After her nighttime ablutions, she lay awake on the bed thinking about Elliot. She reached into a drawer for her friend, the intruder, covered it with K-Y, and inserted it in place. It was filling and comforting and reminded Claire of his possession of her. She decided that, whenever possible, she’d wear it each night to remain ready for him, and at other times when the ache of her body for Elliot became too much to bear alone.

  The next day was sunny and bright. The yacht rolled lazily with the gentle waves far out in the bay. Claire had gone on-deck wearing shorts and a cropped top. Monique had appeared in a thong bottom, her firm, sleek, shiny brown skin exposed everywhere else. She looked at Claire curiously.

  “You’re dressed too warmly for today, mon cher. Besides, you can’t get a tan on those lovely breasts all covered up like that.”

  Claire blushed and was at a loss for words. She wasn’t ready to show-off the nipple rings just yet. She knew they were now an intimate part of her, that she couldn’t remove them anyway, and that, if she were to spend any length of time in Europe, she would eventually go topless again. But the whole experience, intensely erotic as it had been, had left her not knowing how much of her body to expose, how much she was comfortable with, or what might shock even European sensibilities.

  Monique waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, Monique attempted to read her thoughts by looking her straight in the eyes. Claire could almost feel her probing gaze sorting through Claire’s mind like fingers leafing through files in a file cabinet.

  “Something has changed since you were here last, hasn’t it, Claire?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come, come. You’re among friends here, whether you completely believe that or not. I noticed that your chest seems to be sore. Has something happened?”

  How in the world could she guess that? Claire thought. Did Monique somehow know that Elliot was going to pierce her? No, that was nonsense. He would never have shared anything like that. More likely, the woman was just incredibly intuitive - she could piece together a story from completely isolated bits of information. So, should I tell her? Claire asked herself. Let’s first see how much she can guess.

  “Nothing has happened. I just didn’t put on a swimsuit before I came out. My breasts are a little sore - that sometimes happens to me during the month.”

  “Then the warm sun on them should feel good. Come join me. I feel self-conscious sitting here almost naked while you’re fully clothed.”

  Unable to determine a way to gracefully dodge the request, Claire reluctantly removed her halter top. She paused momentarily and then, deciding what the hell, she removed her bra. The lovely rings gleamed brightly in the sunlight.

  “How beautiful!” Monique exclaimed. “You had your nipples pierced! Where did you ever find someone in the mountains to do it?”

  “I didn’t. Elliot did it. It was a surprise.”

  “Do you like them?”

  “Oh, absolutely, I love them!” At that moment, she became vividly aware that she really did. Not only were they erotic - just the thought of them within her flesh still turned her on - but she now realized that she actually loved the way they looked.

  “How long ago did you get them?”

  “Four weeks ago. We didn’t know I was coming here until three weeks after he did them.”

  Monique came over to inspect the rings. “He did a beautiful job. They are even and perfect. May I?” She reached out to touch them gingerly.

  “Sure. They’re mostly healed and only a little tender now. They seem to be erect all the time,” she laughed with a hint of embarrassment.

  Monique lifted one ring and noticed Claire’s tremble. As the soreness dissipated, she’d discovered that they were becoming increasingly, deliciously sensitive.

  “Ah, Claire. They are now a delightful little turn-on for you, are they not? Poor dear. Even your nipples betray your sexuality.” Monique smiled at Claire’s embarrassed expression. “But they are becoming wonderful to feel as the tenderness goes away, no? There is no reason for you to be embarrassed. They are magnifique!”

  “I was kind of embarrassed to show them. I really like them and I’m so turned on by the fact that Elliot put them in me, but I haven’t gotten used to being this way and showing other people. They are sort of unusual, don’t you think?”

  “I do not think so … ah …,” she looked at them more closely. “How do you remove these? I don’t see any release catch.” She looked up into Claire’s smiling face.

  “They can’t be removed. They locked shut when he put them into place. They can only be removed if they’re cut apart.”

  Monique seemed almost to swoon. She had an unmistakable look of arousal in her eyes. “Oh, mon cher Claire! That is so devastatingly erotic! Elliot has claimed you, no?”

  Claire hadn’t thought about it that way but she immediately realized that Monique was more perceptive than she’d been. “You’re right. I guess he did claim me!”

  “Fantastique!”

  Monique looked at her conspiratorially, as more than a friend, as a comrade. “Let me show you two other unusual ones.”

  Standing on the deck, Monique nonchalantly removed her swimsuit bottom. Claire was shocked. Although they were alone at the moment, there were other boats about, not that far off, though they were much smaller than the yacht.

  There, towards the peak of Monique’s slit, between her legs, a gold ring was clearly visible.

  “It is in my - how do you say - clit, I think, no? I had it put there a year ago. It is uncommon because most women cannot be pierced through their clit. Usually, the hood of the clit is pierced. I was lucky to have the proper shape for this jewelry. I can tell you that the amount of stimulation I get from it is truly remarkable. Sometimes, I have to cover it carefully, or I can be driven into pangs of uncontrollable sexuality for hours.”

  “It must have hurt like a bitch! Does it hurt anymore?”

  “It hurt like the end-of-the-world! That is a woman’s most sensitive spot. But I didn’t want an anesthetic; I wanted to experience it in all its poignancy. It never hurts anymore. It only arouses me now.”

  “Did René do it?”

  “No, no. It is a very dangerous procedure. But he was there. It was my idea. We had only been seeing each other for a few months at the time.”

  Still naked, Monique turned around and took something from her small purse. Claire couldn’t see what she was doing. When she faced Claire again, a small, sliver ring had been inserted through her septum between her nostrils.

  “This is my other interesting piercing. I have had it for many years. The hole is quite invisible, until the ring is placed in it. If I use a slotted ring, I can even turn it up into my nose to conceal it while still wearing it. Do you think it is lovely?”

  Although she definitely wouldn’t have liked it on herself, Claire found it very pretty on Monique. She said so. There was a pause in the conversation and then Claire began to remove her shorts.

  “Since you shared with me, Monique, I have something else to share with you.” She sat on the edge of a partially reclining chair, completely naked, and spread her legs just enough so Monique could see.

  “These are also new, so they’re still a little sore too, but as of the past few days, they don’t bother me too much. They’re healing quickly.”

  Monique was delighted and excited, and Claire was glad they’d shared their little – or not-so-little - secrets. Both of them left their clothes behind and lay out naked on the deck, relishing the bright Riviera sunshine.

  * * * * *

  It was a day later, late in the evening. The sun had long since set and a velvety dark night, liberally sprinkled with distant stars and the band of the Milky Way, had enclosed the yacht. Claire felt listless and decided to go out on deck for some air. Her long, diaphanous gown fluttered in the still-warm, light breeze. Even though she wasn’t cold at all, she pulled the gown more tightly around her and tied the belt snuggly. She missed Elliot terribly.

  He’d called earlier in the day, from a plane on the way to the Far East. They’d talked for over an hour. Although the call made her feel better, it made her miss him even more acutely.

  By now they were far out in the Mediterranean, cruising throughout the night on their way to a beach somewhere. There was no moon, though by now the sky was vivid with stars. Claire was lonely and sad. She stood at the railing looking at the sky, not realizing that she wasn’t alone. Monique’s throaty voice startled her. She spun around to see the Nubian beauty standing there in only her usual bikini bottom.

  “Oh, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Would you like some wine, mon cher?”

  “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “I like coming out here when the ship is quiet and far from shore. No clamor of people, just the steady hum of the engines. It relaxes me. Come, sample some wine.” She led Claire over to a lovely table accented with vases of roses and strewn with rose petals, upon which a number of bottles of mostly red wine sat. The air around the table was heavy with rose fragrance. The bottles had been previously opened - the corks were only partially pushed back into the necks. Claire thought it odd that so many were open, especially since only Jean-Pierre, René, Monique and she were on the yacht this evening. “You must have been thirsty,” Claire said in jest. “You’ve sampled a lot of these.”

  Monique smiled in her non-committal way. “No, mon cher, most of these wines are not for sampling. They are - how shall I say this - they are treated with a variety of dreams.”

  “Yeah, if you drink enough, wine can load you with dreams of all sorts.”

  Monique laughed aloud. “No, no, Claire. These are more than wines. This bottle,” she held one up, “contains the secret of truth. Anyone drinking it cannot lie while under its influence. This one back here would make even Jean-Pierre yearn uncontrollably for a woman. If we both drank the one on the right, we would spend the night together in the embrace of passion. This one removes all inhibitions. This one, rarely tried because of its fearful effects, removes all will.”

  “And this one?” Claire pointed to a bottle that was almost empty.

  “Ah, my honored guest and friend. This one is my favorite, and a favorite of René’s. If we drank it together and held hands for a few minutes, we would know what it means to see with each other’s eyes.”

  Claire thought Monique was teasing her under the guise of being metaphysical. She was lonely but she wasn’t naive. Nevertheless, a buzz might help her get through the night, lessen the pain of separation. She picked up a cobalt-blue goblet and handed it to Monique. “It looks like a good one to start with. Hit me.”

  “You must not think I am giving you a joke. With this wine, you will come to know me and I you. You will be within me and I within you.”

  Claire felt that Monique was treating her like a little girl and wouldn’t have it. “If you can handle it, I think I can.”

  A faint smile on her lips, Monique poured a taste for each of them. Claire chided, “It’ll take all night to get a buzz if you ration it like that.”

  Monique shrugged and half-filled each glass. They drank together. It was an enchanting, light, fruity burgundy, almost weightless with the ethereal flavor of the pinot noir grape. Other than being a delectable wine, Claire found nothing remarkable about it.

  “Okay. When do I start seeing the world through your eyes?”

  “Let us recline over there. Drink as we lay holding hands. You will fall into a short slumber, but you must hold my hand until you do. When you awaken, you will know.

  “This is more wine, Claire, than I usually share. Your sleep may be longer, or we may fail to reconnect. If you awaken and then fall to sleep again, the effect may last all night. But in the morning, all will be as before.”

  Claire barely understood, and didn’t believe a word of what Monique was saying. She wanted to get high, wanted to get on to the second and third glass quickly. But she sat with her right hand in Monique’s until they emptied their glasses. As she turned to Monique to ask for another, her consciousness seemed to contract rapidly to a point. Her thoughts dissipated before she could complete them. The nexus that was her self hung in the air above her. She could look down on herself reclining, below her non-corporeal mind that seemed suspended above. Then all was blackness.

  She woke suddenly, not knowing how much time had passed. She still lay in the recliner, looking up at the clouds. She could clearly sense that two things had changed: she was alone, and something was very wrong. She reached up to rub her eyes with her hands. Her arms rested on her naked chest. She had been clothed in her gown before, she was certain of it. Her hands reached instinctively to grasp and cover her breasts. Instead of the ample bosom she had come to love, the breasts she felt didn’t fill the cup of her hands. The rings were gone too. She was suddenly shaken to her core. Grasping the arms of the chair, she sat up, paused, and looked down at her long, slender, dark brown legs.

  “What ze hell!” she exclaimed, nausea rising in her throat. Her voice was wrong, and the word ‘the’ had come out more like ‘ze,’ the French attempt at the ‘th’ sound. She bolted out of the chair and looked down at herself, down from more than half-a foot higher than before. What she saw shook her so badly that she had to steady herself against the bulkhead door. When she lifted her head, she saw Monique through the glass of the door. She raised the long fingers of her right hand to her face and saw Monique do the same. Then, horrified, she realized that it was her own reflection that she saw. She was Monique. She was a tall, slender Nubian beauty, her kinky-curly hair framing the darkly delicate features of Monique’s face. Her breasts were small and brown. Her pussy was brown and hairless. She reached down and felt for her rings. There was only one and the instant her fingers contacted it, she felt an intense pang of sexual arousal. The ring was through her clit. It was Monique’s ring.

  She rushed in through the door. The dim lights reflected the shine of her dark skin. She hurried down the corridor to Monique and René’s cabin. She was about to pound on the door when she saw a note.

  My dear Claire. I told you it was too much of the wine of exchange. We are probably stuck until morning. Nothing can be done. If you should awaken and read this note, go to your cabin and relax. Please do not disturb René and me. I fear that seeing me will shock you further. Trust me on this. Go and relax. Enjoy my ring, I will enjoy yours.

  - Monique

  Claire’s first impulse was to beat the door down. But the thought that the person who opened the door might be herself, or, rather, Monique in her body, stopped her. Her head was now spinning and she had to lie down. She stumbled into her cabin and collapsed onto her bed.

  In a few minutes she was steadier and rolled onto her back. Only the night-light illuminated the room, but she could still clearly see the black girl’s body that she now wore. “Zees ees eempossible! I am Claire!” Her words sounded like the French pronunciation of her English sentence. She had even pronounced the ‘r’ in her name as the French uvular ‘r.’

  The act of rolling over had sent tremors through her from the ring in her most sensitive spot. She reached down to steady it but instead, found herself unable to stop flicking it lightly, sending further vibrations of sexuality throughout her body from her clitoris. Within moments, she felt a rising climax. She continued to work the ring, climbing higher and higher. Once again, her consciousness seemed to contract to a single point, but this time that center of her being was the point of uncontrollable pleasure emanating from the ring.

  She came more intensely than she had ever been able to accomplish by herself before, but that wasn’t enough. Again and yet again she climaxed herself. Finally, exhausted, satisfied, and very mellowed, she lay still with her hands across her breasts, breathing heavily.

  Ten or fifteen minutes passed before she rose and went into the bathroom. She flipped on the light, not remembering that she would be looking directly at her refection in the full-length mirror. She gasped out loud, again.

  She was the black girl. She couldn’t even visualize her original blue-eyed blonde self, or her blue-eyed brunette self concealed somewhere behind the deep brown eyes. Her hair, eyes, mouth, face were Monique's. The small, silver ring looped through the flesh of her septum drew attention to her broader nose and wider nostrils. Her lips were full and dark red. Long, silver-mesh earrings dangled from ears now slightly larger and much darker than those she’d always seen in her own reflection. She examined the small breasts, the long fingers with bright, frosted-white polish. She saw the brown, hairless groin and the gold ring positioned toward the front, between her very long legs.

  She ran her hands over the smooth, dark skin. “Who have I become?” She asked aloud in heavily French-accented English. “Am I Claire trapped in Monique’s body, or Monique acting like Claire? How in the hell is this possible?”

  Dazed, she returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Once again, the clit ring was beckoning her. With almost no effort, she came again. By now, her strength had evaporated. She closed her eyes and was instantly asleep.

  She awoke with her arm around Elliot. That had been the strangest, most vivid dream she had ever experienced. She had actually seemed to be Monique. She was about to exclaim that she was so glad to have him back with her when she realized that the shoulder she held was larger, softer and more rounded than Elliot’s, and covered in more hair. She was in bed with René; she was naked and, in the area between her pussy rings, she could tell that her groin was sticky.

  Oh, God! She thought in those moments before René stirred. How did I get here? What have I done?!

  René felt her stir and rolled over to face her, his eyes sleepy, his face questioning. They just stared at each other for several seconds, before René asked, “You’re Claire, I presume?”