Natalie wasn't the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but she was a freakishly talented masseuse. Her massages could reduce the most tightly wound person to an almost coma-like state of relaxation. Which is where I was right now. Flat on my back, lying naked on a massage table. Natalie's strong yet supple hands kneaded the last iota of tension out of my head and neck.

Natalie whispered in my right ear, almost apologetically, "All done. Time to get up. Easy, though. Don't move too fast."

He looked at her, she looked at him, the way two people look at each other the first time they realize they love each other. They were like two peas in a pod, two humans in a room, to lovers in a relationship, sharing the same scene as if they were each extensions of the same being. Lying down on their king size bed together they embraced one another. He was naked, she wore a pink thong, their bodies entwined like spaghetti cooking in a pot, and just as hot and steamy.

    Sarah woke in a dark and unfamiliar room. It was featureless, except for a door at her feet and three massive black windows that dominated the other three walls. She was lying down on a metal table in the center of the room. She tried to sit up, but found her body stuck to the table, with only her arms and legs free to move. The next surprise cam when she realized she was changed from her pajamas into her clothes set out for tommorow, a white croptop and a pair of blue jean short-shorts.