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It's like digging holes orchasing cats; I feel like I've always known these things. I don'treally know where they come from."Phil sat back contently. He felt like he had a pretty good idea aboutwhat was going on with Evita at this point, and it was more fascinatingthan he ever would have expected."Do you like talking with me Evita?" No," said Evita."Why not? Am I mean guy?"Evita smiled a little. "No. you're fine. Even though I know how tostand and talk, it feels very unnatural for me. It takes a lot ofenergy to be able concentrate to do all these things. I really justwant to flop down on the floor, and pant, and wait for my masters tofeed me and play with me. I can't think of anything more wonderful thanthat."Phil smiled. "Well, Evita, as you can see by the dirty carpet, it'stough to let you do those doggy things in your current body. Whatif...what if I could find a way we could compromise? Keep the housenice and clean and let you not be any more human than you have to be?"Evita. She seemed to be kept afloat by the buoyancy of her breasts. "You don't really think that, do you, Steve?" Of course I do," I rebuked sternly. "Tempting an old man. You could give me a heart attack."She rose from the water to her full height, arms still in the air, hands still fooling with her ponytail. Like all males, a woman with her arms upheld mysteriously intrigued me."I didn't intentionally lure you down here, Steven." Her smile was that of the Mona Lisa. "You could walk away, you know, preserve your dignity. I don't practice mind control."The hell you don't, I thought. You have pinpoint control. You manipulate me like a figure in a Playstation game. And still her arms were raised."I'll tell you what," she said, finally lowering her arms. "I'll cop to the charge of being a tart. I'm being shameless. But I didn't know you'd be here, so I can claim innocence in that respect." She patted the water with her hand. "Why not join me? I'd honestly like your company. We can keep it as.
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The hydrofoil cut through the easy chop like a knife, men and women sleek and tan stood on the aft deck leaning back on teak rails, sunning themselves, lost in the idle concerns of the sun-borne. Deck-hands coiled lines while waitresses from the bar fanned out offering Campari and Pellegrinos. Two wispy plumes drifted from Vesuvius across an otherwise perfectly clear sky. Ina Balinski sat in the boat’s austere passenger cabin beside Tracy Tomlinson and her sister Becky, the motion inside wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but any waterborne conveyance made Balinski green, and the foil’s peculiar motion was no exception. She looked at the twins and noted that both still seemed to inhabit some other dimension, they both – to her – appeared transiently psychotic… like schizophrenics fighting too much Thorazine. She could only shake her head at the chain of events that had led her to this sun-drenched sea. The whole affair, from Tomlinson’s queer awakening to Misha Podgolskiv’s equally.

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