Being in a constant state of high awareness and ready to spring into action in a split second was taking its toll on Callie. Constantly turning, scanning the trees visually, trying not to be too regular in her scan, too predictable. Amazing how noisy a woods can be. She considered herself lucky that it wasn't a windy day.

A glance at her watch told her that it was past noon and she had been in the clearing for over an hour and a half. She had been sure that Amanda would have found her by now.

Probably she had. Probably Amanda was watching her right now, concealed behind trees. Callie felt Amanda's presence, sensed her hunger, but that alone wasn't necessarily a reliable clue to the nearness of the huntress, for Amanda had such a powerful presence and her hunger was so strong. At times, the presence and the hunger seemed to surge briefly, and Callie was sure she could identify the direction from which it came, which was generally to the south. Callie had tried to concentrate in order to narrow the direction of the source of the energies, but it seemed that Amanda was all around her, except for those momentary surges.

Callie was sure that Amanda was just biding her time, waiting for her to relax, assume an easy posture, maybe even sit. Amanda could take it easy, be casual, remain rested for the right moment, but Callie couldn't drop her guard at all.

She's got me surrounded, Callie thought. If I could just home in on the vibes I'm feeling. Check the time again. Been here an hour and forty minutes now. Time flies when you're having fun.

The surges all come from the south, southwest, southeast. In fact, the longer I think about it, even the general feeling seems stronger in the south.

Concentrate. Zero in. South. Southwest. West by southwest.

Just where, exactly?

Focus.

Too much visual information. Feel.

Callie shut her eyes for a split second, only a long blink, really.

There! Right there!

It happened the instant she opened her eyes.

Movement. A rustling - about ten degrees left of where she located the energy.

Her eyes tracked to the movement, but intuition snapped them back to the right.

Yes.

Ruse!

Thrown rock for distraction.

Stripes in motion.

Amanda charging, swinging bola overhead.

Callie caught the timing of the swing.

When the tethered rocks were at point the of their orbit nearest her, she took off.

Run!

Make Amanda release the bola on the next full swing.

Ten yards to trees.

And full swing ends - NOW!

Callie thrust her two pointed sticks into the ground behind her.

Five yards to trees.

Thwap! Crack!

Bola caught by sticks.

Tree line.

Not home free.

Keep going. Distance. Distance.

Amanda won't stop to disentangle the bola. She can return, retrieve later.

Keep going. Don't look back.

Go! Run! Outdistance that muscle woman!

Thick trees. Into them.

Dodge. Swerve. In. Out. Dart. Dash.

Her breath on my neck?????

No, that's her hunger I feel.

Tiger on my tail!

Where's my cheering throng? Oh, here they are, in my head! Always be with me.

"Go, Callie, go! Go, Callie, go!"

"Atta girl, Callie! Bring it home! All the way! All the way!"

"Go, Callie, go!"

Callie didn't stop running full speed until she had covered a mile and a half. And then she slowed just enough that she could safely glance over her shoulder.

No sign of Amanda.

Callie slowed down to a trot, waited until she had fifteen clear feet in front of her, then turned and backpedaled. Still no sign of Amanda.

Tiger temporarily off my tail!

She slowed to a walk, got her bearings, recognized where she was.

Nearest big clearing 200 to 250 yards west by northwest.

As Callie made her way to the next clearing, she was thankful that she had remained in such good shape. She had only seen Amanda for less than two seconds, but that was enough to see that the huge huntress was moving faster than Callie had imagined possible for a woman of such bulk. What a body! What power!

Callie was sweating and became aware of a dampness in her shorts that was not sweat or urine. Can't let myself get dehydrated. She took a sip from the waterskin hooked to her belt and, after going a few feet, she spotted a plastic orange water container mounted on a tripod just off her path.

Take time. Fill the waterskin. Can afford thirty seconds for that with Amanda nowhere in sight.

Not in sight, but definitely in mind. Can still sense her. Not close. Suspect that she went back for her bola.

Nice and convenient, these watering stations. Too bad this isn't filled with orange juice, though. I could use the carbs. She patted the two high energy bars in a pocket of her shorts. I should be good for the day. Still, some o.j. would be nice.

That put Callie in mind, as she filled the waterskin, of another hunter who had had an unusual purpose in mind for her dead body if he caught her. An unusual man all-round, he had even been thoughtful enough to bring along some juice for their morning pre-hunt confab.

Outside the park ranger's station in which Callie changed into her quarry outfit, there were six picnic tables arranged in two lines. Callie saw that her hunter for the day had chosen to sit at the table furthest from the station, which meant that she had to walk about thirty feet in order to meet him. Well, maybe he doesn't want our conversation overheard - that could be a bad sign, Callie thought as she moved toward him.

The man had his eyes on her from the moment she opened the door. He was studying her intently. It didn't take Callie long to figure out that he had placed himself so far away in order to have just this opportunity.

Callie had been stared at by men before - lots of times. What this fellow was doing couldn't properly be considered "leering." She picked up on the vibe that he was sexually aroused by the sight of her, but there was something more to this. She felt more like a fashion model on a runway than an exotic dancer on a stage.

The man was good looking, but there was more to his visual impact than that. The cut of his hair, the way his khaki hunting apparel fit him as though it had been tailor-made, his straight but not rigid posture, his lightly-tinted sunglasses, even the way he held his coffee cup - all of this bespoke something special. Girl-hunting, with a rare exception like Felix, was a rich man's sport, but this guy had more than money - he had style.

He rose to his feet when she was halfway to the table. He was a bit shorter than she and probably in his early forties. He continued to peruse every visible inch of her, his eyes moving from her feet to the crown of her head, not lingering especially long over her breasts or hips. It seemed that he was not only studying her body, but the way that it moved as well.

As Callie got closer, she was finally able to put a name to what was behind the look in his eyes as he studied her. Yes, there was lust there all right, but also something that Callie usually associated with the patrons of museums or art galleries. He was "appreciating" her.

"Miss Landers, I take it," he said, extending his hand.

"Yes. And you are Mr. Kiver." Callie accepted the handshake, which she found to be friendly and warm.

"Yes. Robert Kiver. Please feel free to call me 'Robert,' but I would really prefer that you refrain from calling me 'Bob' - haven't liked that name since I was a child. Won't you have a seat."

"Uh, yes, Robert." Callie sat across the table from him. "And you can call me 'Callie.' If you happen to call me 'Cal,' that's all right, too, but you don't seem the type to call me that."

"Hardly. Would you like some orange juice, Callie?"

"Well, yes, but..." Callie didn't think the ranger station had table service.

Kiver raised his hand and made a beckoning motion accompanied by "O.J." in sign language. Callie followed his eyes and saw a man in a chauffeur's uniform standing beside an ice cooler near the ranger's station who promptly hastened to the table with a carton of juice and then returned to his place.

"Well, Callie, I'm pleased to say that any questions I may have had have already been answered. You live up to my expectations completely." Kiver smiled warmly. "Is there anything that you would like to discuss before we get about the day's activities?"

Kiver didn't seem like a sadist, but Callie decided to ask anyway. "What do you intend to with me if you bring me down?"

Kiver paused and asked, "To what degree of detail would you like me to respond?"

This didn't seem evasive to Callie and she almost felt embarrassed to ask her next question. "Specifically, do you intend to abuse me before you kill me?"

"Oh, my, no! Of course, not. Though, perhaps, to make sure I'm answering honestly, I should ask, what do you consider to be 'abuse'?"

"I mean, do you intend to torture me, cause me pain." Callie decided to clarify her meaning further. "I don't consider having sex with me to be abuse."

"Ah. I can assure you there will be no torture, no intentional pain. As for the other, would you like me to have sex with you before you die?"

"Are you good at it?"

"I like to think so. I could tell you that I haven't had any complaints lately, but I'm afraid that, although true, wouldn't mean much."

There was something odd about that answer, but Callie decided to let it pass. "Yes, I'd like to have sex before I die."

"Then I shall do my best to accommodate you. Anything else?"

"How do plan you to kill me after you bring me down with the drug ball?"

"I'll give you a shot in your buttocks. It shouldn't hurt much. I'll massage the area and spray it with a numbing agent. I'm rather good at it. You'll drift off to sleep and your heart will stop sometime later. I'll tell you when the shot is coming. Any more questions?"

"Uh, I'm just curious about this: Do you intend to have sex with me after I'm dead?"

"Oh, yes. Many, many times."

This took Callie a bit by surprise. "Uh, 'many, many' times you say?"

"Hundreds of times, I'm sure." Kiver knew that this was surprising Callie and he was enjoying her reaction.

"But, uh, won't I... I mean, wouldn't that be... uh..."

Kiver looked at his watch. "It's almost time for you to get going. If I bring you down, I'll explain my plans in detail then. Probably while I'm having sex with you. If I don't bring you down, I would still like to discuss some matters with you. Let's do this: if we haven't had our fatal encounter by six o'clock, I'll return here and tell the ranger to sound the all-clear signal. You can go to a call box and ask to be picked up and we can go to town and have dinner. I do hope you'll accept that invitation. I promise you a very interesting conversation."

A short day. A nice dinner. Why not? "Sure. I'll come in once the all clear is sounded." Callie stood, extended her hand again, and said, "I'll see you later."

Kiver accepted the handshake, but said, "Oh, in case I have to leave early to attend to some pressing matter, do take my card. Perhaps we can arrange to meet another time."

Callie accepted the business card offered her and read it.

"R Kiver

"1-310-555-0000"

She tucked the card in a pocket of her running shorts and took off at an easy lope.

Tempted as she was to wonder just how Kiver could manage to have sex with her hundreds of times before his obvious aesthetic sensibilities would be offended, she decided to put the matter out of her mind and concentrate on staying alert and alive. The beauty of nature was enough of a distraction for her.

One of the most pleasant things about hunts, from Callie's point of view, was that they offered her the chance to be outside, no one around (except, of course, for someone trying to kill her), no buildings in sight, nothing to do except enjoy being alive. Open spaces. The nearest fence usually miles and miles away. She hated to be fenced in. Sometimes, much as she enjoyed running, she wished that horses could be used in the hunts, and that the hunting grounds were virtually limitless. She remembered a song that contained the sentiments she was feeling:

Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above,
Don't fence me in.
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love,
Don't fence me in.
Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze,
Listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees,
Send me off forever but I ask you please,
Don't fence me in.
Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle
Underneath the western skies.
On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder
Till I see the mountains rise.
I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences,
Gaze at the moon till I lose my senses
I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences
Don't fence me in.

After a quiet day, the all clear was sounded at six. Callie decided she could run back to the station faster than a vehicle could retrieve her.

By seven-thirty, she and Kiver were having dinner.

"I admit I'm somewhat disappointed that you're still alive. I hope you don't mind," Kiver said with a weak smile. "I had such high hopes for you."

"Well, I'm not leading you on when I say that sex is still not completely out of the question," Callie said encouragingly. Then a thought occurred to her, and she added, "Unless you don't like having sex with live women."

"Oh, live women will do very nicely, I assure you. Why would you think otherwise?"

"You did say that you planned to have sex with my dead body hundreds of time. That must mean that either you find dead women so exciting that you, uh, recharge very rapidly or you have a very weak sense of smell."

"Actually, neither. Oh, I very much enjoy dead women, but they don't give me satyriasis. Now, regarding the matter of smell and other effects of decomposition..." Kiver paused. "I'm sure you're familiar with the quote, 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever."

"Yes. Keats. No, wait, Shelley. No, I mean Keats."

"Isn't it a shame that it's only true of inanimate objects like Grecian urns? Isn't it a shame that it doesn't apply to the most beautiful thing in all creation, a woman's body?"

"Well, that's why plastic surgeons can afford to send all their kids to college," Callie joked.

Kiver leaned forward. "There is a more effective solution to the problem. Interested in hearing about it?"

Callie nodded, mostly out of politeness. He was buying dinner, after all.

Kiver had developed a process that preserved women's dead bodies in nearly perfect condition. They remained supple and attractive, skin soft, eyes bright. They could even be animated to some degree. He had a collection of nine such women and he had supplied other collectors.

"And were you hoping to add me to your personal collection or sell me?" Callie wasn't sure why she wanted to know.

"Rest assured, I would want you for a keeper. Now, mind you, I'm a collector, not a hoarder. I like to have my collection appreciated by others. I would want to share you."

"Well, I hope you're not too disappointed that I won't be on display."

"Oh, I still have my hopes."

Callie tensed up. Was something ugly about to happen?

Sensing her unease, Kiver smiled warmly and said, "Have no fear. I am not a murderer. All the members of my collection - in fact, all of the women I process - are voluntary, at least to some degree."

"To some degree?" Callie wanted clarification on that.

"Now, Callie, when you signed the necessary release for the hunt, you were, in fact, volunteering to die - if I had been successful, that is."

"Well, true. Have you obtained all of your, uh, collection through hunting?"

"No. Only one of them. Actually, it's my least favorite way of acquiring dead women. Over the years, I've distributed many what you might call 'donor cards' to attractive women and paid them to carry them in their purses. Unhappily, not all of the bodies I receive through that means are in a suitable condition. A certain time factor is involved. Also, only so much restoration is possible in the cases of, uh, traumatic events. However, curious as it may seem, some collectors actually have a fondness for, um, 'damaged goods.' "

Callie kept herself from getting a bit queasy at that thought by quickly asking, "But this 'donor card' thing - it sounds a little chancy."

"Oh, I agree. That's why I prefer much more certain arrangements."

"Suicides?"

"Sometimes you could apply that term."

There was an odd excitement building in Callie that she wanted to deny, so she went into a slightly critical mode. "No offense, but wouldn't it be cheaper and a lot less trouble to just buy sex toys? You know, life-sized dolls? I understand newest models are very realistic."

Kiver shook his head. "It's not the same thing. See, these women aren't just 'fuck toys.' There's something about them that can't be simulated. When you're with one of these women - maybe just looking at her - you have a real sense that this body was the product of a lifetime of effort and the woman was proud enough of her achievement that she wanted it to continue to be appreciated, perhaps forever. She was a sensuous creature who enjoyed her body and wanted others to enjoy it, too."

Callie could identify with this sentiment; she enjoyed the idea of others appreciating her body. But...

"You said you still had hopes where I'm concerned. Now, I am going back home tomorrow, but if you want to have another hunt, I do these about once every three months. If you'd like to arrange..."

"Callie, in your case, I would prefer something more certain. How would you like a trip to the West Coast? I would like you to become acquainted with the members of my collection. Of course, I would want you to take any precautions you wished in order to feel safe, for example, scheduled check-ins by telephone with friends."

Callie had recognized the area code in Kiver's telephone number as being the same as Mark's. She had been looking for an excuse to be able to call him and say, "Hey, guess what! This is a local call!"

A month later, Callie arrived in California by jet.

She had known better than to expect that, even though he lived in a house filled with dead women, Kiver would live in a house that looked like it came out of a 1930s or 40s Universal Studios horror movie, but she wasn't prepared for the vast, lush estate and the magnificent mansion that Kiver called home. He could stage private hunts right on his own property. Maybe he did.

Callie did, however, have a couple specific expectations that she was surprised to find were incorrect.

When the chauffeur opened the door of the limousine at the airport for Callie, there were already two women inside, one of whom was a pretty Hispanic wearing a maid's uniform and sitting on a fold-down seat facing the rear of the limo.

"Miss Landers, this is Maria. She will be your personal attendant during your visit," the chauffeur said by way of introduction.

"Hi, Maria."

"Miss Landers." The girl nodded her head and smiled.

"And this is Vera." The chauffeur referred to the other passenger, a neatly groomed, attractive blonde, sitting casually, staring out the window on the other side of the limo.

Although she had no reason to do so, Callie had thought she would be Kiver's only guest. In a way, she was relieved to find that she would not be alone.

"Hi, Vera." Callie took a seat, wondering why her cheery greeting was not returned. Maybe Vera was deaf or just unfriendly.

"Uh, Vera always liked to get out and go for rides," the chauffeur explained.

Catching that use of the past tense, Callie looked at the unmoving woman again.

"Oh, I see. You mean, she's..."

"Already a member of Mr. Kiver's collection, yes." The chauffeur closed the door.

Callie had expected that Kiver kept his collection in glass cases, something like the women in the 1930s Boris Karloff-Bela Lugosi movie THE BLACK CAT, a film in which the implications of necrophilia were as explicit as any sexual references allowed on screen at the time. It was a bit of a shock to find that Kiver sent his girls out on road trips.

Not even out of the airport parking lot and already Callie had experienced two firsts: she had never had a personal attendant and she never ridden in a car with a corpse - at least as far as she knew.

"Mr. Kiver told me that you drink orange juice. Would you like some now?" Maria asked, laying her hand on a wet bar beside her.

"Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, yes, thank you."

Callie was finding it hard to keep her eyes off Vera. Without staring at her long enough to notice that she wasn't blinking, an observer would have no reason to suspect that she was dead. Though her face was turned about a quarter facing the window, Callie could tell that she had a pleasant smile.

"Miss Vera is very pretty, is she not?" Maria said, handing Callie some iced orange juice.

"Yes, " Callie agreed. "How long has she been dea...uh, a member of the collection?"

"I do not know. I have been four years with Mr. Kiver. Miss Vera was in his house maybe three years already, I think."

"Well, she seems to be holding up very well." Callie sipped her juice.

"Oh, yes. The caring for her and all the ladies is very good, I think."

Apparently better than what a lot of live women get, Callie thought.

Among other new experiences, Callie got an introduction to California traffic, which frequently came to a halt. When that happened, Callie noticed people in neighboring cars staring into the limo.

"The car has two sets of windows, one with the tint so the people can not see in and one with no tint," Maria explained. "If you want, I can put up the windows with the tint."

"That's okay," Callie said. "I don't have anything to hide."

On more than one occasion when traffic was halted, men in neighboring cars gave Callie and Vera the eye. It seemed, however, that Vera got most of the attention. When one man looked directly at Vera, smiled broadly, raised his eyebrows, held up his cell phone, and mouthed the number as though he were speaking to a deaf person who didn't read lips well, Callie had to laugh.

"The men like to flirt with Miss Vera very much," said Maria. "I think she would like it."

"It's too bad she can't do anything but give them the cold shoulder." Callie made at attempt at dark humor.

A few moments later, a car full of teenaged boys made some much more overt overtures to attract Vera's attention.

"I wonder what they would think if they knew they were making a pass at a..." Callie paused, but decided she might as well use the "D" word "....dead woman."

"I do not know," said Maria. "After I meet for four years the people who come to the house of Mr. Kiver, I think maybe it makes not much difference."

An hour later, when the limo pulled up in front Kiver's mansion, the chauffeur opened the door for Callie, then went around to the other side, opened Vera's door, picked her up and carried her very much in the manner of a groom carrying his bride over a threshold. "I'll be back for your luggage in a few minutes, Miss Landers. I don't want to leave Vera in the car."

Callie smiled in understanding and thought of saying, "Yes, she might get bored stiff waiting," but decided not to.

Kiver himself met them at the door.

"Delighted to see you, Callie." Though Kiver gave Vera's cheek a friendly pat as she was carried by, his words were clearly addressed to the live woman. "I trust you had a pleasant flight."

"It was uplifting." Callie was trying hard not to be too dazzled by the splendor of Kiver's estate.

"I have to go into town very soon for some business, so a full tour will have to wait. For right now, I'll just show you some rooms where you might amuse yourself until I get back." Kiver noticed that Callie's attention had been grabbed by a woman sitting at a very small desk in the entryway.

"Oh, this, by the way, is Chelsea." Kiver said.

"Pleased to meet..." Callie was about to say "you" and extend her hand, but realized that she wouldn't be getting a response, so she finished the sentence with "her."

"Chelsea was very friendly and outgoing. She loved meeting new people. And she has such an engaging smile that I like for her to be almost the first thing new visitors see."

Callie was about to say she thought that the short-haired brunette did look like she was born to be a receptionist, then she decided that "born to be" might not be a good choice of words, all things considered.

"I understand you are an avid reader, so I know that you would enjoy spending some time here," Kiver said as he led her into the library. At a glance, Callie estimated that there were least three thousand books in the room, ranging from paperback romances to folio editions of classics to reference books.

A member of Kiver's collection was sitting in an overstuffed chair, wearing glasses and posed as though she were reading a book. Care had been taken to give her an appropriate facial expression: her eyes were slightly widened and her mouth as open as though she were intrigued by what she was reading.

"That's Andrea. She always felt that men didn't appreciate her mind," Kiver explained. "Of course, she had no problem with the fact that they appreciated her body, but she wanted to be seen as a whole person. We change her book every week or so, using a list of books that she provided. She wanted repeat visitors to see her as a woman of diverse interests."

Callie actually could sympathize with Andrea. Nevertheless, she wondered if the glasses were really necessary.

"While you may browse to your heart's content, there is one set of books that I would like you to stay away from until I have a chance to explain about them in detail. I refer to the volumes in that glass case. The case is not locked - you are on your honor."

"Thank you for your trust. I will restrain my curiosity," Callie said, looking at the indicated case, which contained nine leather-bound volumes and some loose leaf notebooks. She almost regretted her pledge when she saw the name "Callie Landers" on one of the notebooks.

She was about to ask an obvious question when Kiver said, "We'll came back here this evening. Let me take you to another room that I'm sure you'll enjoy."

This turned out to be the music room, which contained, not only impressive high-tech means for playing anything from early Edison records to dvds of Hollywood musicals, but also assorted drums, wind instruments, a guitar, and, in the center of the room, a baby grand piano.

Seated at the piano was a lovely pale-skinned woman with dark hair down to her shoulders. There seemed to be something not quite right about her hands, which were poised over the keyboard.

"This is Celeste. I'm afraid her story is one of the sadder ones. She was a brilliant musician," Kiver said.

"Her hands..." Callie started to ask.

"A top surgeon did her best to restore them while Celeste was still alive, but only so much could be done. I was considered attempting to do more after she joined the collection, but, somehow, I just couldn't tamper any further."

"What happened to them?"

"They were crushed. Deliberately, Brutally. Irate boyfriend, since deceased," Kiver's voice was grave, but his lips turned slightly upward on the last word, perhaps an indication of some involvement in the demise or in anticipation of what was to follow. "She left a fine collection of recordings. In fact, in preparation for your visit, I put together a special compilation just for you." He handed Callie a cd labeled "Cole Porter played by Celeste."

"Thank you." Callie was touched in a way that she had not expected to be during her stay with Kiver.

"Of course, there's a cd player in your room, but you might like to listen to it here with Celeste."

"I think so," Callie agreed.

Kiver looked at his watch and started to move Callie toward the door, outside of which Maria was waiting.

"I really do have to be going. You can ask Maria to show you the billiard room, where you can meet a very brazen leather dyke named Roxanne who won't be able to give you a game, but I'm sure you will enjoy her company. There's also a gymnasium - none of the women are there today, however. And, of course, feel free to use the swimming pool."

"I think I would like a swim," Callie said.

"Oh, good. You'll probably find Candace by the pool. Well, I must be going. Really glad to have you here. Hope you'll stay a while."

Callie was just about to say, "Yes, but for JUST a while," but Kiver had already turned his back.

"Your luggage is in your room," Maria said cheerfully.

"Good, I think I'll change into a swim suit."

Fifteen minutes later, Callie stepped out into the warm California sunshine wearing a minimal white bikini.

"Now, this is living!" Callie said as she approached the Olympic-sized pool that appeared to be constructed of pink marble. "Too bad that none of the women here except Maria and her coworkers are doing that anymore."

There were several lounge chairs poolside, one of them occupied by a voluptuous redhead covered with a thick coat of suntan oil and a very skimpy blue bikini. Sunglasses and sandals completed her outfit.

"Well, you must be Candace," Callie said, looking about to make sure no one was in sight. She didn't want anyone to see her conversing with a dead woman.

"I've got to admit, you look pretty good. I'd think that being out in the hot sun wouldn't be good for you. I guess, though, you don't have to worry about skin-cancer. Still, I hope Maria or somebody comes out and flips you over every so often. Wouldn't want you getting overdone."

Callie had never touched a corpse. She hadn't been afraid to - in fact, she had a bit of curiosity, which she never had a chance to indulge in private and was afraid to at a public funeral, for fear she might react badly.

"Uh, look, Candace, nobody's around and, well, there's something I've been wanting to do. All of the women her - their skin looks so... so... not dead, I guess. I wonder..."

Callie reached out and brushed Candace's arm with the back of her hand. The skin felt warm, as might be expected from being in the sun, but she couldn't really get a sense of texture.

"All I can feel is oil. Greasing you up must have been fun for someone. Kind of disappointing, though. Maybe they didn't..."

Callie reached under the top of the redhead's swimsuit.

"Oh, good. No oil here. Hmm. Feels nice and natural." She reached further and tweaked the erect nipple. "Oh, you seem a bit aroused. This feels perfectly normal." She squeezed a handful of breast. "Supple. Good. I can't really believe this is all you, though. After all, this is California, the land of enhancement. I've felt implants before. I wonder if I can tell the difference on you."

She squeezed really hard.

"Ouch!" From the lips of the redhead.

"Christopher Columbus!" Callie exclaimed and jumped back, tumbling onto one of the lounge chairs.

When startled, Callie's vocabulary came from Katherine Hepburn movies and her physical shtick from Lucille Ball tv shows. Callie lived by the classics.

"You break it, you buy it." Candace rubbed her sore breast.

"Y...y...you're alive, Callie stammered.

"Only a temporary condition. In a month or so, you'll be able to squeeze these puppies like they was produce at a farmer's market and I won't feel a thing. But, for now, handle with care."

"You're going to die?"

"I prefer to think of it as a career change - going on inactive duty. Robert refers to it as a transition."

"Why? Are you ill?"

"Nah, I'm not a tragic case like the piano player. It's more I want to avoid becoming one.

Callie looked at her questioningly.

"Uh, when I said 'you break it, you buy it,' " Candace explained, "it probably sounded like I was referring to my right tit as merchandise, which, as a matter of fact, is what it is, along with the left one, and the rest of me, which I've been renting out since before it was legal in most states for me to give it away. I'm a whore. I could call myself some name that has more syllables, but that's what I am. I've been real good at my work and I've been paid lots of money. It hasn't been a bad living at all, because what smarts I got, I put into keeping myself safe and healthy and good-looking."

"I can respect that. But that doesn't explain why you want to..." Callie wasn't sure how to end the sentence.

"If you were going to say 'die,' it's not so much a matter of wanting to die as wanting to avoid the consequences of not dying. If you were going to say 'join Robert's collection,' I can give a more positive answer to that. I'm proud of what I am and what I do. I'm also proud of the fact that people enjoy me the way I am. I've worked hard at keeping myself as hot-looking as I am and I don't want to see it all go down the drain because I outlived my good looks." Still receiving what she took to be an uncomprehending look, Candace tried to put it a slightly more honest way. "Look, I'm scared of facing the first time a guy tries to talk my price down because I'm a little past my prime. I'm even more scared of the first time I agree."

"There are men who value experience," Callie felt compelled to say.

"You mean 'value experience over looks,' don't you? Maybe that's true in a lover, but not in a hooker - well, maybe it's true there too, in a way, but price and value ain't the same thing. I'm a materialistic bitch - I like living high. Anyway, I've had experience for a long, long time. You name it, I've done it - and I've been good at it. I don't want to be sitting around ten, fifteen, twenty years from now, thinking about all the money I used to make, how pretty I used to be. This way, I know that I'm always going to be beautiful, always desirable, always worth top dollar - even though Robert doesn't charge anything for the use of his collection."

"He doesn't?"

"Nah. I've told him he's missing a bet, but he doesn't see it that way. Anyhow, aren't you going to take a swim? You don't look like the type to enjoy just laying around in the sun."

"Uh, yeah," said Callie with an embarrassed laugh. "But first, I'm going to go back inside and change my swimsuit - at least the bottom part." She stood up and wrapped a towel around her waist so that it covered her to mid-thigh. "You gave me quite a start when you turned out not to be dead."

Candace laughed. "Well, you come back in about a month and I won't be scaring anybody. Though, I guess I should warn you - Robert's agreed to have me animated, at least my hips. I'll have three speeds - 'Easy Rider,' 'Roller Coaster," and 'Rocketship to Venus.' I'll be interactive and very user friendly."

Callie smiled and started to move away.

"Tell you what, dear. If you do plan on coming back after I've been processed, maybe you'd like a little 'before and after' experience - I do women for free. You had a really nice touch when you were investigating me."

"Thanks," Callie said noncommittally and headed back to her room, not entirely sure what to make of Candace.

Would it make any sense to try to talk her out of her decision? Would it be pointless to talk to her about "job retraining"? Would it be patronizing? Would it be depreciating her life as she had led it? After all, she was satisfied with herself and with her decision.

Or was she?

Callie really didn't feel as though she was in any position to make a judgement. She had never been attracted to Candace's lifestyle, but she could not be objective. She had heard too much about the downside of Candace's profession. She remembered a song.

Love for sale,
Appetizing young love for sale.
Love that's fresh and still unspoiled,
Love that's only slightly soiled,
Love for sale. Who will buy?
Who would like to sample my supply?
Who's prepared to pay the price,
For a trip to paradise?
Love for sale.
Let the poets pipe of love in their childish way,
I know every type of love
Better far than they.
If you want the thrill of love,
I've been through the mill of love;
Old love, new love
Every love but true love.
Love for sale.
Appetizing young love for sale.
If you want to buy my wares.
Follow me and climb the stairs.
Love for sale. Love for sale.

On the other hand, Callie thought, who am I to talk? I make money giving people a chance to kill me. I doubt people would agree that's a much better career choice.

That evening Callie sat in the library with Kiver as he explained about the books in the glass case.

They were alone. A young male visitor had come into the room with them, but he was there to see Andrea. He had taken the book out of the dead woman's hands, removed her glasses and placed them on the table beside her, then swooped her up to carry her off for an evening of pleasure. Just as he was about to go out the door, he stopped and asked Kiver to pick up Andrea's glasses and put them back on her. Kiver had gladly complied.

"You see, this isn't just about the women's bodies," Kiver said as he ran his fingers over the leather-bound volumes. "It's about the lives they lived as well. Here in these books, there is as much data about them as I have been able to collect. Whenever possible, I have included something written by the woman herself. Sometimes, I've been able to persuade women to write up something special for inclusion in this book, explaining why they were willing to become part of the collection, preferably in their own handwriting."

"The book usually concludes with a post-mortem section - something about how she died. Here, for example," he said, picking one of the books and opening it to the end, "you can read the news stories about how Chelsea - she's the 'greeter' at the front door - averted an airplane hijacking by rushing a terrorist and, intentionally or not, impaling herself on his knife. She clung to him tightly while the plane's pilot clubbed him into unconsciousness. When you compare those stories with what she had written about herself, you'll see that she certainly didn't consider herself a heroic type at all. She only became a flight attendant because she wanted to travel and meet rich men; she considered herself a 'good-time girl.' Her story does show how the most unlikely people can rise to the occasion.

"I don't insist that one of my visitors read a woman's book before he carries her off to a bedroom, but I do think more highly of those who do. And, in a surprising number of cases, a man will come back and read a woman's book after he has spent some time with her."

"I couldn't help but notice," Callie said, raising a subject that had been on her mind since she first saw the glass case, "that my name is on one of those loose-leaf binders."

"Ah, yes." Kiver sighed, and pulled the notebook from its place and handed it to her. "I'm hoping that, before you leave, you'll at least accept one of my 'donor cards' and that you'll write a bit about yourself. You might notice that the thinnest volume in the case is this one." He pointed to a book labeled "Chloe." "She was the woman I brought down in a hunt. I really regret that I've been able to find out so little about her and that, therefore, there is so little to put in her book. I've contacted her family and what friends I could, but, understandably, they aren't willing to be very forthcoming with the man who killed her. I do hope I manage to make a breakthrough, though. I really don't want her to be a largely unknown quantity."

Callie thumbed through her own notebook, which was mostly printouts of news stories downloaded off the Internet about her sports career.

"I'll give it some thought," Callie said, "but don't expect me to become as enthusiastic as Candace."

"Oh, Candace." Kiver chuckled. "Don't take her too seriously. She's been coming here every six months for the past several years. It happens every time she has a client who doesn't ask for a second appointment. Of course, she gets a little more serious with each visit and it takes her a little bit longer to change her mind and decide she's 'not ready to pack it in yet.' I'm sure that one of these days she will come here and not leave again, but I rather suspect that's a few years off."

"I would think so." Callie was actually relieved to hear that. "She did make me a proposition for a 'before and after' comparison."

Kiver smiled. "Well, I don't know how soon you can count on the 'after' part, but I'm sure you could find her and engage in the 'before' almost immediately. She did tell me that she found you quite attractive."

"Well, I guess I'm experiencing a little jet lag or something." Callie rose from her chair and placed her notebook back in the case. "Think I'll go and listen to a little music if the room is free and then turn in."

"As you wish. I'll escort you there and show you the best settings for the controls."

On their way to the music room they passed a small lounge in which a man was sitting with Vera. He was wringing his hands and speaking in an anxious voice, but Callie was unable to hear what he was saying.

"Vera's a good listener." Kiver commented.

Once Celeste's recording of Cole Porter music had been set to play, Kiver left Callie alone in the music room - alone except for Celeste, of course.

At first, Callie stretched out on a comfortable couch and listened to the first four songs in that posture. However, she found herself compelled to get up and stand by the piano, leaning on it, staring at Celeste's beautiful face with its classic high cheekbones and dark eyes.

Celeste wore an expression of excitement, as though she were just coming to the end of difficult piece that she had performed well. It seemed that she was aware of an audience eager to burst into applause when she struck the last note and she would get to her feet, bow respectfully, and graciously accede to the demand for an encore.

Her interpretations were inspired and diverse, capturing the lightness and wit of "Let's Misbehave" and the heavy passion of "All through the Night." Callie found herself singing along with a few of the songs, but mostly she listened with awe at the feeling Celeste had poured into the music.

When she heard the intro bars of the last song and could feel the lush suggestions of the highest romance, Callie couldn't hold back. Celeste's playing was drawing feelings out of her that she had to give expression to. She sang:

" 'When they begin the beguine,
" 'It brings back the sound of music so tender,
" 'It brings back a night of tropical splendor,
" 'It brings back a memory ever green.
" 'I'm with you once more under the stars,
" 'And down by the shore an orchestra's playing
" 'And even the palms seem to be swaying
" 'When they begin the beguine.'

"Well, Celeste," Callie said sadly, "your beguine was over when it had barely begun." She reached out and almost touched the dead musician's face. "I'm really sorry about what happened to you." She looked down at the imperfectly-healed hands, resting on the keys. "Terribly sorry."

Callie's mood had swung back and forth with the music she had heard and she decided that she could shake off any heavy feelings by knocking some balls around on green felt, so she headed for the billiard room.

There should have been a "knock before entering" sign on the door, but there wasn't.

The room contained both a billiard table and a pool table. The first was open. But the second was in use and the users had no need for cues or balls.

Spread out on the table was the dead Roxanne whom Kiver had mentioned earlier. Her black leather jacket was open and her tee-shirt rolled up to expose her ripe breasts. Her leather skirt was hiked up and her panties (if she had been wearing any - did a dead woman really need them?) had been removed.

Performing cunnilingus on the short-haired, not-wearing-any-make-up dyke was a small naked young woman with curly blond hair.

Callie was about to close the door and leave discretely when the blonde sensed her presence and looked at her and said, "Please don't go. Please stay."

Callie hesitated.

"I mean it. It's... it's important to me." There was an urgent pleading in the blonde's voice that Callie couldn't help but respond to.

"Sure, if you want. Uh, shall I lock the door?"

"Yes, please. You're enough." The blonde went back to her muff-diving.

Callie locked the door and wondered what else to do. The blonde hadn't invited her to make it a threesome (would it really count as such if one of the people was dead?) and she didn't know jack shit about billiards.

Well, that wasn't quite true: she thought it involved hitting two white balls with a red ball and she figured it counted more if you banked your shot - maybe it only counted if you banked it.

Anyway, she picked up a cue and tried to pretend she knew what she was doing and not to pay too much attention to what was happening on the other table.

It was harder to do the latter than the former. The blonde was really getting worked up, making lots of noise, asking questions.

"Oh, baby! Is this what you've always wanted? Am I good? Am I the best?"

Nothing to get alarmed about, Callie figured, as long as Roxanne doesn't start answering.

Here I am, thought Callie, playing a game I don't understand with myself while a cute little fem goes down on a dead butch. Toto, we really aren't in Kansas anymore. Where's the frigging yellow brick road?

After fifteen minutes, Callie figured she had just about mastered the game she had made up her own rules for and the blonde seemed to be approaching the end of her necro session. She had climbed up on the table and was vigorously rubbing her clit against Roxanne's.

"Oh yes! Yes! God, yes!"

The blonde quivered in an orgasm that seemed to go on and on.

Callie found that her own nipples were hard and her cunt was moist. She was beginning to think about a use for the cue in her hand aside from playing a silly game.

Presently, the blonde relaxed and lay atop Roxanne, breathing deeply, and clutching the sleeves of the leather jacket.

Callie was about to ask if she could leave now, when the fem looked at her and said, "Thank you."

"Uh, you're welcome, but I didn't do anything. Roxanne did all the work. Well, no, I guess she didn't, but she was the one who - oh, hell! Do you know enough about this game I've been playing to tell me if I've been doing it right?"

"Sorry." The blonde got off the table, modestly keeping a forearm over her breasts as she gathered her clothing. "I don't know a thing about it. How about what I was doing? Did it look like I was doing THAT right?"

"Looked okay from where I'm standing - not that I was watching much, of course."

"Good." She was now getting dressed. "This is real progress for me. I've been with Roxanne six times now, but this is the first time I've ever done anything with another living woman at least in the same room. I... I'm kinda shy."

"Oh."

"I'm really attracted to women like Roxanne. I don't mean dead women. I mean women who are, well, tough-looking, strong. If one of them ever approached me, I'd melt like butter, but they don't. And I'm afraid to approach them. I want them so badly, but I'm afraid of being rejected. The nice thing about Roxanne is that she can't reject me. And the last few times I've really, really had the feeling that she would like me if she were alive. And now you - well, at least you didn't laugh at me. You've helped a lot. Thank you so very much."

The blonde was fully dressed and had her hand on the door knob, but, before opening the door asked, "What's your name?"

"Callie." Extended hand. "And you are...?"

"Sarah." Accepted handshake. "Thanks again, Callie."

"You're welcome again, Sarah. Uh, before you go, shouldn't we get Roxanne off the table?"

"We can if you want to play pool, but, otherwise, I'll just tell one of the attendants. They like to bathe the women after someone's been with them."

"Oh. No, I can skip the pool. I'm pretty tired. I think I'll just knock this red ball into the white ones a few more times and call it a night."

"Okay. Thanks again." Out the door.

Callie had thought about offering Sarah a chance at a live one, but decided the girl had made enough progress for one night.

After taking a few more billiard shots, Callie decided to lay down her cue and have a closer look at Roxanne.

Like all the women in the collection, Roxanne was lovely, a fine example of her type, but her smile was the most sensuous. Instead of being "glad-to-meet-you" friendly like Chelsea's smile or "picture of patient contentment" like that of Vera, Roxanne's smile suggested that she might have been looking at a freshly out-of-the-closet lesbian who really turned her on. She seemed to be good-hearted big ol' gal with no real harm in her.

"I don't know if you have any way of being aware of this," Callie said to the dead woman, "but you've really helped Sarah out."

From somewhere, the thought came to Callie that Roxanne would never have laughed at Sarah or rejected her. If she were still alive, she would have put an arm around Sarah's shoulders and said, "Come on. Let's you and me have some fun. Nothing to be scared of. I DO bite, but in a nice way." Roxanne would be very happy to know she'd helped Sarah and would wish she could do more.

Outside the billiard room, Callie met Kiver in the hall.

"Well, have you enjoyed your first day with us?" Kiver asked.

"Yes, I have," Callie answered. "I've had a few surprises. For one thing, I expected that you kept all the women in glass cases, not all out and about."

"That's not entirely true," Kiver corrected. "There is one who's kept under glass. Would you like to see her?"

"Sure." Callie was tired, but she wasn't just being accommodating - she was curious.

Kiver led Callie to a staircase which they descended to a room that was dark except for a single spotlight shining on a naked auburn-haired woman seated behind a glass wall.

"This is Chloe, the woman I obtained through a hunt."

Callie stepped close to the glass wall for a better look.

Chloe was medium-sized, just a trifle on the chunky side. She had freckles, grey eyes, and an expectant, hopeful smile.

"I simply don't know enough about her to place her in any kind of context," Kiver explained. "I do hope that eventually I obtain some information about her. She is perfectly lovely."

Callie's eyes met Chloe's. The unknown necrobabe, Callie thought. Though there was hopefulness in her eyes, there was also sadness.

By contrast, Maria's eyes were sparkly when Callie found her personal attendant waiting for her in her room.

"Are you retiring the night, Miss Callie?"

"Yes. And, please, just call me 'Callie'."

"Would you like some company for the night?" The sparkle turned to lasciviousness.

This put Callie on the spot.

She had never had a servant. She hadn't even known anyone well who did. Therefore, she had no idea what the proper etiquette was. She didn't want to exploit Maria, but she didn't want to hurt her feelings, either. Or cost the girl her job for "failure to please," though Callie doubted it would come to that - Kiver didn't seem the type.

Maybe Maria's offer had nothing to do with status. Maybe Maria just liked her and could tell she was horny from watching Sarah and Roxanne.

Safe course: say yes and let Maria set the pace.

"Sure, Maria. I'd love some company. However, I'll leave it up to you..."

"Oh, you no worry for nothing. I think I know what you like," Maria said brightly.

"I do want to take about a half hour to bathe," Callie said, failing to mention that she also wanted to give herself that long to have second thoughts about bedding the pretty latina.

"Take your time. I make everything ready." Maria flashed a knowing smile.

As she soaked in the bathtub, Callie reflected on the day.

She was having a good time, but she had certainly heard a lot of sad stories.

Well, maybe Candace qualified as a sad case and maybe she didn't. She seemed to know what she was doing. Candace is what most people would call 'drop-dead gorgeous,' and that's just what she plans to do - drop dead., Callie thought.

Little Sarah. What a cutie! Wonder if she ever approached a live woman? I can guarantee I could take her places where she'd get more dyke attention than she could handle.

And who would have picked cheery Chelsea for a hero? Well, at least they don't have to erect a statue to honor her. She's her own memorial. Makes me wonder how Vera and Andrea and Roxanne died. I guess I could read their books. Bet Roxanne died in a bar fight - no, that's stereotyping. Enough of that going around these days.

Can't help but feel sorry for Chloe. I can understand, though, why her family won't talk to Robert. If a hunter ever gets me, he'd better not go paying Uncle Jake a visit - he'd wind up with an ass full of buckshot to match his broken nose.

Celeste is really the saddest case, though. Shit, I can't understand how a man could do something like that to a woman. What is the point of destroying someone you claim to love? I guess the answer is that he didn't love her at all - he wanted to possess her, control her. Or maybe he was just a loony bastard.

Well, curling up with Maria will be the perfect way to end the day - if she really wants to, that is. I'd better make it clear to her that if she doesn't WANT to be in bed with me, I don't want her there. I'll make sure that she knows, though, that if she DOES want to be there, I'll be very glad to have her. Yes, don't want any misunderstandings about that.

And Callie followed up on that resolution the moment she stepped into the bedroom wearing her terrycloth robe and saw the head of dark hair lying on one of the two pillows.

"Maria, we have to talk before I get into bed," Callie declared. "I want you to understand that I really do find you attractive, but I don't want you to feel that you have to be like some kind of sex slave for me."

When she didn't get a response, Callie's first impulse was to ask Maria to turn and look at her, but she decided that would be too much like giving an order, so she walked around to the other side of the bed and knelt down.

What she saw made her spring to her feet and scream.

"MARIA!!!"

Quick as a flash, Maria came bursting through the door.

"What is the matter, Miss Callie?"

"Wh...wh...." Callie could only stammer and point at the bed.

"You say you want company for the night. I thought Miss Celeste was your favorite. You spent much time with her."

Celeste's body was clad in a white night gown and her facial expression had been changed: her eyes were shut and she was smiling as though she were having a very pleasant dream.

"Well, yes, I like her, but I didn't want..." Callie hesitated to say that she didn't want a dead body in her bed.

"Oh! I make a very terrible mistake. I am very, very sorry." Maria's lips were quivering and her eyes were tearing up. "I take her away. I am very, very stupid."

Callie, recovering quickly from her shock, became more concerned about traumatizing her first and only personal attendant and moved quickly to intercept Maria as she began to pull back the covers to remove Celeste.

"No, Maria, you are not stupid," Callie said, clasping the trembling girl's shoulders. "You are, in fact, muy inteligente. You are so intelligent that you knew what I wanted before I did. This is a very, very nice surprise." Callie was making her best effort to sound sincere.

"You sure?" Maria wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Oh, yes. Very sure." Callie rationalized that she was lying to protect someone's feelings.

"Miss Celeste is very, very nice. I think you like her very much."

"Yes, Miss Celeste is very, very nice. I like her very much." At least that wasn't a lie.

"I thought maybe you like her in the nightgown. If you like, I can take the nightgown off."

"No, Maria. If I want, I can take it off myself."

Maria grinned knowingly at that. "I am very happy you like Miss Celeste. Oh, I also brought the book of Miss Celeste from the library." She pointed at the leather-bound volume laying on a table beside a comfortable chair.

"That was very, very thoughtful, Maria," Callie said, thinking Good. Maybe I can fall asleep in the chair while I read.

This made Maria absolutely beam. "Is there anything else you would like? Maybe I can bring another of the women?"

"Oh, no, no, no. That is not necessary. Miss Celeste is enough. She is basta. Muchos gracias for bringing Miss Celeste." Callie was gently pushing Maria toward the door.

"No hay de que. I am very, very happy to be the personal attendant of Miss Callie," Maria said, opening the door. "You have the good time with Miss Celeste. Buenas noches."

"Buenas noches, Maria."

Callie shut the door and looked at her bed. Celeste, of course, was still there.

"Uh, no offense, Celeste. I do like you, but I really don't plan on sleeping with you. It's not that you aren't my type. You've got everything I could want in a lover - except for a pulse. I will read your book, though. Maybe I'll get drowsy enough that I could sleep in a bed with you and a half-dozen more like you. Snow White and the Seven Necrobabes."

Callie's little joke did put her mind of the necro-erotic aspects of the Snow White story and some other fairy tales. Maybe there was something deep in our culture that - oh, save that for another night.

She sat down and picked up Celeste's book. Similar to what she had seen in her own notebook, there were many reprints of news stories, mostly reviews of recitals. Also, copies of pages from her high school and college year books. A copy of her diploma from a music academy. A few fan letters.

Then came a short handwritten autobiography. A note at the top explained that it had been written as part of an application to the music academy. Nice standard stuff: early interest in music, an encouraging and supportive family. A short essay on what music had come to mean to her as she had matured.

Next was a page written especially for inclusion in the book, describing why she wanted to be a part of the collection if she should happen to die young. She had had fantasies from early adolescence about dying in a lover's arms and her lover making love to her even after her demise. She quoted from Poe. She liked the idea of her dead body being an object of erotic desire. But, she made it clear at the end of the page that she intended to live a long life filled with music, love, and laughter.

The following page was not written by Celeste. It was written by "R. Kiver" and described the savage act which had damaged Celeste's hands beyond repair. Grim stuff. Calle skimmed it.

It was the next two pages that caused tears to come to Callie's eyes. It was also handwritten by Celeste, but the handwriting had changed from an elegant penmanship to a childish scrawl. Some words were crossed out and rewritten. Towards the end, Celeste had given up on script and resorted to printing in poorly-made block letters.

It was heartbreaking to look at it. It was even more so to read it.

"Thanks to Robert for writing an account too painful for me to write.

"Please do not look to me as a role model. I am not even sure that what I am doing is right for me, let alone anyone else. Maybe I am just too weak to go on living.

"The man who did this thing to me wanted me to do something worse than kill me. He wanted me to live a life of sadness and despair and frustration. I can not let him have that victory over me. I can not let him control me.

"A piece of advice that I could give is that a person should not allow herself to become as thoroughly absorbed in something that might be taken from her, as I allowed myself to become in relation to my music. But, I can't honestly wholeheartedly give that advice. I would never want to dissuade anyone from committing to her passion and, therefore, depriving herself of the satisfactions that I have obtained from mine. Follow your heart. Follow your passion. But I hope that you are stronger than I and better prepared for life's cruelties.

"I am satisfied with my decision to end my life while memories of good times are still fresh within me, when they still make me smile rather than cry for lost opportunities.

"I am leaving behind me my music, which I hope others will continue to enjoy for many years.

"I am also leaving behind me a body that is, I have been told, exciting and beautiful. I hope others will enjoy that, too.

"Please enjoy my music and my body. Know that one of the comforts I have is in the hope that you will do so. I hope that you will remember me as not only a musician of some talent, but as an erotic creature who would like nothing more than to be alive in your arms, sharing your pleasure.

"It is the thought that others will see me as an object of desire and not an object of pity that gives me the strength to take this final step."

Callie was genuinely moved. She closed the book, got up from the chair, and lay down on the bed facing Celeste.

"Celeste, I'm sorry. I wish I could do what you ask. If you were still alive, I would like nothing more than to be your lover. I would love to share your erotic passion as well as your music." Callie reached out and stroked Celeste's hair. "But there are some things that just can't be recaptured once they're gone. It's sad, but true. It's like the rest of the song you were playing tonight."

Callie sang:

" 'To live it again is past all endeavor,
" 'Except when that tune clutches my heart,
" 'And there we are, swearing to love forever,
" 'And promising never, never to part.
" 'What moments divine, what rapture serene,
" 'Till clouds came along to disperse the joys we had tasted,
" 'And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted,
" 'I know but too well what they mean;
" 'So don't let them begin the beguine
" 'Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember;
" 'Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember
" ' When they begin the beguine.' "

Callie looked at Celeste's smiling face, so lovely, looking as though she were contented, even happy to be with Callie, as though she had offered a gift that was graciously accepted. She took Celeste's hand. She could feel tiny ridges where delicate bones had been broken and knuckles that were a bit too large. She could move the fingers, but something was not right - not even for a dead hand, she suspected.

"Can I really utterly reject what you're offering?" Callie asked the dead woman. "The man who did this to you - can I let him have one more victory, even a tiny one? Can I conspire with him to keep you from having your desire to be enjoyed and appreciated fulfilled?

"Fuck no! I'm going to give it a try."

She started to kiss Celeste's lips, but settled for kissing her forehead instead.

"Well, it's a start." Callie laughed at herself. "I am a sort of virgin, after all."

She touched her breast with dead woman's hand, dragged the fingers over her nipple, which swelled to erectness very quickly, somewhat surprising her.

She finally kissed the dead woman's mouth. Not unpleasant, certainly not repulsive. In a way, it was nice that kiss wasn't returned. It seemed Celeste was totally offering herself.

Callie ran her hand over Celeste's waist and hip. Mature, womanly curves. Her ass was round and squeezable. The entire body actually felt very sensuous to the touch. Running her hand up Celeste's smooth back, Callie thought she could detect disciplined muscle tone developed through long hours of keeping a straight spine while sitting on a piano bench without back support . It was almost as though a heat, an energy remained.

Pressing herself to Celeste, Callie felt full, firm breasts with permanently erect nipples.

Nothing frightening or creepy. Only total acceptance.

"Well, how far do I go with this?" Callie asked. "All the way, I guess," she answered.

Callie slipped off her robe. Getting the nightgown off Celeste was more difficult, but not overwhelmingly so. No co-operation, but no resistance, either.

Celeste had a beautiful body. Flat stomach. Ripe breasts with small pink nipples. Very womanly hips for a basically slender build. Smooth, firm thighs. Neatly trimmed pubic hair - was grooming one of Maria's duties?

Callie straddled Celeste so that her pussy lips felt the surprisingly large and erect clitoris.

"Emm. Nice." Callie worked herself around a bit. Couldn't feel nicer.

Bending down, she rubbed her nipples across Celeste's. The unmoving woman was a perfect self-stimulation aid.

Working herself up at her own pace, Callie reached a decent level of arousal.

Of course, Celeste could not be anything but completely passive. Callie had had other passive and non-directive lovers, and she enjoyed them, but this was different. Anything Callie did would be all right with this partner. She could take her time.

And no matter what she did, she could look down and see the same contented smile. She could imagine she was giving her talented, artistic lover complete satisfaction.

And, in a way, she was. She was helping Celeste fulfill her ambition of being a source of pleasure. She was appreciating the fine, beautiful body. And she was appreciating that Celeste had been thoughtful enough to make it available to her.

Celeste would be Callie's to enjoy for as long as she wanted. Forever, if she liked.

A pure source of joy forever.

Callie could feel that Celeste was there for her - only for her.

Callie began kissing and licking and nibbling Celeste's neck, shoulders, breasts, tummy. Doing anything she liked to do to another woman.

Her fingers found their way between Celeste's pussy lips and discovered that she had been lubricated with a substance that felt completely natural. Nice touch.

God, she was beautiful!

Whatever motivation for escape from sadness Celeste had had, she had also committed an act of sacrifice for the pleasure of others. For Callie's pleasure. Celeste was a beautiful, generous woman and Callie was helping her defeat her assailant.

Callie went back to stimulating herself on the dead woman's clitoris and continued until she reached an orgasm that she could maintain for as long as she wanted.

After uncounted minutes of total physical bliss and emotional satisfaction at defeating Celeste's would-be destroyer, Callie relaxed and lay down beside Celeste, positioned the two of them so that they faced each other and then she sang.

" 'Oh yes, let them begin the beguine, make them play
" 'Till the stars that were there before return above you,
" 'Till you whisper to me once more, Darling, I love you!
" 'And we suddenly know
" 'What heaven we're in,
" 'When they begin the beguine.' "

Callie turned her back to Celeste and wiggled until they were in a spoon position. Then she pulled Celeste's arm over her and clutched the dead hand tightly over her breast and slept contentedly.

And dreamed she was in a full concert hall with Celeste playing encore after encore for a lovingly demanding audience.

The next day, Callie found Candace, told her that she had never been with a pro, but had always wondered what it would be like. They spent the afternoon driving each other into babbling orgasm-oblivion. Callie swore that she had never imagined such a beautiful woman could have learned to be so creative, energetic, and gifted at pleasing another woman at such a young age.

In the evening, Candace told Kiver that she wasn't "ready to pack it in yet," and left the estate, probably to return in another six months.

Callie spent several days reading the stories of the women in the collection and sampling, in varying degrees, their charms. She also talked with visitors to the estate aand found out why they liked certain women in the collection, discovering that the reasons had a much to do with who the women were as what they looked like.

And she spent every night sleeping in Celeste's comfortable, accepting arms, feeling the touch of her once expressive hands.

"I'll sign one of your 'donor cards,' " she told Kiver as she gave him a short handwritten autobiography on the morning of her last day at the estate, "but I won't take any money because, if I die anytime soon, it will most likely be in a hunt and my body will belong to the hunter."

"Fair enough," Kiver replied, "but why do you keep risking your life like that?"

"I don't know," Callie confessed. "I feel like I'm being drawn toward something incredible. There is a thrill in being endangered, but I think somewhere there is something more for me, something unexpected." Callie paused. "Something like the discovery that this place is more than just a memorial to the women in the collection. It honors the beauty, strength, diversity, accomplishments, and sensuality of all woman. Isn't that right?"

Kiver only smiled in reply.

Callie placed a local call to Mark, who was very glad to hear from her and told her he would love to spend her last night in California with her. His delight level, however, dropped when she asked:

"Do you happen to know any leather bull dykes who are fairly attractive and free from attachments at the moment?"

"Well, uh, yeah, sure. I know a gal named Katie who fits that description." He added uncertainly, "If that's what you want."

Hearing the disappointment in his voice, Callie assured him, "Don't worry. When it comes to sex it will be

"Only me and you, babe.
"Strictly tea for two, babe."

What I have in mind is a double-date. You, me, Katie, and a little cutie named Sarah. Just tell Katie that about all she'll have to do is blow in Sarah's ear and she'll have it made.

"Okay," Mark said with relief. "Shall I come pick you up now?"

"No. Make it about five. I have something important to do this afternoon."

Callie spent three hours giving Celeste a manicure and massaging her hands with love. When she was done, it seemed that the joints moved more easily, but that could have been just her imagination.

That night, Mark gave Callie a complete refresher course on what it's like to make love to someone who can kiss back after they left Sarah and Katie holding hands and exchanging looks of passion.

A week later, Mrs. Joan Stockard of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, answered her doorbell to find a tall, athletic-looking blond woman at the door.

"Hi. My name is Callie Landers. Are you the mother of Chloe Stockard?"

"Uh, yes. You do know that Chloe was killed two years ago, don't you?"

"I know," Callie said. "I only met her a couple times, but she made a real impression on me. See, I also run as quarry in hunts and... well, could I come in and talk to you about her?"

It was impossible to resist Callie's charm and sincerity. Mrs. Stockard opened the door wide.

Before leaving, Callie explained thoroughly why she had come and what she planned to do with the information and material she had gleaned. Mrs. Stockard approved.

After another week, Robert Kiver received a thick envelope filled with photocopies of high school transcripts, achievement awards, letters Chloe had written, copious notes on her life, and photographs of her engaging in various interests, including her favorite pastime, watching tropical fish in her aquarium.

A note in the package from Callie said:

"Now Chloe no longer has to have the thinnest book in the archives of R. Kiver. And, if you like, you can pose her up so that she's looking into a glass tank rather than inside looking out."