She didn’t know what to say at first, the question was idiotic. “Of course I’m Claire,” she said finally. “Don’t you know me?”

  “Mon Dieu! Monique must have fallen asleep afterwards.”

  “After what? René, did we … Have we … Have I been here all night?”

  “Actually, I don’t know when you arrived.” He said “you” as though it were in quotes.

  Just as she was about to ask him again if they’d had sex, the door opened and Monique entered, tiptoeing until she realized Claire was awake and looking at her. She didn’t seem at all upset that Claire was in bed with her lover.

  “Where were you?” Claire asked. It was the first thing that came to mind.

  “In your cabin where you left me, of course.”

  Claire’s head began to spin and she felt that she might faint. “I didn’t leave you anywhere. I don’t remember anything at all since I was holding your hand on deck last night. Then I woke up here with René.”

  “Nothing at all, mon cher?”

  “Well, nothing except a bizarre dream that I was you.”

  “Mon cher, you drank the wine of exchange. What you experienced was no dream. It was very real. “Because you insisted, we drank far too much and remained exchanged throughout the night, rather than for only a few minutes. Just after the exchange, you were fast asleep and I was unable to rouse you. So I returned to my cabin and slept with René, knowing that we would revert to ourselves sometime before morning.”

  At Monique’s words, Claire’s heart began to pound. “What do you mean, you slept with René? Did you do more than just sleep?”

  “I was trying to use one of your American idioms. René and I had sex several times. Your body is quite pleasurable.”

  “You violated me!”

  “Dear Claire, I only used the body that was mine at the time. A very nice body, I might add. This was not done to you, but for me and René.”

  “I can’t believe you would use me like that.” She was becoming angrier.

  “Claire, I did not use you. By your definition, I was you. You were me. And what did you do while you were me?”

  “Ah, er … I … I looked at myself in the mirror.”

  “And?”

  “I … I …” She was caught so she blurted it out. “I played with your clit ring, but …”

  Monique cut her off with a wave of her hand. “So, you took liberties with my body too.”

  “But I didn’t do it with anyone else.” To Monique, Claire’s face betrayed her inner thoughts.

  “But you would have, if Elliot had been here, wouldn’t you? You couldn’t have resisted the urge to try it while you were that way. So,” she said dismissively, “we are no different. We just had different opportunities. And you drank the wine freely.”

  Claire was about to protest but stopped. Out of self-pity from missing Elliot, she had drunk the wine. She had used Monique’s body. The experience was, actually, quite remarkable, though she couldn’t imagine that it could actually happen. But she had lived it herself, so it was difficult to deny what her own senses told her.

  She rose, naked, from the bed. All of her rings were a tiny bit sorer from Monique’s activities, but, other than that, she felt perfectly fine. Her anger was abating but she was pouting. She wanted nothing more than to leave. She said so.

  Monique came over to hug her and ask her to reconsider. “Please, mon cher, there are many experiences in life. I have shown you a most unusual one. I honestly didn’t mean to upset you, either because of the experience or by sleeping with René when I was in your body. I like you very much and want to be your friend. I thought you were very brave, and talented, when you tried but lost the forfeit. I admire you because you are so good for Elliot, something that I never would be able to be. I should have explained more clearly what was going to happen. Please forgive me.”

  Claire realized that she had a choice between being vindictive, or being gracious. At one point in her life, before she came to know Elliot and soured by her troubled childhood and early, stormy relationships, she might have chosen to be vindictive without giving any thought to another path. But she had already become so much more than before that her mind and her heart had expanded. She chose to be accommodating and forgiving. She and Monique hugged; Claire kissed René on the forehead and then she returned to her cabin.

  * * * * *

  The next several days passed uneventfully. They visited some beaches, swam in the warm waters and completed a circuit back to Monte Carlo. Claire was developing the best tan of her life. She had gotten over the situation with Monique and René remarkably quickly, and now realized that she honestly treasured the vivid memories of having been in the body of someone else. It was still hard to believe that it had actually happened, but she had no other explanation. The memories were far too lifelike for it to have been a dream, especially the pleasure she’d derived from Monique’s ring!

  She was contemplating a surprise for Elliot for when he returned next week. She was very nervous about the idea, but thought it would greatly please him. She discussed it with Monique, who thought it was a wonderful surprise. Claire asked her for a reference in Monte Carlo. Monique claimed to have the perfect place and arranged for her to go the next afternoon.

  Elliot called again that morning, as he did once or twice every day. Claire loved to hear his voice, loved the way he spoke to her, either on the phone or when they were together. She had told him about her exchange experience. He became angry at first saying, “Damn it! I told Monique not to pull any stunts with you.” Claire had calmed him down. When he guessed that Monique had slept with René while in Claire’s body, she quickly told him that she held no grudge and, in fact, had used Monique’s ring because she had been quickly aroused and because she’d missed him so. Elliot agreed to drop it, but promised lightheartedly to “… extract a few ounces of flesh from that horny son-of-a-bitch at the first opportunity.”

  It was early evening and the other three on-board were trying hard to get Claire to party. Jean-Pierre was particularly good at teasing Claire. She laughed at his quaint command of English and his all-too-stereotypical, gay-hairdresser antics. For several days, now, he’d been after her to let him change her hairstyle again. She had steadfastly refused.

  Claire was moderately high when they had dinner, a light seafood salad, which they ate out on the deck. Jean-Pierre kept everyone’s wine glass full. By nine o’clock, they were three-fourths of the way to wasted.

  “I am so glad I’m not steering this ship,” René mumbled drunkenly. Claire had always thought that the French could hold their alcohol pretty well. If that were generally true, René appeared to be the exception. Fortunately, he was almost as funny as Jean-Pierre when he was drunk. Sober, he was a nice, thoughtful man, apparently quite good to Monique. Elliot and René had been friends for years which, in Claire’s mind, made René someone special all by itself.

  Claire had discovered more than once that René liked to kiss every woman, including her, as often as he could get away with. She admitted that he was good at it. Only a few minutes before, she’d been on the receiving end of a rather soggy kiss from the inebriated René.

  Claire was getting pretty tipsy herself. Sometimes that made her feel sexy; sometimes it melted her inhibitions; sometimes it made her bold. She’d walked over to the table to get a cracker or something to munch on with her wine. She ate one and emptied her glass. She saw the collection of bottles of the allegedly magical “spicy wine,” as Jean-Pierre called it.

  “Which of these is your favorite?” She asked Jean-Pierre.

  He pointed to a bottle, reminding her that it was “the wine of the loss of inhibitions.”

  “Don’t need that,” she was noticeably slurring her words. “Don’t feel many inhibitions now anyway. But go ahead and knock yourself out if you want.” Jean-Pierre poured himself a small portion and then poured some into Claire’s empty glass. “I am not going to bed with you J-P,” she said.

  “But to worry not,” he said, shocked. “No offense, but you are not my type. But we can make nice party together and play some games or do something else. After the spicy wine, you can decide.”

  My God, Claire, didn’t you learn your lesson? She thought to herself. I’m being reckless again, she admitted, but the already-consumed wine had lowered her inhibitions enough to raise her interest in the spicy wine. She clinked her glass against his and downed the sweet, syrupy liquid.

  She remembered little of what happened after that. She’d noticed René and Monique returning to their cabin and recalled thinking - there they go again. She remembered horsing around with Jean-Pierre and ending up in the lounge with him. The last thing she remembered was him fussing about her and his last words, something like, “I’m sure, are you?” To which she had responded, “Absolutely!” The next thing she knew, she was waking up alone in her bed with a splitting headache.

  She instinctively reached up to massage her temples. Her fingertips touched only bare scalp. Her hands instantly sprang to the top of her head and felt the same, smooth hairlessness everywhere. She screamed aloud at the top of her lungs. Within moments, René and Jean-Pierre stumbled into her cabin.

  “What the fuck have you done to me?!” She shouted at Jean-Pierre. He looked at her, dumbfounded at first, realization gradually beginning to appear on his face. René stood there, rubbing his eyes, as though he were sure they were seeing something impossible. “Sacré bleu!” Was all he could say.

  Claire leaped naked out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. Knowing what she was going to see in the mirror and actually seeing it were miles apart. She gasped at the perfectly smooth, soft, clean scalp, devoid of any hair whatsoever. She ran her hand over it, unable to believe it, somehow still looking for the hair which was irretrievably lost. No longer able to steady herself, she burst into tears and stumbled weakly into the room where Jean-Pierre waited, his features a study in remorse.

  “Oh my dear Claire, I am beyond sorrow. All I can remember is drinking the spicy wine with you and then asking you to let me do your hair. I kept asking to go shorter and you kept agreeing. Finally, your hair was only a centimeter or so all over so I suggested shaving it. I don’t know what came over me. You told me to do it and I momentarily gathered my senses and refused, but you would not hear of it and started to put the shaving cream on your head and shaved it in front yourself. At that point, I was overcome by my desire to shave it so I did the rest. Afterward, you rubbed your hands over your head and suggested that I apply the special cream to keep it smooth. I did. And I reapplied it to your eyebrows too.

  “You mean I’m going to be bald for three months or more?!”

  “Alas, I am crushed to say that you are.”

  At that, the blackness gathered around her and she fainted onto the bed.

  When she came to, Monique was administering to her, holding her very naked head in her lap. “Oh, my poor Claire,” was all she could say, over and over. “I should never have introduced you to the wines of many moods. I blame myself for this. I honestly wanted you to enjoy your time here and I have twice ruined it.”

  Tears were streaming down Monique’s cheeks. Claire realized for the first time that Monique was completely sincere in her affection for her, and genuinely upset over the turn of events. René appeared in the room and started yelling at Monique in French, causing the Nubian French beauty to cry all the harder. Monique threw a water glass at René who quickly exited, slamming the door behind him.

  Over the next two hours, Monique helped Claire gather her strength. They talked together of what had happened and Claire found herself loosening up, coming to grips with her own folly. As time passed, they both took to joking about it, using humor to calm their troubled spirits. Claire was starting to feel like it wasn’t the end of the world after all. Perhaps, just perhaps, Elliot might find her hairless look erotic. She would know in less than a week.

  They were sitting on the bed, more-or-less facing each other. The conversation had died down for a moment and Claire watched Monique stare off behind her, an internal struggle just barely apparent in her eyes. “I think it would be good if you would take a bath and put this trauma behind you,” she said to Claire. “I will leave now and return in an hour to see how you are. If you feel like it, we can have a late breakfast or an early lunch.”

  Monique left while Claire soaked. She showered off, washing all over with soap, including her head which no longer had need of shampoo. She actually giggled when she washed her scalp. It felt so smooth, almost baby-like in its softness. She dried off and studied herself in the mirror.

  Actually, I have a nicely-shaped head, she thought. I do look strange, but I’m not ugly. She applied eye makeup and drew on her brows. She examined herself again. Not bad in an exotic, erotic sort of way, she decided. Maybe Monique can help me work with my makeup to find the right combination for this look.

  She didn’t feel like cramping her still slightly sore labia rings in panties so she went out on the deck naked. It didn’t matter; they’d all seen her before anyway, and they weren’t close to any other boats. Monique emerged from the lounge just as Claire was about to go inside to look for her. Monique’s tightly curled Afro hair and classic, arched eyebrows were as absent as Claire’s.

  “What did you do that for?” Claire asked, astonished.

  “Mon cher, it was the least I could do to prove to you how sorry I am that this happened, and that I truly want to be your friend. Besides, it is not right that you should be the only hairless woman aboard this ship. So, I do this in sympathy and solidarity with you. And yes, I had Jean-Pierre apply the cream to me also.”

  Claire could barely believe that Monique would do that in the name of friendship for her. She rushed up to the woman and hugged her, tears in her eyes. They both cried and then laughed together as they gingerly touched each other’s head. At Claire’s suggestion, they went back inside to experiment with makeup.

  About one o’clock that afternoon, her very bald head still experiencing the residuals of a headache, but her spirits rising to normal, Claire received an email message from Elliot. He’d apparently written it at night from his hotel, after picking up the voice mail she’d left him earlier.

  Dearest Claire,

  I received your message and it caused me to relax and smile for the first time since I last talked to you. As I sit here, I can see your lovely face in my mind, your beautiful, multi-faceted blue eyes, the sexy fullness of your lips, especially your lower lip. I can almost smell you. I can almost feel the soft warmth of your breasts in my hands. I miss you so much, Darling, and I can barely wait for the next five days to pass so that I can return to you. I’m anxious for us to finally be alone together again, so we can travel away to be somewhere by ourselves.

  I’m glad things are going alright where you are. You must realize that my happiness is totally dependent on yours. I can’t imagine being happy unless you are. I’ve thought about the consuming joy of you and me together the whole time I’ve been away. I’ve come to realize that you’ve bound my mind and heart to you so deeply, that I can no longer imagine my life without you in the center of it.

  I want to give you everything I possibly can. If that isn’t everything there is, at least I promise you that I’ll give you so much more than I cannot give you. I promise with my soul to be there for you whenever you need me, or want me.

  My world has become a more wonderful place since you’ve become so prominent in it. It’s barely possible for me to remember how it must have been before you. In many ways, you’ve been the birth of me.

  Over these past weeks and months, I’ve watched you grow in many ways. Your sweetness now emerges frequently, and easily. Your personal sophistication is growing more rapidly than I could ever have imagined. Your recognition of your own erotic nature increasingly turns me on - almost unbearably. You are an incredible, beautiful woman who is becoming even more exciting, more desirable, more joyous to be with, more lovely with each passing week. I have, in some small way, attempted to nurture and encourage that growth. I’m taking great pleasure in watching it happen.

  I miss you terribly. I can rarely remember feeling so alone as I do at this moment. My heart aches for your presence. My arms yearn to embrace you. My lips quiver with the desire to press against yours. You are so precious to me.

  I must go as I have work to do tonight, including a lot of writing. I’ll call tomorrow, and each day I’m away. But I wanted to put in writing how I’m feeling now so that you can always read it and know. I do cherish you so.

  With my heart. From my heart. With thoughts of you ever in my mind.

  Your Elliot

  Tears welled up in her eyes. She felt wonderful and awful at the same time. What would he think; what would he say about her hair? Or, rather, the complete lack of it. Thanks to Jean-Pierre and her own foolishness, it would be months before it started growing back, eight or nine months before it was even as long as the short wisps she had before. The fact that she’d been irresponsible furthered her determination to go through with her surprise for Elliot.

  * * * * *

  In mid-afternoon they docked in Monte Carlo. A car was waiting to take her to her destination - Monique had arranged it for her. Monique had also given her a choice of wigs that she kept on-board. Most of them were Afros of various sorts, but there was one that was dark brown with long, very-curly layers and curly bangs. Claire had tried it on and, although it completely changed her looks and wasn’t something she would have picked for herself, decided that it did look very good on her. They fastened it on with two-sided toupee tape. Monique had helped her with suitable makeup - darker around her eyes, darker foundation, deep-maroon lipstick - so she looked quite stunning as she stepped off of the yacht and into the waiting, chauffeur-driven Mercedes.

  They drove for about thirty minutes, up into the hills above the city. All of Monte Carlo spread out below her, it’s light-colored, classical European and resort-modern buildings nestled tightly against the cerulean sea. They finally drove up to a high, private, cream-colored fence that stretched for hundreds of feet in either direction. They passed through the gate and around a circular drive to the front of a palatial house with the simple name of “The Monte Carlo Spa.”