About a week later, Ava’s black town car pulled up to the kerb beside her flat.  A tall man in uniform stepped out of the driver’s side.  He held the rear door as Ava stepped out.  
       “Thank you, Francois,” she said.  She could tell that he was struggling not to stare at her legs as she swung her heels around.  If he had succeeded she would have checked his pulse.  
       It was four o’clock in the afternoon.  Ava was returning from a successful meeting with the bank.  Her restaurant was doing so well there was a plan to open a new outlet, “Tavish’s Too.”  It had been Ava’s idea.
       A loan was needed, hence the meeting.  The McTavish’s wanted Ava along to keep the bankers happy and diverted.  She had no doubt the tactic would succeed.  Her innocent face and hyper-curvaceous figure had been captivating older men since she sweet-talked her high school headmaster out of suspending her for having sex on the school grounds.  With his sons.
       She shook her head.  That was ridiculous, of course.   Nowadays, Ava accepted these pornographic revisions of her reality with resignation.  Damien could hardly help himself.  Though in truth he hardly tried.
       Ava was wearing the simple, attractive outfit her housemaid had laid out for her that morning: an orange-red, ribbed sweater and red A-line miniskirt, along with sheer, red hose and black boots.  Her light jacket matched the skirt.  Her long brown hair hung free around her shoulders.
       The maid had also selected Ava’s underwear.  Ava smiled at that.  Her new housemaid was Nadine from the restaurant, who was looking to pick up extra work.  As were the other servers, and Lorna McTavish too, Nadine was half in love with her.  She probably got a sexy thrill from handling Ava’s nicies.
       Ava took her driver’s proffered hand as she stepped out of the car onto her high heels.  She used the opportunity to check out the erection tenting his uniform trousers.  She had been teasing him for the entire ride from work.  Sometimes, coming home after a late shift, she would put on a show for him by making out with Nadine in the rear seat.  By the time they arrived at Ava’s digs, both Nadine and Francois would be breathing hard.
       The meeting with the bankers had gone well.  Lorna (who now looked more like a cover girl than a restaurateur) and her husband (whose culinary skills grew better every day) presented them with a solid business plan.  Ava presented them with a beguiling smile and magnetic tits.  
       The lead loan officer, a silver-haired man in an expensive suit, agreed to continue the negotiations over lunch at Tavish’s.  The attentive waitress talked him into a second martini.  Ava replaced her boots with a pair of red platform slides (she kept a dozen changes of footwear at the restaurant, just in case) so she could slip them off and play footsie with the banker while he tried to talk about loan guarantees.
       Ava gazed at him, head resting on her folded hands, while her red-nyloned foot slipped higher and higher, until she was stroking his hardness beneath the table.  The banker began stuttering and losing his place.  He didn’t really try to stop her.  Whenever he tried to examine the prospectus laid out on the table, Ava adjusted her V-necked sweater, or pursed her lips into a little kiss, or did something clever with her toes.  After a while she started using both feet.  The banker was prespiring.
       Eventually the banker scrawled his name across some loan papers without really looking at them, then followed Ava behind a screen where she finished him off with her lips.  The terms of the loan were very favourable for the restaurant.  Yet the banker stumbled away smiling.
       Ava drew a deep breath as she looked around the familiar street.  The afternoon was warm.  The incessant winter drizzle had finally relented.  The air felt like spring.
       Because of Ava’s Great Idea, there were fewer improbably sexy women strutting about the street.  Ava had found a new outlet for Damien’s power.  Well, all right, a meter maid passing by, checking parking infractions, did look rather amazingly over-built.  Her giant tits, even bigger than Ava’s, were spilling out of a half-unbuttoned shirt.  Her tight uniform trousers disappeared into slick, black thigh-boots.  She flipped back yard-long blonde hair, then filled in a citation with great concentration.
       Also, an attractive girl in a foreshortened school uniform was making out with a young man on a bench in the parklet.  She wore black lace-ups with platform heels and shiny socks that stopped at mid-thigh.  The girl was half in her partner’s lap.  Their enthusiasm was a heartbeat away from public sex.  Another couple was doing the same thing standing up, beneath a nearby tree.  Her skirt was even shorter.  His hands were under it.  It was rare for the parklet to be unoccupied, even during school hours.
       The amorous teens ignored the flock of black, turkey-size birds with heavy bills and coloured patches on their throats, pecking the ground around them.  They had been there for several days now.  Damien said they were African ground-hornbills.  He had to look them up on the internet.  “At least they aren’t giraffes,” was all he said.
       Ava dismissed Francois.  He turned for one more gawk at her legs as he returned to the car.  He banged his knee on the front bumper.  Ava giggled.
       Instead of going directly to her flat, Ava decided to check out the Mercati’s new store.  Ava’s Great Idea involved taking their traditional clothing store in an entirely new direction.  The sign over the door, ‘Fashions from Italy’, had been replaced.  The new one, in glowing blue script, said, ‘Intimacy’.
       Ava stepped inside.  The store was softly lit, deeply carpeted, and huge.  It had to be, both to match Ava’s digs upstairs and to accommodate the range of products on offer.  Intimacy stocked everything romantic for women, from sexy and sensuous to steamy and scandalous.  
       As usual, the store was busy.  It had been a hit from opening day.  The aisles were alive with vibrant women looking for the perfect party dress, some fine lingerie, the right pair of shoes.  They were being assisted by a coterie of shapely advisors, all dressed in the store’s sexiest fashions.  Most of the sales staff had been drawn from Ava’s restaurant, which guaranteed they were hot.
       The store was Ava’s idea.  The execution was Damien’s.  The Mercati’s, of course, remembered only that it had always been their dream.  They loved sex so much they wanted to share it with the world.
       Mr. Mercati was ensconced in his usual position, behind the front counter, beside the cash register.  “Ava!” he greeted her in his booming voice.  “D-didn’t expect to see you today.  What a p-pleasant surprise.”  His eyes swept up and down her lush figure with open sexual interest.  They lingered on her boot-clad legs.  Screwing his hot wife virtually every night had not dampened his libido.
       “Hi Antonio,” Ava replied.  “Thought I’d drop in, take a look around.  You don’t mind, do you?”
       “W-what?” the big man replied.  He was still standing behind the counter.  “Oh, no, of c-course not, not at all.”  He stopped for a second, twitching.  “After all, you are my f-favourite partner!”
       “Antonio, I’m you’re only partner,” Ava replied, smiling.  “Except for Lucia.”  She referred to his lovely wife.  “How’s business?”
       Again he didn’t answer for several seconds.  He was breathing deeply.  “Business?” he said at last.  “Oh, yes, b-business.  Still picking up!”  He stopped again, closing his eyes.  He seemed to be moving his hips below the counter top.  “Yes, uhm, yes, every, every day we get more, more, more!  More c-customers!”
       “Well, that’s great, isn’t it.  Look, if you’re busy, I’ll carry on.”
       “No!  W-wait!  I’m c-coming too.  I mean, I’ll come – I’ll come with you, wait a minute, I’m almost there.  One, one mmmmm-moment, I’m coming, coming com-iiiing Commmmming!”  He slapped both hands on the counter top, while his head jerked forward and his eyes rolled upward.  He stayed that way for a dozen heartbeats, twitching and jerking below the waist.
       Abruptly he relaxed.  He took a couple of deep breaths.  “I’ll come with you,” he repeated, smiling.
       He stood upright.  Ava heard something that sounded like a zipper.  Mr. Mercati emerged from behind the counter.  He put his arm around her shoulders in an overly familiar way.  Ava didn’t mind.  Mr. Mercati was a horndog, but thanks to Damien he was a charming horndog.  When he worked his magic on the customers, he could talk the starry-eyed women into buying just about anything.  And of course Ava could still talk Antonio into anything.
       He led her away.  Out of the corner of her eye, Ava spotted Carmen, a stunning young Frenchwoman who divided her time between the store and the restaurant, emerge from under the counter.  She flicked something off the corner of her lower lip with one delicate finger.  Ava smiled.  Carmen was keeping more than the customers satisfied.
       Antonio led Ava first to the women’s clothing section, the largest part of the store.  A fleet of eager young women were searching through skimpy party dresses, flirty miniskirts and ass-skimming short-shorts.  Sales girls were busy talking them into trying them all. 
       “Has Damien been in today?”  Ava wondered, as Antonio Mercati guided her through the vast hosiery section. 
       “He dropped by earlier,” the manager replied, “but he left rather abruptly.  Off to the uni again, it seems.  Do you know what that’s all about?”
       “He’s involved in some, uhm, research there,” Ava countered.  “Not sure what it’s about.  Damien seems to think they’re on the cusp of a breakthrough.”
       “I hope he returns soon.  Sales are much brisker when Damien is around.”
       Of course they were.  The store, Ava reasoned, would give Damien an outlet for his unconscious need to turn every second woman he met into a manifestation of his sexual fantasies.  Women already came here in search of glamour.  Could they complain if they left the store looking a notch prettier than when they went in – more often several notches – with new sexual confidence to match?  Or that most of their inhibitions vanished along with the moles on their back?
       Damien liked to sit in one of the comfortable boyfriend chairs.  He would read, or work on his laptop, or stare into space, as he so often did.  He seemed to gaze right past the shoppers, lost in his own world.  Nevertheless, his influence was everywhere.  The usual variety of city women walked into the shop; a parade of shapely, seductive sirens strutted out.  None of them noticed any change.  
       Even when Damien wasn’t around, spillover from his power was still pervasive.  Once, Ava watched a slender brunette disappear into a changing room four times to try on brassieres.  She had to keep finding new bras because every one she tried seemed to be a cup size too small.  Each time, her next choice became less about comfort and fit and more about uplift and lace and pretty colours.  By the fourth time around, she was a bouncy D-cup who only wanted strapless push-ups that would show off her boobs to the world.
       Ava and Mr. Mercati continued their quick tour.  The store had a separate shoe section called Sole Music.  It’s selection was astonishing, if rather skewed toward the garish and impractical.  
Mr. Mercati spread his free arm to encompass the room.  “You can never go wrong selling women more shoes!” he exclaimed.  Ava smiled.  She loved sexy shoes.
       Indeed, the shoe galleries were busy with otherwise sensible women suddenly infatuated with high heels.  There was only one man among them.  He was standing in front of a younger woman, perhaps college age, who was sitting in one of the deep red chairs, trying on shoes.  Her blonde hair splayed out around her shoulders.  Ava wondered if she had been that strikingly attractive when she came in.
       “I just can’t decide,” the young beauty whined.  Several pairs of designer platform pumps lay scattered on the carpet around her.  She set one foot on a foot-rest to admire the tall-heeled, red shoe she was considering.  She was wearing glossy white stockings with red hearts embedded in them.  Sitting back in her chair with her foot elevated, she didn’t seem to notice the open view she was providing up her brief skirt.
       The man was looking very uncomfortable.  He took a long pull from the drink in his hand.  A free perk for all the men that came in.
       “Uncle Mason, what do you think?” the blonde demanded.  She lifted her leg in the air so he could better admire the red shoe on her foot.
       The man gulped.  His face was flushed.  “Try – try the white ones again,” he said thickly.
       Mr. Mercati led Ava into another area of the shop.  He still had his arm around her.  “Your idea to include – what do you call it? – athletic leisure wear – that was brilliant.  Brilliant!”  All around them, women were flipping through ranks of bright coloured tights and yoga pants, spandex sport tops and tiny tennis skirts.  Trendy, gel-soled sport shoes in bright white or rainbow colours lined one wall.  There were no loose track suits here.
       A couple of women shopping for more tights caught Ava’s eyes.  The blonde one was wearing navy blue tights and a gold half-top, coupled with gold high-tops with wedge heels.  Her red-haired companion was wearing black: a tight black bra-top, equally tight bicycle shorts and chunky black ankle boots.  She set it off with abundant gold jewelry.  
       After a moment the red-head excused herself from her blonde companion.  She strutted over to a bemused looking young man nearby.  He was staring at each spandex-coated beauty that passed by as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  “Hi Kyle,” redhead said, smiling.  “Your mum and I appreciate you taking a day off from the uni to go shopping with us.”
       Kyle looked even more confused.  “Oh, uhm, w-well,” he mumbled.  “I’ve no classes today.  No problem.  Mum said she wanted some c-company.”  He was struggling not to stare at the redhead’s breasts. They were spilling out of her inadequate top like two loaves of bread rising in a warm oven.  Yet her waist was trim and flat. 
       “So good of you,” she cooed.  “Still, it must be awfully boring, hanging around with your ol’ mum and her friend when you could be out with your mates.”  She was standing close to him now.  Her tight shorts telegraphed the sway of her rump. The heels on her platform ankle boots brought her almost to his height.
       “It’s - It’s fine,” Kyle mumbled.  He was clearly nonplused by the attention of this neighbourly super-milf.
       “You know,” the redheaded babe pressed on, “I can’t help noticing, you are looking very good these days, Kyle.  All grown up and off to university.  A real man.  You mum is very proud of you.”  
       “She – she is?”
       “Silly, of course she is.  We all are.  We talk about you all the time.”
       “You do?  But, what, what do you talk about?”
       She toyed with the lapels of his jacket.  “Oh you know, girly stuff.  About how well you’ve grown up.  And filled out.  And whether you work out.  And how nice it would be to watch when you do.”
       He gulped.  “Oh, well, that’s nice, uh, Mrs. Milton, but – ”
       She pouted like a spoiled child.  “Please, no more Mrs. Milton, okay?  We’re all adults here.  You can call me Trippy.”  She was still standing very close; her tits rubbed against his T-shirt.
       “Trippy?”
       She giggled.  “A nickname from my own uni days.  I was a bit of a wild child.”  She leaned in close.  “Wanna know a secret?  I still am.”
       Kyle shot a nervous glance toward the other latexed lovely who was apparently his mother.  “Look, uhm, this is nice, Mrs. Milton, but – ”
       “Unh-unh,” she corrected him, waving a red-nailed finger.
       “I mean, uhm, Trippy, but uhm, I’d better get back to me mum.”
       With one finger on his cheek, Trippy guided his eyes back to her.  “Don’t worry about your old mum,” she said, “she’s pretty busy shopping.”  Indeed, the other age-defying beauty was holding up a sleeveless body-stocking with gauze side panels as is she had discovered a rare work of art.  
       “Well, uhm, still . . .”
       “My goodness, you really have filled out,” Trippy cooed.  She fondled his biceps on both sides.  “So manly.  And your mum tells me you’ve filled out everywhere."   One of her hands dropped out of sight below his waist.  
       Kyle jumped.  His eyes went wide.  “Hey!  What – what are doing!”  He flayed his arms about.  He didn’t seem to know how to stop her.  Or maybe he didn’t want to try.  He shot another glance toward his mother, but she was oblivious.
       “Come back here,” the redheaded whispered.  She led him behind a rack of multicoloured leggings.  No one could see them from the waist down.  Both her hands were busy now.  “Oh my, Kyle honey, you really are a fully grown man,” she whispered.
       “Ohmygod ohmygod,” Kyle moaned.
       “Now you keep an eye on your mother,” the stunner in shorts instructed, “while Trippy takes you on a happy trip.”  She sank to her knees and disappeared behind the rack of gaudy clothing.   Kyle’s head rolled back.  He gasped and twitched.
       Ava had caught much of this conversation as she and Antonio Mercati passed by.  He still had an arm around her.  One hand was flitting closer and closer to her right breast.  She could feel the heat from his body radiating into hers.  
       Abruptly she pulled away.  “I think I’ve seen enough, today,” she decided.  “I’ll be getting home.”
       “Yes of course my dear,” Antonio replied.  “It is almost the dinner hour.  And I must attend to my customers.”  He drifted away with a comforting smile.  A few seconds later he approached a dazed looking woman who was drifting through the aisles, overwhelmed by all the gorgeous clothing.  “Hullo!” he boomed, “I’m Antonio, the store manager, at your service.  Can I help you find something today?  Something lovely for someone so lovely?”
       Ava let herself out through the hidden side door that led to her entrance foyer.  Except now it wasn’t a simple foyer at all.  It was a grand ballroom, decorated all around with statues and mirrors, lit by a row of crystal chandeliers even bigger than the ones in her flat.  Elaborate plaster-work decorated the gilded ceiling.  
       Ava made her way across the polished tile floor to the wide, red-carpeted staircase in the back.  The staircase wound in a graceful spiral around the transparent shaft of a personal lift.  Both the lift and the staircase were designed to allow Ava to make a grand entrance as she slowly descended to her guests below.
       Ava used the glass-walled lift.  It was carpeted, with a padded seat in the back.  She arrived at the landing to her flat.  Of course it was no longer a landing but a wide mezzanine that curved around three sides of the great hall below, protected by a wrought-iron railing.  The mezzanine was furnished with deep chairs, bookshelves and potted plants.  A billiards table waited along one side, a wet bar along the other.  More art works and statuary impressed visitors.
       It was all a bit much.  Ava was relieved when she opened the oak door to her own flat.  Of course, her rooms were even bigger too.  And luxuriously furnished.  
       The upright piano had become a Yamaha grand.  There was plenty of room for it in the expanded living room.  The flat was organized around an enormous central space, framed on either side by rows of white doric columns that soared up to the cathedral ceiling far above.  A line of crystal chandeliers illuminated the room.  Tinted, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the street on one end, while a huge fireplace dominated the other end.  The mantle over the fireplace was supported by two voluptuous nymphs carved in marble.  Museum quality art pieces lined the walls. 
       Ava’s immense bedroom, with the canopied, four-poster bed set on a sort of stage three steps above the floor, connected to the main hall near the windows.  The kitchen, dining room, sauna and hot tub, Damien’s space, the library, the private cinema, the gym, the pool, three guest bedrooms, and several other rooms were all arranged in alcoves off the main hall, defined by the pillars.  Despite it’s size and opulence, Ava’s palace was still a one-bedroom flat.
       Nadine appeared from somewhere to take Ava’s jacket and purse.  She handed her a cold drink.  “Hi babe,” she said.  “I suppose the bank meeting went well?”
       Nadine looked lovely, of course.  She was wearing a brief, clingy, mauve dress with a lacy white apron over it.  White lace gloves and shiny black shoes.  When Nadine had agreed to help out around Ava’s flat, both of them had avoided the word “maid”.  But it was clear that was how Nadine thought of herself.  She was wearing fine fishnet hose, also white.
       Ava took the proffered drink.  Then she grabbed her shapely friend and kissed her, long and sweet, on the lips.  Nadine made a little ‘mmmmm’ sound.  She made no move to get away.
       “I think someone’s been visiting the Mercati’s,” Nadine whispered, when Ava finally let the kiss end.
       “How can you tell?”
       “You always come back from the store as frisky as an alley cat.”
       “Maybe,” Ava allowed.  Ava was a co-owner of Intimacy, but the sexy ambiance of the shop still got under her skin.
       Nadine had her arms around Ava’s waist.  “Well, you shouldn’t have kissed me like that,” she chided.
       “Why not?”
       “Because now I don’t want to ever stop.”
       To prove her point she drew her friend and employer back in for a second kiss as least as long and hot as the first.  The two beauties made out eagerly, pressing their bodies together.  Ava wasn’t into girls particularly, but she was young, and very open-minded.  And Nadine kisses were delicious.  Ava could feel the softness of her lips, the warmth of her body, and the press of her pert breasts against her own.
       Abruptly she pushed Nadine away.   The sexy maid was already flushed with arousal.  “I’m going to get changed,” Ava announced.  “Call me when dinner is ready.”  She sipped her drink as she strolled off to her bedroom.  It was a long walk.  She passed a series of striking French Impressionist paintings she had never seen before.
       Ava sat in a padded dressing chair and looked around her augmented bedroom.  It was easily as big as her whole flat used to be.  The four-poster bed had curtains around three sides and a headboard carved with unicorns.  A grand bay window overlooked the street.  The furniture was French Provincial.  Besides the en-suite bathroom (with a jacuzzi) there were two walk-in closets.  One was just for shoes.
       She shook her head.  She knew, or half-knew, that this was all Damien’s doing.  But the memory that it had always been that way was equally compelling.  The psychic tension could be overwhelming at times.
       Fortunately, she knew how to relieve it.  She pulled off her boots and tossed them aside.  Nadine would clean them and put them away.  And probably moisten her knickers a little doing it, Ava reflected.  She took off her sweater and skirt, then climbed onto her bed, lying on her back.  She slipped a couple of fingers under her satin panties.  She relaxed into a pleasant daydream about being ravished by an adoring stud.  Or maybe two adoring studs.  Or five.
       The relief was pleasant.  She was very turned on.  Yet something troubled her.  Why was she still relying on her fingers and her imagination?  She was young, she was beautiful, she had a bed the size of the Isle of Man.  Yet she still didn’t have a man in her bed.  Or anywhere in her life.  
       Sex itself wasn’t the problem.  Ava charmed and excited handsome men every day: at the restaurant, in the Mercati’s shop, even on the street.  Teasing men at Tavish’s was practically part of her job description.  Flirting was great fun, but ultimately unsatisfying.  She hadn’t had a single real date since she left school.
       It didn’t make sense.  In the topsy-turvy that her life had become, the only constant was her lack of a real love life.  Damien said he had resisted changing her, mostly, but now she wondered.  Was there some devious method behind his madness?  She decided to broach the matter when he returned from the university.  Her fingers stroked.  Right now she had other business to attend to.
       That business entailed three orgasms.
       Shortly after dinner, Nadine changed into her skimpy-tight waitress uniform and left for another evening of teasing and tempting at the restaurant.  Nowadays Tavish’s was popular for more than it’s fine cuisine and extensive wine list.  The atmosphere in the restaurant was steeped in sensuality, as bewitching as Cupid’s bedroom.
       Couples whispered over drinks, traded niblets of the main course, sucked desert off their fingers.  There were many dark corners and alcoves where amore could advance in privacy.  Feminine gasps and moans signaled the waitresses not to intrude. 
       The wait-staff were known for their discretion in other ways.  If a young wife had a little too much to drink and started making out with her rich husband at a back table, the waitresses left them alone.  If the fellow had the same good fortune with another beauty later in the week, the waitresses discreetly pretended not to notice.  Tavish’s was a free parking space for the upper class, with champagne.
       Ava stayed in her flat though.  She felt restless, unsettled.  A kind of electric tension seemed to hang in the air, like the calm before a big storm.  Ava couldn’t shake the feeling that some great event was impending.
       She turned on one of her giant televisions for a while.  The news presenters on every station were uncommonly attractive.  The women in particular were all busty and bubble-headed.  They were inclined to flirt with the camera – and the other presenters, and each other.  Open-minded Ava found them rather distracting.  Yet they had no unusual news to report.  Ava stayed up late, trying to read.
       Nadine returned much later.  She was drunk, and flushed with success at securing lavish tips.  But she sensed the tension in the air too.
       “I felt it all the way home,” she told Ava.  “Stronger near the flat.  Weird.”  She kicked off her high heels.  “Can I get you anything ‘fore I turn in?”
       Ava set aside her book.  She wasn’t really reading it anyway.  “No, thanks, I think I’ll – ”
       Before she could finish, the lights went out.  A second later they came on again.  But now the light was different.  It seemed unnaturally soft, heavily filtered, like the glow from a setting sun on a summer day.  It illuminated everything without shadow.  The air felt thick, almost textured.  “What – what’s going on?”  Nadine wailed.
       Ava said,  “I don’t know.  It’s . . . strange.  Everything feels like, hyper-real.  Bright and . . . vibey.”  Was that a word?  She stood up, turning about, blinking.
       “I feel like . . . I’m tripping,” Nadine said.  “All the colours . . . gorgeous . . . ”  She was staring about, round-eyed.  The crystals in the chandeliers sparkled in a hundred colours.
       “Was that figure . . . always so . . . sexy?”  Ava wondered.  She was gazing with lolling eyes at a painting of a reclining nude on one wall, long blonde hair half-covering her most private parts.  It was the work of a famous artist.  Ava imagined the nude figure rolling over, slipping a finger into her snatch, and blowing Ava a kiss.  Or maybe she really did that?  
       Everything around her, every sofa and chair, every lamp and book and artwork, had become exquisitely erotic.  Arousal inflamed at every turn.  The outlines of everything were smooth, sensual, suggestive.  Shapes seemed to be impermanent, flowing into one another while somehow remaining the same.
       Nadine was looking about her too.  She turned this way and that like a drunkard trying to remember the way home.  Her eyes were glazed and dilated.  They alighted on Ava.  “You . . . you’re so . . . so beautiful!” she intoned.
       She stumbled toward her, eyes alive with desire.  She was walking on her toes, as if she were still wearing heels.  Ava watched as Nadine’s discarded sandals raced across the floor to slip back onto her feet.  It didn’t bother her.  Nadine herself filled her senses.  The flow and flex of her body beneath the thin dress was erotica in its purest form.
       Ava felt her nipples stiffen.  Her own dress was now a wisp of white lace.  Her sandals matched Nadine’s, except hers were gold and inlaid with jewels.  The masturbating nude in the painting was wearing red thigh-boots.  Ballet dancers in a Degas on the far wall began to twirl and leap.
       The room seemed to pulse and glow around her.  A figure from another painting, a nineteenth-century country gentleman, climbed off his horse, dropped into the frame with the reclining nude, dropped his breeches and began to fuck her with great vigor.  He had a magnificent cock.  The blonde nudie received him ardently, raising her shiny boots in the air.  All the televisions came on.  They flipped among scenes from famous movies re-imagined as high-quality porn.
       “Nadine,” Ava husked, as the other woman shuffled closer, “Darling.  Why do I . . . want you . . . so hot.”  Nadine’s lips were the richest, warmest red.  The chandeliers began throwing off coloured sparks.  The marble nymphs by the fireplace danced.
       “Beautiful,” Nadine replied.  Her irises were like kaleidoscopes.  “Please.  Must . . . touch.”  She closed the space between them and embraced her friend in a torrid kiss.  Their lips moved and tongues danced.  Ava pressed herself against Nadine, whose hands were everywhere.    Underthings disappeared. 
       Orgasm overtook them instantly.  The lust-crazed couple collapsed onto the undulating carpet, kissing and cumming and caressing and cumming some more.   Ava’s climax went on and on, bathing her in endless delight.  Her body moved, hot and open, against Nadine’s.  All around her the room swirled and shifted in impossible colours and forms.  Flowers exploded into bloom like fireworks, throwing golden pollen everywhere.  The room smelled of roses, honeysuckle and sex.
       Finally, like a receding tide, the crashing orgasms subsided.  The two girls lay panting in a tangled heap of arms and legs, gradually coming down to Earth.  They stayed that way for a long time.  
       “What . . . what just happened?” Nadine wondered, when she could speak again.  She was now wearing shoulder-length, red silk gloves.
       Ava was still breathing hard.  “Don’t . . . don’t know.  But I think . . . over now.”  She looked around.  The room had returned more or less to normal.  The gentleman in the painting was back on his horse.  The reclining nude had a satisfied smile on her face.  Her hair was loose and tangled.
       “It’s gone,” Nadine said.  “Thank goodness.  I don’t think I could handle another orgasm like that one.  Ohmygod.  Hey, check out my cool shoes.”  She lifted one leg to inspect the bejewelled sandal on her foot.
       About a half hour later the two women were sprawled on a sofa, sipping a night cap and drowsily discussing the events of earlier.  It was after two in the morning.  They were interrupted by the front door opening.  Damien was standing there.  
       He looked wretched.  His hair was disheveled.  His face was florid, eyes half closed, as if he were running a high fever.  His clothing was in disarray.  He swayed in the doorway.
       Both girls ran to his side.  “Damien!” Ava cried.  “Are you all right?  What’s the matter?”
       “I hurt,” he replied.  “Everywhere.”  Then he collapsed.
       It took both of them to get him into the room.  Damien was dead weight.  The two women managed to get him onto a sofa, with one leg splayed onto the floor.  He appeared to have fallen asleep.  
       “Get some blankets,” Ava said.  “We’ll let him sleep here.”  She pulled his muddy shoes off.
       Nadine was worried.  “Should we call a hospital?  He doesn’t look well.”
       “I don’t think he would want that.  Let him sleep.  We’ll see in the morning.”  She checked his pulse.  She covered him with the blankets that Nadine provided.  She went to bed.