"Get undressed," she told me. "I want to see how much the rest of yourbody is changing." What?" I asked again, sure that she had to be kidding. However, thelook on Marissa's face was anything but humorous."I'm over five hundred years old," she snapped impatiently. "Trust me,you don't have anything that I haven't seen before."I grimaced and began getting undressed, stopping with my underwear stillon. Marissa might be pretty hot, but I wasn't going to do the full montyfor her without good reason. "There," I snapped, "is this fine or do youneed more?"Marissa nodded, apparently satisfied with my leaving my underwear on.She stared at me, but it wasn't the expression of a woman checking meout. It was more like the expression I'd get from a doctor. It was acold expression that noted every detail but showed no real emotion."You have almost no body hair," Marissa finally said.I looked down at myself and grimaced. "Damn..." My body hair was gone,having vanished with little trace. I ran a hand. What was this tabanca which afflicted Karen? An armadillo poked its nose out of a crack in the rocks and sniffed the air. The Grand Anse beach was almost deserted in the lethargy of midday, but I idly watched two girls strolling along hand in hand, the shorter one with bare shoulders, clad in a pareo, that south-seas wrap which had become popular amongst tourists in the Caribbean, and the taller slimmer girl wearing just a bikini. At the base of the ramp both girls stopped to put on thong sandals, and the tall bikini-miss threw on an over-sized tee-shirt, appliqued with the word "Italia" across the bust. They sat down three tables from us, in the full sun, and promptly ordered pints of draft ale, full-sized British 20-ounce pints, not the much smaller American pints. Jeannine sat facing them, while I was angled slightly away.Three pints later, while we were eating lobster tails, Miss Pareo walked past our table towards the wash-room. I saw Jeannine looking surprised."Henri, is that a.
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