, then fished a packet of raw sugar from a pocket in her coat.

    "You know you''re still not fully dressed," he said to her back while she labored.

    She presented him with his coffee. "Oh? Really? And how so?"

    "You''re not wearing jewelry. When I see you at Benjamin''s, you always are."

    The look of doe-like innocence returned to her face. She stood before him with both hands stuffed in the pockets of her coat.

    "Do you ever wear clothes, Mr. Rohan?" she asked after a moment had passed.

    "Not if I don''t have to." He sipped at his coffee while standing tall. "But back to you. You''re not wearing jewelry."

    "What do you suggest?"

    Bob blinked. "I don''t understand."

    "You said you have noticed. What was I wearing when we first met?"

    Bob scowled. "You mean when you threw paint at me?"

    Ma''amusa lowered her gaze in embarrassment, looking at his feet. He stepped up and pushed on her shoulders to make her look at his face. She inhaled, taking in the cocoa butter and mango scent of his body, before making him release her by backing up.

    She rocked a bit on her heels with her hands again in her pockets. "You have to admit," she said with a laugh. "We had a lot of fun."

    "Because you missed me and got it on you."

    "Yes. Which was the funnest part. But do you remember what I wore?"

    "You had a necklace made of wooden beads. Various sizes and natural looking."

    She pulled the necklace from her pocket, presenting it in an open hand.

    "There was a bracelet too."

    She showed she had that as well. "They''re tagua and acai," she said of the beads. "They smell nice when you rub them together."

    Ma''amusa worked the beads in her hands, then held them up to Bob''s nose. The woodsy scent was unmistakeably her, bringing his thoughts back to their time in the manor, when he washed her feet.

    "And what about yesterday?" she quizzed. "Do you remember what I wore then?"

    "Square black beads made of stone, with a white elephant as a pendant."

    From her other pocket, she produced that necklace. "I feel your eyes upon me," she said while waiting for him to choose. "Like you, Mr. Rohan, we are also observant. Too observant, I suppose."

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    Bob chose the wooden necklace, then indicated with a demanding stare that he expected Ma''amusa to turn around and let him put it on her. She complied, lowering her head and holding her hair out of the way. He pulled down her coat a bit to expose her skin, then worked the barrel clasp and put the necklace on her. When finished, she gasped and shuddered, feeeling him plant a kiss on the nape of her neck.

    "Give me the bracelet," he said into her, holding his hand out where she could see it.

    Her heart beat fast while doing as he ordered, causing her to tremble. With both his hands in front of her, he fumbled with the bracelet''s clasp, his body pressed to her back and his chin resting on her shoulder.

    "Hold still," he demanded, causing her to tremble harder.

    "I feel your arousal," she offered as an excuse, sticking out her bum to better experience it.

    He kissed her on the neck again after he was finished, this time near her shoulder. "Mmm. I feel yours too," he said, biting where he had kissed her.

    She flew away and spun around, giving a resounding hiss. "Mr. Rohan. Please!" she implored, her dark eyes wide and bright. "Do not bite me anymore."

    Bob stood silent and stared, assessing her request. He took a sip of coffee, while she struggled with maintaining eye contact.

    "Why am I not suppose to tell anyone that you''re here?" he asked.

    "I beg your pardon, Sir?"

    "You said I mustn''t tell a soul."

    "You mustn''t tell that we''re boarding."

    "Oh," Bob said, slowly nodding. "So you''re more worried about that than the fact that you broke into my home."

    "We didn''t break in. The door was unlocked."

    As Bob nodded again, Ma''amusa took a breath to steady her jangled nerves. "We''re not using our brainboards in the way the contract allows." She pierced him with a stare "You do remember the contract you signed. Yes, Mr. Rohan?"

    He sounded unconcerned. "Yeah. There was a contract."

    She spoke as if reading a script. "Brainboards are to be used only at the behest of a licensed therapist, in an environment of their choosing, and under their control. We''re not doing that."

    "Neither is Tylene Gunn," Bob said, of his wife''s fashion designer friend.

    "We know. You are also not honoring the contract." Ma''amusa spoke in a friendly manner. "It''s not like we''re the only ones. People ignore the contract. But I am seeking tenure, and La''u Ma''a Taua is under another contract with his football team. We stand to lose everything if we''re caught not honoring the brainboard contract."

    "I see," Bob said, again nodding. "Yet you risk further trouble entering my home without permission."

    Ma''amusa swallowed hard. "It''s not like I''m just terrified of what you might do. I''m scared of everything."

    "So why do it?"

    "Mr. Rohan. When La''u Ma''a Taua saw in me how much I enjoyed time with you when we first met -- how you cared about me and took care of me -- it was like a door had opened. Did your mate feel it too?"

    Bob thought about his answer. "Not really. But we sensed it."

    Ma''amusa''s voice became husky. "Okay. This is La''u Ma''a Taua. An athlete''s life is structured, especially in team sport. Everything is pre-ordained -- what you eat, when you train, how you play."

    Ma''amusa brightened visibly. She spun around with her arms in the air. "But my life is a ferris wheel! It goes up and down and all around! Like a carousel! A parade!"

    As Ma''amusa laughed and sang to the ceiling, Bob could better see how she was able to admit to being crazy. She noticed his disapproval and improved her behavior. Still, her eyes were dilated, wild and excited.

    "And then I met you, Bob the Button Man. Oh my! What a treat!" She placed her hands on his shoulders. "We didn''t have sex when we met, but we could have."

    "Speak for yourself, my heart of stone. I''m committed to my marriage."

    "Oh, we could have. Do not lie! I mean, you made me cum! And I came today as well. You allowed me to do it!"

    Bob smirked, acquiescing for the moment. "You kind of had me by the balls."

    With her hands still on him, she shook him lightly for fun. "And you came a little too. I taste it in my mouth!"

    He gently removed himself from her clutches. "Okay. Okay," he said, calming her. "What''s your point?"

    Ma''amusa''s voice became husky again, speaking for her husband. "We can''t have sex when boarding. But my god! Do you know how it feels to cum when you''re a woman?"

    "Ah... no."

    "You go up and down and all around, over and over again. Guys can only cum so much, and most times only once."

    "Speak for yourself," Bob interjected, implying he could do so more often.

    Ma''amusa reared back at the realization. She approached to again lay her hands on his shoulders and attack with greater fervor, but he sidestepped to avoid it.

    She complimented him instead. "You are amazing, Mr. Rohan."

    "I have to be. I''m married to my Seas."

    Ma''amusa bowed, staring at the floor with her elbows tucked in. "Yes sir. I apologize. Of course you are. I am sorry."

    Bob huffed to clear the air. "You say you want to live here, at least until you get tenure. And my Seas is going to notice how much I like you the next time we board."

    Ma''amusa''s eyes shot up, filled with expectation.

    "Don''t take that as a yes," Bob scolded, pointing at her face.

    She cast her eyes back down. "Yes sir. We will not."

    "But either way, you have honored me with a secret I must keep." He paused to weigh his words. "I can''t guarantee that Cecilia will agree with what I''m about to show you, but we have a secret too."

    With his coffee in hand, he exited the kitchen. Upon realizing that Ma''amusa wasn''t following, he returned.

    "Come with me," he ordered.

    Ma''amusa skittered towards him, taking tiny steps with her eyes still cast down. He led her into the hallway, to stand beside a decorative panel. It stood floor to ceiling high, covered with a delicate art deco pattern of gold inlay, set on a muted brushed steel matte.

    "Sunset starfish nine-two-two," he said to its right hand side.

    A voice activated lock gave an audible click, proving the panel to be a pocket door. Bob slid it into the wall and walked through the opening.

 Chapter TWENTY-TWO - The ROOM

    Bob entered the room with ease, turning to assess the reaction of his guest. She stood in the doorway, gawking, as he strode up to a hi-fi stereo. Soon, light strains of Pachelbel''s Canon in D Major were floating on the air.

    "We have easy listening, too," Bob said, thumbing through the playlist. "Sade. George Strait."

    A refrigerated wine cooler with a see-through door sat beside a table lamp and leather recliner. He bent low to open the door.

    "I know it''s a little early, but a Bourgogne chardonnay might hit the spot." He searched the cooler''s contents. "Oh! I could make Mimosa!"

    He produced an already open bottle of cremant. Ma''amusa merely blinked, still frozen in the doorway. He presented her with the sparkling wine, then stood by her side to follow her gaze with his eyes.

    He found her staring at the wall opposite from the doorway. It was lined with crushed velvet, blood red and floor to ceiling high. Straps and chains hung from hooks, with cuffs and shackles lining shelves. Centered among them was an X-frame Saltire Cross, shiny black and prominent.

    "I don''t even know why we have that," Bob said of the cross with disgust. "We never use it. I guess it''s just for looks."

    He put the bottle of cremant on the table and approached a waist-high bed. "This is what Cecilia likes best," he said, placing his hand upon it.

    Ma''amusa''s mouth slowly opened. "Mr. Rohan," she managed to say.

    "You said you had a secret. That you break into mens'' homes."

    "Only you, Mr. Rohan. And I swear it to be true."

    He continued, unconcerned. "So now you know my secret. Our secret, as it belongs mostly to my wife."

    He fussed with a wrist shackle made of sturdy leather, double lined with rabbit fur. It was attached to a chrome chain, which itself was attached to an iron rod running the length of the bed.

    Bob spoke quietly to the shackle. "When I almost lost Cecilia -- when she thought of leaving me -- I nearly begged her on my knees to explain why."

    He reached across the bed and retrieved the other shackle, chained to the far side. "She refused," he said to it. "So I went to Benjamin and asked what was going on at these parties where she was spending her time."

    "And you never knew?" Ma''amusa asked.

    Bob''s glare nearly floored her. "No," he answered simply. "I didn''t. Or maybe I didn''t want to. So I went there one night to see the answer for myself. Benjamin let me enter the manor, but he wouldn''t let me in the trophy room, where Cecilia had been. He sent for her instead. She came out wearing a robe and nothing else. Said that she was modeling."

    Ma''amusa entered the room, for pity''s sake more than anything. "Oh my," she said, sounding like her husband.

    Bob nodded while playing with the shackles. He laid them gently on the bed.

    "Yeah," he said. "I know, I figured it out. But instead of leaving me -- or me kicking her out -- she said ''Let''s get boarded.'' It was a new thing then, as we''ve been brainboarding for over a year."

    He panned his hand over the room. "And she showed me this." He walked up to a padded table, with stirrups like those used for a gynecological exam. "This was our first toy," he said, patting a piston powered sex machine bolted to the table.

    With a timid finger, Ma''amusa gently flexed the fifteen inch rubber dildo attached to the toy. She looked at Bob with confusion.

    "Why are you showing me this?" she asked.

    "Well, like you sort of said, most people knew what Cecilia was doing in the trophy room."

    "It wasn''t just her," Ma''amusa remarked.

    Bob smiled. "Oh. I know." He tapped his head near his brainboard. "Remember. She showed me. She didn''t tell me. It was better that way, you know? Like, she was so in charge in that room, in the den of sin she created. Sitting high on her pedestal, modeling for that frieze. Like the monster being created, she ruled over the chaos that went on.

    "The carnage," Bob said to the sex table. "The ruin she was causing."

    "She had help," Ma''amusa said. "She had --"

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    "Dean," Bob said for her, so he didn''t have to hear someone say the name. "My wife showed me how, although she reigned supreme, the idea at first was his."

    As Ma''amusa examined the dildo strapped to the sex machine, Bob walked over to a shipping box the size of an ottoman.

    "And this is our newest toy," he said of the box. "It''s a Sybian."

    "A Sybian?" Ma''amusa repeated, the dildo firmly in her grasp.

    "It''s a toy that you ride. Like a pommel horse. I''ll strap Cecilia to this wall and make her sit on it until she passes out from ecstasy."

    "Mr. Rohan," Ma''amusa scolded.

    "No," he clarified. "It''s what she wants. In fact, I won''t have to do anything. She''ll probably chain herself to the wall, and fire the darn thing up. I could go to the kitchen and make coffee, and come back later to say hello."

    "Unless she''s unconscious," Ma''amusa pointed out.

    "Wouldn''t be the first time," Bob said with a grin. He then became animated. "But you see, here''s why I''m telling you this. Like we know, you can''t have sex with your mate while you''re boarding. It''s impossible. But women, when they have sex, can have unending orgasms. Up and down and all around, over and over and over."

    "Like a ferris wheel," Ma''amusa said, mounting the sex table. She threw the hem of her skirt over her chest, exposing her pantied butt to the dildo on the machine. "A parade," she added while placing her feet in the stirrups.

    "I''m good at being a Dom," Bob said of himself. "And Cecilia is a great sub. But I can''t experience what she feels when I''m working her. And having her express joy and gratitude when it''s over isn''t the same thing."

    He stood next to Ma''amusa as she lay in position on the table. He leaned in close to speak to her face, his brazen approach causing her to gasp.

    "But you could do it," he said. "You or Ma''a Taua can be my switch. I''ll sit in my chair and wear blinders, and experience what she feels."

    He stared at Ma''amusa unblinking, awaiting a reply. Her eyes grew wide and fearful, showing a range of emotions. After realizing she wouldn''t speak, he played with the sex machine now between her legs.

    "Cecilia would let you use this," he said of the machine. "I mean, we''d have to get you your own dildo, but yeah. You can use it. But I think you should consider this."

    He walked up to a pedestal made of sturdy wood, with a height of just over two feet. Its angled surface had a slight ledge, all of which was fully padded.

    "We don''t use this," he said. "It won''t support Cecilia''s weight, and she''s not athletic enough to make it work." He placed a hand on its padded surface and burned his intruder with a stare. "But you could make it work."

    Ma''amusa''s mouth hung open with her tongue protruding, frozen in a silent hiss. Bob retrieved a full face harness and electric piston from a shelf on the velvet wall, fitting the piston into a hole on the front side of the pedestal.

    He continued explaining how the station worked. "This is a blowjob machine," he said of the piston. He threaded the its electrical cord through the hole, then displayed the harness. "It has a ring gag you can use, but it''s pretty big. Two-and-a-half inches, at least."

    Centered on the harness was the gag ring, fully wrapped in leather to ease with insertion. "I don''t think we''d use the ring on you," Bob surmised. He plugged in the piston and turned it on. It slowly thrubbed, pumping with a range of twelve inches.

    "You''d do this willingly," he said with confidence, certain of Ma''amusa''s oral sex skill.

    He turned off the piston and continued explaining. "So you can kneel here and wear the harness, with your hands strapped to the base. Or we can go a step further."

    He produced a pair leg braces mounted on brackets. "With these you can be fully suspended. You balance your butt on the pedestal and put your legs in these braces, then have your hands tied to the ceiling."

    Ma''amusa''a gaze rose to a steel ring in the ceiling. "For complete submission, I tie your hands to the wall. Then you''d be bent over backwards, and fully exposed."

    From another shelf on the wall, Bob retrieved a hand-held device. Massive and two feet in length, it also drew power from a cord.

    He presented it to Ma''amusa. "We can use this if you assume that position."

    Standing behind her as she lay on the table, he presented the device. It had a handle long enough to reach between her legs, shiny black and curved like a claw. Its working end had a two-by-three inch pad made of soft vinyl, neon orange and ribbed for pleasure.

    "I press this button," he explained, "and it pounds away." He demonstrated a second feature -- two rollers, also made of ribbed vinyl, facing each other to form a pinch point. "This button turns these on," he said of the rollers. "They vibrate a bit, and the whole thing is heated, offering you a warm pleasure."

    He reached over her body and held the toy near her pantied pussy, exposed with her feet in the stirrups. "Would you like me to demonstrate further?" he asked.

    Ma''amusa''s whole body shook. Her lips had grown dry from her mouth hanging open, as she heaved a soft hiss at the toy.

    "Oh!" she exclaimed while shaking her head, indicating the answer was No. "My god," she then purred, indicating perhaps it was Yes.

    Bob put the toy aside. He ratcheted the dildo sex machine in place between Ma''amusa''s legs, using brutal force. Its enormous rubber dong hung an inch from her panties.

    "When I turn this on," he kindly explained, "it has a stroke of over a foot. I mean, it''ll shove you right off the table! But I can dial it down to a more manageable range of about nine or ten inches."

    "Nine inches?" Ma''amusa gasped, fearful of even that.

    Bob looked at his half-hard meat, hanging naked before her. "Well, yeah. I mean, that''s what I have. Ten if I get real excited."

    He worked a calibration lever on the machine, making her realize he was setting it to its highest range. "About sixteen inches here," he said of the stroke. He ratcheted the lever down to its lowest setting. "This is about eight." He then set the lever in the middle. "And here is me."

    He set the control for the machine near her head, where see could see it. "You press this button," he explained, gently touching it. "And boom boom boom! Off you go!"

    Unable to close her mouth, Ma''amusa began to pant. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the handholds on the table. Bob flipped the wrist clamps into place, showing how he could lock her in if he so desired.

    Her eyes grew wide as saucers. A concerto by Vivaldi played on the stereo, For Mandolin in C Major.

    "I need an answer," he said, close to her face.

    She breathed hard while forcing out words. "Mr. Rohan. Please." The scent of her pheromones filled the room. "I need another washcloth, if I may. And a new pair of panties, and a day-liner."

 Chapter TWENTY-THREE - The SECOND SHOW

    The day came for Bob''s second fashion show, amid fanfare and heightened press. Unlike his first show, this one involved other designers, instead of clothing having been created only by Tylene Gunn. All of them followed the same motif -- unshod men carrying shoes. ''It''s About the Feet'' was the show''s unofficial tagline, so popular that the programs handed out at the door sported the phrase on the front page.

    Cecilia dared to be in attendance, sitting with Makani at her side, and his wife Mahui seated at his other. Cecilia had wished to also sit with her best friend, Tylene, but it simply was not possible, for she was busy running the show. Since Cecilia was brainboarding with her husband, helping him walk the runway, she had to wear blinders most of the time so as to not cause confusion. They looked like everyday sunglasses, sporting neon pink frames with matching side shields, and lenses so dark that she couldn''t see even when in broad daylight.

    Since Tylene was unavailable, a better choice for Seas/Bob''s other seatmate was Maggie, the brainboard therapist the Rohans now shared almost exclusively with the Tuigamalas. "I really like your glasses," she told Seas/Bob, squeezing her/his hand to get their attention.

    Bob made his wife squeeze back. "Thank you very much! Benjamin made them for us, specifically for this show. He also said we could keep them afterwards if we want!"

    "Ben is a great friend," Makani added, leaning in to place his head near Seas/Bob''s ear. "He''ll do whatever you ask."

    Cecilia''s behavior was ebullient, as she bounced on her seat with joy. She wore a one-piece pantsuit, made to look like a separate shirt and slacks with the strategic placement of a faux cincher sewn in around its midsection. Its sleeves were long and fluted, ending at oversized cuffs that clung tight, with pants cuffs that ended in bells. The outfit was covered in swirls of pink, accented with browns and oranges as well, highlighting the crazy effect. The cincher looked to be sturdy plastic, colored a bright Spanish crimson, but it was in fact thick stretchy satin, with a brocaded tropical floral design of hot pink and black raspberry highlighting its front.

    Her/his nails were also painted hot pink, as they groped Makani''s lap for his hand. Now squeezing both his and Maggie''s, Seas squealed of her own accord. "I''m so excited! I swear, this is the best day of my life!" She turned her head towards Makani, acting as if she could she him. "I mean, my God! I''m the star of the show!"

    I''m the star of the show, Bob teased into his wife''s head.

    Shut up, Monkeypants, she teased back, or I''ll make you fall on your face.

    Will you come to my rescue if I do?

    Only if I can laugh at you once I find out you''re all right.

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    I''m excited too, Bob thought to himself, loud enough so Seas could sense it. Together, they squeezed Makani''s hand very tight.

    Seas stopped bouncing in her seat, and grew silent and still, expending more of her conscious effort to help her husband get dressed. Somewhere backstage in a dressing room, deep in the pandemonium going on, Steph assisted Bob with the outfit Benjamin had picked out earlier as his favorite. The giant green bloomers went on first, held up by suspenders that would be hidden once the asymetrical block-print shirt was put on over them.

    It was a simple outfit, much more so than the cutaway cullotes and pirate boot cuffs that Tylene had chosen for Bob to wear during the Grand Parade. But since ''simple'' and ''Tylene'' were not words often seen being used in the same sentence, Steph helped Bob put on an elaborate pair of leggings. With an inner silk and nylon layer the same color as his skin, they had sewn into their outer layer four huge bands of metallic fabric that glowed under the lights. The fabric of the bands was sturdy, with three of the bands sporting the same colors as those found in the print on the shirt -- lilac and white and red.

    The fourth band was pasture green, the same color as the bloomers. All four of them seemed to hover space, defying gravity as the nude hose supporting them blended into the background of Bob''s legs.

    "No grey socks for today''s show, hey Steph?" Bob/Seas teased as they put the leggings on.

    Steph had no apparent sense of humor, as all he did in response was pause for a moment to blink. "No," he said to Bob/Seas'' legs as he labored with the outfit. "Everyone''s barefoot today."

    He rose up after he was done to give Bob/Seas some last minute modelling instructions. "Okay. So you want to stomp your feet hard as you walk downstage. Make those bands really jiggle!"

    Seas had Bob do a dance of joy, causing the bands to bounce like crazy. "Careful!" Steph scolded gently. "You''ll knock the fool things off. And here are your shoes."

    Steph left to fetch a pair of simple shoes. They looked like calf-length male ballerina flats, meant to be laced up high. He balled half of the shoes'' long laces into his hand, making a fat knot. Once done, he stuck the fingers of Bob/Seas left hand through the spaces between the laces.

    Seas had Bob put on a pout. "Well, those don''t seem very fancy," he/she griped about the flats.

    Steph showcased a rare smile. "Ah! But watch!" he said, putting his fingers into one of the shoes.

    Inside each of them was an electrical switch that, once thrown, made the flats light up. Bands of L.E.D.s the same colors as those around the nude stockings on Bob''s legs travelled up and down the shoes, putting on a show.

    "Wow!" Bob/Seas exclaimed in surprise. "Those are cool!" To Steph''s continued smile he/she asked, "Did Ch¨¦ make these?"

    Steph put a friendly hand upon Bob/Seas'' shoulder. "Darling, these days Ch¨¦ is making all the shoes you wear." He leaned in close to speak in confidence, even though they were the only people in the cramped room. "I hear she and Tylene are in talks to have a pair of Ch¨¦ shoes on your feet with every Ty Gunn outfit you wear."

    "Or have slung over my shoulder!" Bob/Seas added, swinging the electric flats in broad arcs.

    "Now stomp those feet and swing those shoes like you''re the king of the world!"

    Steph had Bob/Seas take a few practice steps in the small space of the room. "Un-uh," he clucked. "No no no. Not so hard. You''re making it look comical. Swing like a king, darling! Not a clown!"

    Seas had Bob put a serious look on his face as he strode up to Steph with menace.

    "Oh that''s it!" Steph enthused. "You''re giving me the shivers!"

    Out in the audience, Seas in her pink blinders squeezed the hands of Makani and Maggie so hard it almost hurt all three of them.

    "Oh!" she/he exclaimed. "I''m having so much fun!"