Fantasy Sex Culture in the 23rd Century

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Initial Entry​

Fredrik was excited to begin his first day at work, but also nervous. His Manipulator dressed him in a tight blue shirt and equally tight blue pants. He felt something spray on his face and suddenly his tension faded, and everything felt good. Really good.

"What was that?" said Fredrik, smiling.

"A little bit of Weed to start your day right," said Ted. "The Community just keeps making life better and better."

"Uh huh," said Fredrik. Fredrik, in a slightly dreamlike state, went to eliminate. He was pleased when he landed two large whoppers right on the ole' American flag. He was elated to score a 95 both for weight and size of his fecal dump. He only got an 87 for shape, though. Oh well, there would always be more chances to try and do better!

He found the others smiling at breakfast. Everyone seemed happy and relaxed before their first day of work. There was something about this place that simply drained the tension from you.

He kissed Laura good morning, and was pleased to find Manu and Rowenka in similar spirits.

"I was all tense last night, but I'm eager to start work now," said Fredrik.

"Uh huh," said Laura, smiling, a bit dreamily. Everything was fine. Better than fine. Everything was great!

At the conclusion of breakfast, guides appeared to take them to their places of work. Fredrik's guide, by sheer lack of coincidence was none other than Janet Taco Bell. She wanted one last opportunity to be alone with Fredrik, however briefly, before Fredrik's trainer got her hooks into him. She relished the prospect of being with Fredrik "After", but also feared the process would strip away some of the qualities that made him so endearing "Before".

"I'll see yew later, hon," said Fredrik, giving Laura a kiss.

"Don't build any skyscrapers today without letting me knauw," said Rowenka, laughing in Manu's arms.

It was such a fine day. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Janet Taco Bell led Fredrik onto public transport, one of many squat hover vehicles that plied the city. "It feels so good to ride on Community transport, doesn't it?" said Janet.

"What do you mean?"

"We're riding together, with others. We have a shared sense of togetherness in transport," said Janet. What appeared to be the imprint of a penis head stuck out between her legs. Fredrik tried not to look at it.

"What do you mean?" Fredrik asked, as he tried to look into her eyes.

"In old times, each person had their own transports. They were incredibly wasteful and destructive to the environment. But by using Community transport, we pool our resources and show respect to Mama Gaia," said Janet.

"Uh huh," said Fredrik.

"Even these seats," said Janet.

"What about them?"

"Just imagine all the hundreds or even thousands of people who have sat in them over the past year," she said, grinning as she rubbed her bottom against it, as if she could capture some of the flavor. Her chikdik seemed to stick out even further.

"What about them?" Fredrik asked again.

"Well, all those people have sat in your seat, and now you are. It gives you a feeling of Connection, using public transport, doesn't it?" She smiled slyly and rubbed Fredrik's arm. It felt good. She suddenly felt herself get a pang of jealousy. Why did Madeline always get all the good ones?

Janet and Fredrik got off the public transport a few minutes later and entered the tall building housing the Department of Propaganda and Disinformation. They got on the lift and Janet took him to the Office of Subversive Communications and Misdirection. They entered a large workspace filled with journalists. Janet seemed to know them.

"Obama!' She said, to a passing man.

An extremely handsome and virtuous young black man stopped in his tracks. "Hi, how are you, I'm fine!"

"Hi, how are you, I'm fine!" said Janet. She turned to Fredrik. "Fredrik, this is Obama Yahoo, one of the finest journalists in the Office of Misdirection. Obama, this is Fredrik Diem, recently rescued from a savage island and brought to civilization."

Fredrik didn't know if he quite liked that description, but everything was happening so quickly.

"It's nice to meet you," said Obama, showing beautiful white teeth as he smiled.

"Fredrik is going to be working in your office. I was wondering if you could take him to see the Director."

"Certainly. This way, Fredrik," said Obama.

"Thanks," said Fredrik, suddenly feeling a little anxious in this new environment. "Will I see yew again?" he asked Janet.

She hugged him. "Oh, you can be sure of that," she said, in a way that sent a chill down his spine. "Be seeing you, Fredrik," she said, as she left.

"Lovely, isn't she?" said Obama, looking after her wistfully. "She and I Connected a few years ago, at a lecture on increasing sensuality in the workplace sponsored by the Division of Sexual Integration in the Department of Workplace Copulation. She was very orgasmic."

"Uh, yeah," said Fredrik, not exactly sure what he was hearing. Did Obama just say that he had had sex with Janet Taco Bell?

"Of course, now that I'm with Michael, my time for Connections is severely limited," said Obama, walking Fredrik through the workspace. "We're trying to have a baby," he confided.

"Really?" said Fredrik, wondering how that could be done.

"Yes. But Michael wants me to do all the work. He says I have better hips for child bearing. But I think he's just being lazy," said Obama. "Ah, here we are."

Obama took him into a large office.

Henry Bank of America was the Director of the Office of Subversive Communications and Misdirection. He had been thoroughly briefed on who Fredrik was and why he had been assigned to this area, of course. He felt flattered, but also a little nervous to be involved in an operation that was being so closely monitored by the First Deputy Assistant Controller of Northern California.

"Hi, how are you? I'm fine," said Henry Bank of America. "Please sit, sit. I've heard good things about you."

"You have?"

"You're quite a journalist in New Cal, I'm led to understand," said Henry.

"Let me guess. From my SleepTalk interview."

"I watched your interview. You were very coherent, for an unconscious man. I admire a man who has such an orderly unconscious," said Henry.

"Thank you. I think."

Henry smiled. "Do you understand what we do here?"

"Kind of. You're journalists, but in a Department called Propaganda and Disinformation," said Fredrik. "But aren't journalists supposed to tell the truth?"

"The truth? The truth?" Henry started to laugh. Actually, he laughed so hard he had to put a Weed mask over his face and breathe deeply, before calming down.

"Ah, that was good, thank you. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time!" said Henry Bank of America. "Truth? Truth? What is truth? Let me ask you a question, Fredrik. Kamala Google is the Controller of OrgyFree. She reduces the operating deficit from forty million Malcolm X dollars a year to thirty million Malcolm X dollars a year. Do you write a positive story, because the Controller has reduced the deficit, or do you write a negative story, since she's still running a large deficit?"

"I suppose yew should present the facts to the reader and let him decide," said Fredrik slowly.

Henry Bank of America laughed again. "You're a funny one! No, citizens have no idea what to think. If you let them form their own uneducated opinions, you'll have all kinds of dissension. We have a saying here, Fredrik. 'Knowledge is a burden for others'. Only the most intelligent group of minds in the Community can have an opinion on such things. That's why we're the department of Propaganda and Misinformation. Our job is to present the proper perspective."

"So what is the answer to the question yew posed?" Fredrik asked. "Do yew report running a 30 million dollar deficit as a positive development, or a negative one?"

"The answer has nothing to do with the facts, and everything to do with the identity of Kamala Google. Is she someone with a large number of virtue points? Are his policies Community-minded? If so, then a 30 million deficit is a wonderful achievement."

And then his voice lowered. "But, suppose the Controller has an unusually low reservoir of virtue points, and say she has fallen out of favor with the best and brightest minds in the Community. Well, then, that's another story. That deficit would be a resounding failure."

"So yew decide what to write based on the identity of the person, not what they do?"

"Now you're starting to understand!" Henry Bank of America grinned. "Now, come, let me introduce you to the staff."

They walked back to the open workspace. "We've a small staff here, in the office of Extreme Progress and Misdirection. I'm hoping that in the next ten year plan we can get some more resources, at the expense of the Department of Opinionizing Facts and Factualizing Opinions, bureaucratic rivals of ours." They reached a desk where Obama Yahoo was working.

"You've already met Obama Yahoo. Obama is our finest journalist specializing in racial identity pieces."

"Racial identity pieces?"

"Yes, he writes profiles of prominent citizens with genetic backgrounds we want to highlight. What are you working on now, Obama?"

"A story about what it's like to work in the Department of Unfounded Statistics if you're an East Arabian man under the age of 40," said Obama. "Also, a profile on the very first Japanese American woman with green eyes to get a slot on the Interagency Committee on Committees. It's history in the making! And of course, the Blonde South American Big Breasted Women's Olympics is starting next week, so I'm up to my neck in work."

"Why do yew write stories based on people's ethnic backgrounds?" Fredrik asked. "Why should any of that mattar?"

"We're all exclusive until we're all inclusive," said Obama.

"Well said," said Henry. "Remember, we all celebrate diversity, because we're all the same."

They smiled at each other, and then, as Obama turned back to his holographic keyboard, Henry took Fredrik to the desk of another journalist, a dark haired young man. "Fredrik, this is Noah Socialist Clam Chowder. Noah writes about class issues and matters of equality."

"I thought everyone was equal here?" said Fredrik.

"The struggle for equality is never over," Noah Socialist Clam Chowder declared. "Did you know that the top salaries in OrgyFree are nearly 15% higher than the lowest ones? It's classism! The rich are greedy and hoard their money. They want to keep the extra money they make for themselves! How selfish is that? They care nothing for the needs of the Community. I write advocacy journalism to expose their hypocrisy."

"And a good job you do too," said Henry. He took Fredrik over to a separate office, where a blonde woman in her 40's was sitting typing on a holographic keyboard. "Fredrik, let me introduce you to one of our editors, Diana Class Struggle Enema. You'll be working a lot with her. Diana specializes in covering social inequalities."

"So you're the savage," said Diana bluntly. Fredrik blinked. This was the first rude person he had encountered.

"Fredrik is going to be working with you, Diana."

"So I've been told," she said, obviously not looking delighted.

"It's nice to meet yew," said Fredrik formally.

"Yes, I'm sure it is," said Diana.

Henry led Fredrik away and whispered. "Don't worry. She starts out a little cold, but once you get to know her, she'll literally melt in your hands."

"So Ay'm to work with her?" Fredrik asked.

"At times. Actually, your first assignment is to work with another executive in a different department. Her name is Madeline Toxophilia."

"Toxo whot?"

"Toxophilia," Henry lowered his voice again. "She's a very senior Community official. Frankly I'm not sure what she wants with you. We don't usually work with someone so senior in the Community hierarchy."

"What do yew mean?"

"She's the Second Deputy Assistant Director of Propaganda and Disinformation for the entire North America District," said Henry. "She's so senior, that our office, which strictly deals with OrgyFree, has very little contact with her. But I can assure, you, she's nice. Very nice. Just take the lift up to the top floor."

Fredrik suddenly felt some apprehension. Henry saw it. He took a pill out of his pocket. "Weed?"

"Weed?" Fredrik knew what it was, but wasn't sure if he wanted any.

"If you feel the need, have some Weed," said Henry, handing him the pill.

"Thanks," said Fredrik, swallowing it. Immediately he felt more mellow again. But even as he mellowed, he felt a bit startled. Fredrik had never taken narcotics before. What had caused him to do this so easily? It's like he had become a stranger to himself.

Fredrik took the lift to the top floor. There was a very fancy waiting area where a voice (Ted?) took his name. He waited several minutes. Finally he was called into an office.

The office was huge, occupying an area about four or five times that of Henry Bank of America's office space, and it was very elegantly decorated.

There was a woman behind the desk, looking at a holographic display in front of her. "Come," she said, not looking up. Fredrik would always remember that that was the very first word she said to him.

Fredrik cautiously entered the large office space, aware of the sound of his footsteps in this silent, elegant office.

"Sit," said the woman, still not looking up.

Fredrik sat. The first thing he noticed were her legs. They were crossed, and she was wearing sheer pantyhose. This was the first and only woman he had seen in OrgyFree who wore pantyhose. Somehow Fredrik got the notion that pantyhose was outdated, but evidently not for this woman. Fredrik looked up at her shirt. It was bold satin black. Her hair was wavy brown. Her face was not immediately visible. Fredrik found himself staring, again, at her long, shapely legs.

The woman looked up, too quickly for Fredrik to change his glance. She smiled as she recognized what he had been staring at, and smiled again as she knew that he knew that she knew.

"Hi, how are you, I'm fine," said the woman, extending a slender hand. "I'm Madeline Toxophilia."

Fredrik, stammering, reached forward and shook her petite hand. Her hand felt warm against his, but it was her face he was staring at. Madeline looked to be in her early 40's, but had lost none of her feminine charm. She had gorgeous red lips, high cheekbones, and dark, mysterious eyes. Her hair was combed over her forehead with cute bangs that made her look ten years younger. When she smiled, and it was often, she almost never showed teeth, only the hint of a smile, which made it all the more sexier.

Fredrik sat down, aware his face was reddening, for reasons he wasn't quite so sure of. Suddenly he noticed her figure. At first it was the shininess of her very tight black satin shirt that caught his eye. But then his attention was captivated by what was underneath it. Madeline had large, pouting, slightly sagging breasts, which was certainly normal for a woman her age. Fredrik had never found such a thing attractive in the past, but for some reason now he had to muster all his will power simply not to stare at them.

"So," said Madeline, giving a hint of a smile, as if she were aware of his inner battle.

"Yes," said Fredrik, looking up. Keep your eyes on her face, her face.

"You're the..."

"Savage," said Fredrik, wondering why he said that.

Madeline raised her delicate eyebrows. She got up, gracefully, and walked around the desk. Fredrik saw she was wearing black high heels and she clicked as she walked. She was wearing a long black skirt which hugged her hips and thighs tightly as she leaned back against the desk, right next to his chair.

"Savage was not the word I was going to use," said Madeline. "Actually, I was going more towards handsome."

Fredrik reddened again at being called handsome. Why was his body reacting this way? It was like he had never talked to a woman before. Or rather, not a real one.

"So, you're the handsome young man from New Caledonia," said Madeline. And the way she said 'handsome' the second time, she made it clear she was teasing him.

"And I hear you're quite a writer," Madeline added.

"Well, I, ah..." Fredrik's mouth had suddenly turned to mush.

"And that you're looking for a big story. I believe you call it a... scoop, do you not?" Madeline smiled again. She sure smiled a lot!

Fredrik could only nod.

"Well, do I have a story for you," said Madeline, speaking archaically, perhaps for his benefit. "The Community is planning to rebuild what used to be called Houston, Texas."

"Houston?" Fredrik had vaguely heard the name, from history class. "What happened to Houston?"

"It was destroyed in the Progressive Social Justice Movement of 2123," said Madeline. "It was one of the last bastions of the capitalists. It was found to be totally irredeemable. The Community decided that the most progressive way to proceed was to detonate a peaceful nuclear device inside of city limits."

"A nucular weapin?" Fredrik had never heard of a nuke being detonated in the USA!

"A small one," Madeline said. "Our scientists devised an environmentally sensitive nuclear warhead, one that wouldn't harm birds or trees or animals."

"Only people?"

"It was very clean," Madeline smiled reassuringly.

Fredrik wasn't sure he believed this. How could there be such a thing as nuclear weapons that killed people but not animals? Then he remembered the name of the department he now worked for. The Department of Misinformation.

"So now there's a meeting involving some of the most senior Community members in the country regarding the rebuilding of Houston. Only top officials will be there," said Madeline. "And you."

"And me?" said Fredrik doubtfully.

Madeline smiled, and nodded.

It was as Madeline said. Some of the most senior officials in the Community were there. There was Julius Royal Dutch Shell, the Deputy Chairman of the North Middle Americas Central Planning Board. Also attending was Yasmin Diversity Stiletto, the Vice Chairwoman of the Committee on Ethnic and Gender Balance in Construction Zones. Another powerful attendee was Alejandro Ibuprofin, who was simultaneously a senior member of the Committee on Planning Committees, as well as the Director of the Office of Contrived Statistics. They and other of the most senior Community officials spent hours discussing holographic plans to redevelop Houston, talking about the need for Community Housing, Community Social Service Buildings, Community Recreation Areas, Community Economic Centers, and everything else a Community needs.

Madeline had a chair at the table too, but she didn't talk much, and her role in the meeting was unclear. Every so often she would cast a glance at Fredrik, who was sitting as silent as a mouse in a corner of the room, rapidly taking notes on a datapad. Whenever she would see him looking at her, she would smile, and cross and uncross her elegant legs playfully.

After the meeting was done, Fredrik returned to the office space and started writing his article. Noah Socialist Clam Chowder looked over at his screen. "You were with who, and where?"

Fredrik told him.

"I can't believe it," said Noah.

"Why not?" said Fredrik.

"Some of us have been working in the field for years and years, and we never get to cover stories like this. You were with Madeline Toxophilia? We've all heard about her, but never gotten a chance to meet her. What's her interest in you?" Noah asked.

"I don't knauw," said Fredrik, continuing to type on his holographic keyboard.

"You have some very virtuous friends," said Noah Socialist Clam Chowder admiringly.

When Fredrik was done writing, he went back to the top floor, to show his article to Madeline as he had been bidden.

He sat silently while she read it, watching her feet, still in high heel shoes, play around under her desk, and wondered what it might be like to rub them. After a while, Fredrik looked up at her large breasts, which seems to sag a little under her tight satin shirt. Again, he felt this inexplicable feeling of attraction, to a body type he had never felt this kind of interest in before. But he couldn't take his eyes off those marvelous breasts! Unfortunately, Madeline chose that moment to look up and saw what he was looking at. She always seemed to know when to catch him in the act!

But Madeleine only smiled with those luscious red lips. "Very good," she said. "Very good indeed. I've made a few minor corrections, but this will go out on the newsfeed tonight. By dinner, you'll be famous."

That was it? His article has been approved? That was easy! Too easy?

"Thank yew! Oh, thank yew!" said Fredrik.

"Thank you," said Madeline, and those bright, plush red lips smiled at him. Then she said the four most disappointing words of the day. "You may go now."

The Global Consciousness Women's Painting Collective was located in the Susan G. Noman Building on Amelia Earhart Way. Laura's guide, a very friendly woman named Michaela Iberian Quiche, led her into a series of artist studios.

"Laura, I'd like to introduce you to the Director of The Global Consciousness Women's Painting Collective 12-B. This is Maria Group Hug. Hi, how are you, I'm fine!"

"Hi, how are you, I'm fine," said a smiling, slightly overweight woman. "And you must be Laura."

"Hi, how are yew, Ay'm fine," said Laura obediently.

"So nice to hear that," said Maria Group Hug. She seemed like a friendly fat lady. "I understand you're quite a talented artist."

Laura found herself blushing. "I'm an amatarr, really."

Maria put a pudgy arm around her. "But where do virtuosos initially come from, if not the ranks of amateurs? Come, come, let me introduce you to our little colony."

"Be seeing you," said Michaela, giving Laura some kind of salute with curved fingers.

"And yew," said Laura.

Maria took her around. Artists were working with things that looked like wands, not paintbrushes. And they were painting not on canvases, but on the air, on holographic canvasses. It all had a very futuristic look to it. Everyone seemed to be doing some kind of abstract art project.

"Laura, this is Amber," said Maria.

"Hiiiiii," said Amber, smiling dreamily at them.

"Hello," said Laura.

Amber had a tray full of pills by her side, and a Weed mask. She took a deep breath from it, and then turned back to them. "So... nice... to.... meeeet you," she said. She shook Laura's hand. She had very sweaty palms. Laura self consciously wiped her hand on her ass when no one was looking.

"Amber is one of our foremost Weed artists," said Maria.

"She paints... Weed?" said Laura, trying to make sense of the abstract shapes on the virtual canvas.

"No, she's on it," said Maria. "Some of our artists do their best work when they are high on Weed. Amber was high on Weed for a record 22 days while she painted a collage for the Reconditioning Center at the University of Repurposed Paradigms."

"Oh, that's... impressive," said Laura, not sure what to say.

The tour continued. "And over here we have Emma Meat Patty."

Emma Meat Patty did not turn to face them, but kept painting.

"Emma, we have a new artist in residence."

"That's nice," said Emma.

"Emma, wouldn't you like to say hello?"

Emma turned. "Oh. You're that one. We were told about you. Welcome." And she turned back to her painting.

As they walked on Maria said, "Emma is a bit high strung. She's quite brilliant, though."

Mary took Laura to meet another artist. "And here we have Benji Best Buy." She introduced Laura to a handsome young man in his 20's, wearing a pink dress. "Benji is our token man. We are in the process of teaching him what femininity is all about."

"Hi, hello, how are you," said the man in a very soft voice, not meeting her gaze. He seemed shy.

They walked on. "And last but not least is perhaps our most brilliant artist," said Maria, taking her inside an enclosed studio, separated from the others.

The artist in residence, with her back to them, said, "You flatter me, Maria." Then she turned around, and faced Laura.

"Hi, hello, how are you? I'm Mary Elizabeth Coca Cola," she said, extending a hand. Mary Elizabeth looked to be only a few years older than Laura, perhaps closer to 30 years of age, but she had an air about her as if she were emotionally much more mature than her calendar age. Any man would have found her gorgeous. She had long, straight brown hair, bright red lips, and piercing green eyes. Those eyes stared into Laura, and she suddenly felt breathless, as if she had just run a marathon. Suddenly, she felt both nervous and excited.

Laura reached out and tentatively shook Mary Elizabeth's hand, and felt a tremor inside of herself. "Nice to meet yew," she managed to whisper.

"Laura's going to be painting with us," said Maria.

"So I've heard," said Mary Elizabeth, giving a small smile, as if she had heard much more than that. Laura involuntarily shivered.

"I was going to assign Emma to be her mentor, unless you want to," said Maria.

Emma, the snobby one.

Mary Elizabeth looked at the play of emotions going across Laura's face. "Well, if Laura wants Emma to be her mentor, that's fine."

Laura found herself speaking quickly. "Emma looks really... busy. I don't want to be a burden on her."

"Would Laura be a burden to you, Mary Elizabeth?" Maria asked.

Mary Elizabeth studied Laura for a long moment, as if she were considering the question. Her eyes seemed to sparkle and flirt with Laura. Laura shifted nervously. Then Mary Elizabeth smiled. "No, I don't think she would."

"Would that be all right with you, Laura? If Mary Elizabeth was your mentor? You can always request someone else, if you're unhappy," said Maria.

"No, no, she'll be fine, really," said Laura, a little too quickly, a little too enthusiastically, she feared.

"Good," said Maria. "Then I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Be seeing you."

Suddenly, Laura found herself alone with Mary Elizabeth. Mary Elizabeth smiled at her with those sparkling green eyes. Laura found herself in desperate need to fill the silence. She had been so awed by Mary Elizabeth's face that she hadn't bothered looking anywhere else. Suddenly, she noticed that Mary Elizabeth's artwork was different from the others. Her specialty wasn't abstract art. It was nudes.

Women's nudes.

And Mary Elizabeth actually used canvases, unlike the others, and also used paints. Real paints. Mary Elizabeth's white shirt was splattered in different colors. Through the stain patterns Laura suddenly noticed Mary Elizabeth's large, firm breasts.

Mary Elizabeth looked at Laura's gaze. "You noticed," she smiled.

"Noticed what?" said Laura.

"They're real," said Mary Elizabeth, and for a moment Laura wasn't exactly sure what Mary Elizabeth was referring to. "I've always been a bit old fashioned. Using real paints. The Community accepts it, prizing diversity of all forms. We're all exclusive until we're all inclusive."

"That's true... yes," Laura babbled. Why was she feeling so excited? She had met women before, and had never reacted like she had to Mary Elizabeth.

"Let's get you set up."

Mary Elizabeth took Laura to what was to be her own work area, in the open workspace housing the other artists. To Laura's disappointment, there were no paints, only an electric brush.

Laura picked up a wand-like device which was presumably the brush. "I don't know how...."

Mary Elizabeth smiled and said, "Canvas." A holographic canvas appeared in the air. "May I?" she asked.

May you what? Laura didn't know... but it didn't matter. "Yes, please," said Laura, not sure what she was agreeing to, but that didn't matter either.

Mary Elizabeth took Laura's hand, gently. As she did so, she looked deeply into Laura's eyes for a moment, as if this were something special, the first time they had touched.

Then Mary Elizabeth turned her attention to the virtual canvas, and directed Laura's hand. "Like this." A black line started to appear. Mary Elizabeth moved Laura's hand gracefully, and a second black line appeared.

"What if I want to change the size or color of the line I'm drawing?" said Laura.

"Green half inch," said Mary Elizabeth, smiling at her. The wand drew that color, under her guiding hand. Then, "Magenta quarter inch, 50%", and the brush drew magenta, but a softer line. Then she said, "Eraser". And she waved the wand over a line, erasing it.

"You can't do that with a real painting, of course," said Mary Elizabeth. "But I still prefer my paints. The tactile sensation of paints on canvas, the smells of the pigments... it can be... intoxicating," she said, looking closely at Laura.

"Yes," Laura breathed, her small Asian breasts momentarily heaving.

"I'll leave you to it, then," said Mary Elizabeth. "Let me know when you create your first masterpiece." She casually walked away, and Laura watched her backside sway as she went.

When Mary Elizabeth left, Laura discovered that she had been perspiring. What was going on here? Mary Elizabeth was a very nice lady, but Laura couldn't be attracted to her. Laura had never been attracted to women. Ever.

She must simply be nervous and confused by her new environment. She set herself down and started to paint.

After a few hours, Laura went to a lunch break with the other artists. But to her disappointment, Mary Elizabeth was not there. After lunch, Laura returned to work. She pushed all thoughts of Mary Elizabeth out of her mind and focused on a scene she remembered, a beautiful stand of trees on Grimault Island. It had been last spring, when she and Fredrik had taken a canoe and gone out there with a picnic lunch. After enjoying the lunch, the inevitable happened, and after that, she remembered lying in his arms, watching the trees.

She painted with determination and vigor, and by late afternoon was done. Laura was always a very quick painter. When she had an image in her mind, she got to it and put it on canvas. The look of it as a hologram didn't do a real painting justice, but in her mind it was as close as she could have come to the real thing.

Exhausted, she went over to Mary Elizabeth's studio. Mary Elizabeth was working on another nude, a black woman with green eyes, sharp shoulders, and very pointed breasts. All her nudes were female, Laura noted, looking at the ones hanging on the walls in Mary Elizabeth's studio. The subjects in the paintings seemed eager, energetic, and vivacious. Like Mary Elizabeth herself.​