Hopscotch by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

her as his lover almost immediately, and she had acquiesced, happy to be singled out. Even back in the monastery, the Splinters had been open about sex, seeing it as a rudimentary form of sharing bodies.
    The first time, Rhys had embraced her with great intensity, hot and sweaty, breathing hard. His sexual technique, like his personality, was fiery and passionate, almost violent. When he had satisfied himself, he lay back, swapped with Teresa, and wanted to do it again as the opposite sex, but Rhys's male home-body was already spent, and Teresa couldn't perform for him.
    She saw her own naked form, flushed from the recent exercise but wanting more. In her own voice, Rhys said, “Go find another one of the Sharetakers, a male, and swap with him. Then you can come back to finish what we started.”
    Teresa was surprised at how easily she found a Sharetaker willing to do the job. She came back in another male form, but found it difficult to get herself aroused by her own naked body beneath her. But Rhys helped, using her fingers to fondle and knead until the strange male penis bounced erect. His actions bordered on impatience, until they made love again. . . .
             
    Teresa recognized the sketch in the artists' bazaar before Garth recognized her. She had gone out to purchase supplies for the Sharetakers, and enjoyed her day away from the togetherments, out in the sunshine. Wearing the body of a tired, middle-aged woman, she detoured through the marketplace.
    With an intent and wistful expression, the blond artist worked on his portrait, drawing the details vividly from his memory. The eyes were perfect, the short brown hair, the narrow chin, facial features showing more beauty than Teresa had ever known she possessed.
    “Garth, that's me!” Her heart swelled.
    He looked up, not placing her at first. “Teresa?” He lurched to his feet. “Teresa! Oh, how I've missed you!”
    They hugged. “I wanted to see you, too, Garth, but I've been so busy with the Sharetakers, my new friends.” She told him all about Rhys and how she had been welcomed by the like-minded members of the community.
    He asked her to sit across from him while they talked. He stared at her new features, effortlessly reproducing them on a new sheet of sketch paper. Teresa leaned forward to watch, amazed. Somehow, Garth managed to capture the look of the new woman, yet retained a compelling halo that made it intuitively obvious that the portraits showed the same
person.
    “What happened to your home-body, Teresa?”
    Her shrug was a bit too quick and dismissive. “It's still at the togetherments. I can have it back whenever I need it.”
    He lined up the two drawn faces, the lovingly detailed portrait of her original features and the quick study of her current body. “I'll clean this other one up later, mount them side by side.” His eyes flashed with a sudden idea. “You have to come see me whenever you change bodies. I can do a whole series of these, portrait after portrait. I'll call it
The Spectrum of Teresa.”
    She laughed, then blushed. “Oh, maybe not
every
time I hopscotch, Garth, because I don't know if Rhys would let me out that often.” Noticing the time, she squeezed his arm and stood to leave. “But it'll give me an excuse to come and see you.”

14
    New sights, new sounds, new experiences. Whenever Garth scraped up a few extra credits, he tried an unusual restaurant with brand-new flavors and spices.
Inspiration.
    He'd sold one of his paintings today, a watercolor rendering of clouds drifting over the building tops. He had struck up a conversation with a middle-aged woman—actually an old matron who'd swapped bodies with her fortyish daughter for the day—and the lonely woman had talked with Garth for an hour, chatting about odds and ends in her life while he continued to sketch. Afterward, she'd bought a painting and taken it home with her groceries.
    Garth decided to spend his unexpected windfall on a lavish dinner in