Lily Granger was an exquisite woman of thirty four, with rich, seal-brown hair and skin tanned a full even bronze from the exposure to the warm rays of the California sun. She wore a white Mexican peasant blouse which revealed the sensual curves of her full, high breasts, and a pair of cut-off bluejeans shorts which accentuated the firm, lithe slenderness of her sun-browned legs.

When she had first left her husband, Albert, the sexually starved woman slept with many men in the free love culture of northern California… But she found the price of sexual freedom – the one night stands and emotional shallowness of the relationships – unbearably steep, and soon decided to abstain from sex completely. And although an acute dissatisfaction often gnawed at her, she relieved herself through masturbation and felt it was better than the remorse she had felt during her period of promiscuousness.

When the roar of a car engine approached along the dirt road leading to her cabin, Lily didn't hear it immediately. She was immersed in the delicate macrame choker she was working on and did not look up until the driver of the vehicle gunned the engine loudly and slowed to a stop parallel to the front porch. Then Lily looked up sharply, her fingers still at their work. Now who on earth is that? she thought irritably. The last thing I need now is visitors. Have to get rid of them, whoever it is, and the sooner the better. She was planning to sell her work at the Renaissance Fair, and she needed to work quickly because she could make enough money during the fair to last well into next spring.

Resolutely, Lily scraped back her chair and got to her feet. She strode to the door, swung it open, and started out. Then she froze, one foot out the door, and her eyes grew wide with disbelief.