Femsomatex

 

By Lilith
The discreet brass plaque was mounted next to an intercom speaker on the door of the windowless office. It said, simply: “Femsomatex, Inc. Visitors by appointment only.” Other than identifying the office suite as some kind of commercial establishment, the sign gave the casual passerby little indication of what was on the door’s other side. Of course, it was highly unlikely that there would be any casual passersby; Femsomatex, Inc., was the only tenant on that floor. As for visiting by appointment, the company had an unpublished telephone number and was not listed in any standard business directories.

Christopher Machen found himself reading the simple brass door plate by a somewhat circuitous route. Chris, 32, had been a cross-dresser since he was 16 years old and raided his older sister’s closet on a whim while she and his parents were spending a weekend in Las Vegas. His sister, Claire, was a recent divorcee who was 14 years older than Chris. Alone in the house, he had taken a long, luxurious bath using her wonderful scented oils, then patted himself down with her bath powder and rummaged through her clothing. He dressed himself in a pair of her silky black panties and an extremely tight black all-in-one girdle-bra combination, filling the ample cups with a pair of foam pads. Sitting on her bed, he slipped seamed nylon stockings over his cleanly shaven legs and attached them to the girdle’s garters. Over the foundation garments he pulled a sleek, full-length black satin slip and a charcoal gray sleeveless cocktail dress, finishing up by stepping into a pair of Clair’s red high heeled shoes. Then he made his face up exactly as he had watched her do, with fire engine red lipstick, dark eyebrow pencil, eyeliner, mascara and blue eyeshadow, and a blush of rouge on his cheeks. He finished the transformation by pulling her “party hair,” a shoulder-length reddish-blond wig styled in a loose flip, over his own boyishly short brown hair.

In all the years since then, he never had been sure exactly what had led him to put on his sister’s clothing, wig and makeup, but when he looked at the finished product in a full-length mirror in the hallway, the effect was startling — and extraordinarily sexually exciting! Chris suddenly had an enormous erection that strained at the tight rubber and nylon constriction of his sister’s girdle. He felt so light-headed he could barely stand. He stumbled downstairs into the kitchen and fumbled one of his mother’s filter-tipped cigarettes out of an open package on the drainboard; smoking was a secret pleasure he had enjoyed for more than a year, and he felt he absolutely needed a cigarette at that moment. Using a lighter on the living room coffee table, he lit up and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke drift slowly out through his nostrils. As he did, he looked up and caught sight of himself in a full-length mirror in the front hall.

To all appearances, he was a tall, sexy and attractive woman in her early 20s. Stunned by his own feminized reflection he had suddenly and spontaneously climaxed inside his sister’s tight, slinky lingerie. From that day on — through four years in the Air Force, a college degree and a successful career as a consultant — he had spent his private moments as “Christina,” transforming himself into a woman whenever he was able.

Which is what had brought him to Femsomatex, Inc. A week earlier while pub crawling with “Cheryl Banning,” a cross dressing friend, “Christina” had complained of disappointment about his femme appearance. Despite years of experimenting with corsetry and pads — including several varieties of expensive mastectomy forms and a host of other top-of-the-line foundation devices — he could never quite achieve the figure he desired. No matter what girdles, pads or artificial breasts he wore, his hips were never quite in proportion to his waist, nor his bust line correctly matched to his hips. He had been even more critical of his facial appearance. Although he had taken college classes in stage makeup and owned nearly a thousand dollars worth of cosmetics, he despaired of achieving the truly feminine face he had always coveted.

“Honestly, Cheryl,” he said, sipping at a vodka and tonic. “I would consider going in for cosmetic surgery, except that the kind of face I would ask for would make it impossible for me to live and work as a man!” Looking closely at his companion, Christina added with a sigh, “I’d give just about anything to have a face and body like yours.”

Cheryl smiled. “She” was tall and broad shouldered, but had hips perfectly proportioned to her waist and bust line, and rounded breasts that were ideal for the rest of her body configuration. Most amazingly, she had cleavage that did not look as if it had been created with tape, padding, a push-up brassiere and other engineering gimmicks.

Cheryl’s face looked just as naturally feminine — and equally lovely. Her soft, straight brown hair fell gently to her bare shoulders, with bangs that ended just short of her gracefully arched eyebrows and brushed by her pronounced cheekbones and large, sensual lips. She flicked a strand of hair away from her softly pointed chin with a graceful gesture and fished a business card out of her purse, handing it to Christina with a flourish.

“If you really mean what you are saying, then do what I did,” Cheryl said in her whisky-husky voice. “Call these people and make an appointment.”

Christina stared at the card with a puzzled expression. It had the words, “Femsomatex, Inc.” and a telephone number on it. She turned it over. The back was blank.

“So what is Femsomatex?” she asked. “How can they help me?”

Cheryl’s smile broadened. “You say you’d give anything for a body and a face like mine, right?” she asked teasingly. “Well, did you really think that I was born looking this way?”

Christina frowned at the card. “What is it, a plastic surgery group or something?” he asked skeptically. “I told you, sweetie: with my income I could easily afford a total facial reconstruction and implants, but my secret life as a girl would be over. I would have to leave my cozy $150,000 a year executive job. Most of the chauvinist pigs I work with despise genetic women — just think how they would respond to a part-time girl!

“No, honey! No plastic surgery for me,” Christina said wistfully. “I might as well have a sex change — I’d look like the girl I always wanted to be, but I would have to start my life all over — pretty much from scratch — afterwards.”

Cheryl shook her head gently. “No surgery is involved,” she said. “These people will give you a face and body you can put on and take off whenever you feel like it. You have all the benefits of looking like whatever sort of man you are in the daytime — but you can change into the woman of your dreams at night, just like changing your clothes.”

Christina looked up with a disbelieving frown. “Oh, come on, honey!” she said in a voice dripping with skepticism. “You can’t tell me that you have that gorgeous face and body hanging in your closet all day and you just pull it on like a pair of fresh socks before you go out. Excuuuuuse me! I don’t think so!”

Cheryl smoothed her hair back from her face again and grinned at her friend. “Think whatever you want,” she said. “I’m not saying another word. I’ll let Dr. Peterson convince you — just like she did me.”

She tapped the card in Christina’s hand with a long crimson fingernail. “Call her at this number and make an appointment — you will never regret it, I promise.”

So Chris Machen — AKA “Christina” stood in the hallway outside Femsomatex, staring at the brass plaque on the door. He pressed the button on the intercom and cleared his throat.

“Yes?” came a woman’s voice through the speaker.

“Uh — my name is Chris Machen,” he said, feeling suddenly nervous. “I — I’m here to see Dr. Karen Peterson.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Machen. Dr. Peterson is expecting you,” the voice said from the speaker. “Let me buzz you in.”

The office door mad an electronic noise and popped open slightly. Chris swung the door wide and stepped inside.

The reception area of Femsomtex, Inc., looked just like any other modern corporation. The room had soft indirect lighting and beige walls. Two prints were artfully arranged over a low table with neat piles of magazines. Two tasteful leather chairs stood against the wall on the opposite side of the room, and a short attractive woman in her mid-20s was just coming out from behind a large desk with a telephone and computer terminal directly opposite the doorway.

“Hello,” she said, extending her hand. “My name is Diana. I am Dr. Peterson’s personal assistant. You spoke to me on the phone when you called for your appointment.”

Chris smiled back as he shook her hand. She was only about five-five, even in the three-inch heels she was wearing, but her body was absolutely gorgeous, with wide, feminine hips and a full compliment of womanly curves. Her blond hair was cut in a shortish shag on top, but hung longer along the sides and back of her head, giving her a fashionably punky look. Her face reminded him somehow of Cheryl, with high, prominent cheekbones, a straight nose with a slightly upturned tip and a full, slightly square mouth glossy with a dark, brick red lip gloss. Her navy blue wool crepe business suit looked almost like a uniform, with a peplum jacket, a single row of gold-tone buttons and a skirt that stopped about six inches above her knees. The patent leather pumps she wore accentuated the slightly military cut of her outfit.

“Yes, I recognize your voice now,” he said. “I was a little surprised at the questions you asked me before you set up my interview with Dr. Peterson.”

She smiled slightly. “You mean, asking if you were interested in our Transgendered Services Division or in some of our other product lines?” she asked. “Actually, those questions were quite routine. We offer a variety of different services here at Femsomatex, but our cross dressing line is by far the most popular. I needed to know precisely what you were in the market for before setting up your meeting with the doctor. She prepares differently for customers depending on what they want. Please come this way.”

She led Chris through a side door into a short hallway to a larger suite of offices inside where Dr. Peterson, already waiting for him, was standing by her desk. The doctor was considerably taller than her assistant, but boasted the same type of perfectly proportioned body. Her strikingly attractive face was framed by loosely curling shoulder-length black hair that had been carefully frosted to enhance her streaks of gray, and a pair of half-glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose gave her a slightly professorial look.

She took Chris’s hand and led him to a leather love seat next to a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out on the city.

“Mr. Machen, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said gesturing for him to sit beside her. “I understand that you were recommended to us by Cheryl Banning. Cheryl is a good friend — and one of our greatest success stories. Have you ever seen ‘her’ when she wasn’t en femme?”

Chris shook his head. “No — I met her at one of the socials held by a local cross dresser’s club two years ago. We hit it off well together and have gone out for drinks several times a month since then,” he said. “Most of us “girls” try to maintain a high level of secrecy about our male lives, but Cheryl has actually gone to dinner with me several times while I was in DRAB — Dressed As a Boy. I enjoy her company, whether I am plain Chris or my alter-ego, Christina.”

“I can understand why,” said Dr. Peterson, removing her glasses and appraising him carefully through cool gray eyes. “She is quite beautiful, isn’t she? What’s the term? Oh, yes: she passes perfectly — much better than most male-to-female cross dressers.”

Chris nodded. “Yes — she confused me a little the other night when she said your company was responsible for her looks,” he said. “I thought at first you operated some kind of cosmetic surgery clinic . . .”

“Heavens, no!” Dr. Robinson said with a laugh. “Far from it. Our services are a matter of surface appearance only — but with a very unusual twist, as you shall see.”

Still standing at the door to the office, Diana cleared her throat. “Would you like me to stay, doctor?” she asked.

Dr. Peterson replaced her glasses and nodded to her. “Yes, please if you would, Diana,” she said. “I’ll need you to demonstrate the essential nature of our transgendered product line.”

Noting the puzzled look on Chris’s face, Dr. Peterson smiled again.

“Mr. Machen, are you familiar with polymers?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Plastics of some kind, I guess,” he said.

“Correct,” she said. “Specifically, a type of plastic characterized by a molecular structure that consists of very long chains of hydrocarbons held together by chemical bonds. I used to work for one of the large chemical companies as an engineer specializing in polymers. My doctorate is actually in chemical engineering — not medicine. Since I create specialized plastic materials, I guess I am a plastic surgeon in a way. But the surgery I do is to the chemical structure of the plastics — not to human patients.”

Dr. Peterson stood and walked over to the window. “Some years ago I was involved in a series of experiments that were supposed to yield some new types of plastic that could be used in manufacturing prosthetic devices — artificial breasts, limbs, reconstructive prosthetics for burn and accident victims and so forth. I was specifically looking for plastics that were lighter and stronger than existing polymers that were being used in these products. But my research led me to a family of materials which have completely different products from those we were trying to create.

“My company believed that the materials I stumbled on were useless for their purposes, so they allowed me to obtain patents for them under my own name,” she continued. “I had a unique idea how the plastics I had created could be used commercially, and frankly, I thought that they would be very valuable if I could develop them properly on my own.”

She stepped to her work area, removed a cigarette from an ornately carved box and lit it with a wooden match, then sat on the corner of the desk and crossed her long, shapely legs theatrically.

“What I have created is a unique type of fabric that has properties similar to natural latex rubber as well as several plastics,” she said. “This material is slightly elastic, but has an extraordinary ability to retain its shape when molded. Unlike most other plastics with similar properties, however, this material is porous — it breathes, if you will. Unlike natural rubber, which traps perspiration when worn against the skin, this material allows for air circulation and is capable of passing perspiration.”

She took a deep drag from her cigarette then exhaled the smoke through her nose. “In appearance, this plastic is virtually identical to human skin — so similar, in fact, that the two can only be differentiated by microscopic analysis,” she said.

“A German industrialist who is also a cross-dresser learned of my achievement and persuaded me to let him use a quantity of the material to create an artificial female suit that he could put on like a body stocking. His experiment with the plastic was an amazing success. He proposed to me that we go into business together, manufacturing cosmetic bodies that men and women could wear to correct the physical faults they had received from nature.” Dr. Peterson gestured loosely around her. “The result is this company, Femsomatex, Inc.”

Chris did not know what to say. “Pardon me, but it seems to me that there really wouldn’t be much of a market for artificial bodies,” he said finally. “I mean, I can afford to spend a considerable amount of money on clothing and makeup, but I can’t imagine there are many more men like me.”

Dr. Peterson smiled. “Our clients are not just men who want to feminize their bodies,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette. “We have a growing number of women among our clientele. You’ve heard of body doubles in the movies? Women who serve as stand-ins for top actresses because the actresses’ bodies are not stunning enough for nude scenes? Well, in the last two years, three films have been made in which the female lead wore one of our bodies during erotic scenes. In addition, five actresses wore them to this year’s Academy Awards presentation to enhance their figures in an undetectable way under their revealing designer gowns. Our product is so close to human skin that it can be used to improve a woman’s body when she wears the sheerest fabrics — or even when she wears nothing at all!”

Chris stared at her quizzically. “I find this all a little difficult to believe,” he said, the doubt clear in his voice. “I mean — a material that is almost identical to skin, that can be molded into artificial breasts or hips . . . it sounds like science fiction!”

Dr. Peterson turned to her assistant. “Time to demonstrate our product, Diana,” she said. “Show Mr. Machen what you’re made of, dear.”

Diana smiled and unbuttoned her top, revealing that she was wearing nothing underneath. Her pert nipples stood at attention. She draped her top carefully over a chair and unfastened the back of her skirt, letting it slip over her ample hips to the ground and stepping out of it daintily. Underneath she was wearing a pair of panty hose over cotton underpants. She rolled the stockings down to her ankles then stepped out of her pumps and slipped each leg off, tossing the garment onto the chair next to her top, then following it with her underpants.

Chris licked his lips involuntarily. He noted that her pubic area was completely bereft of hair. He found the sight extraordinarily arousing, particularly given the matter-of-face way she was disrobing while he watched.

Stretching fully naked before him, she reached under the edges of her croppy blond hairdo and tugged upward, stripping her hair away completely and revealing a sleekly bald head under what he could now see was simply a very expensive wig.

Completely nude from head to toe, she turned her back to Chris. He drew his breath in sharply. From a spot about four inches below the nape of her neck to the top of the cleavage between her buttocks was a thin metal zipper!

“Mr. Machen, would you do the honors, please?” Dr. Peterson asked, gesturing toward the naked woman’s back and grinning broadly.

Chris rose a little unsteadily from the love seat and crossed the room. As he fumbled with the zipper, Diana’s “skin” felt warm and natural to his touch. He found the tab and tugged it gently. The zipper parted with a gentle metallic hiss and the back of Diana’s “skin” opened neatly from her shoulder blades to the top of her butt, revealing a layer of freckled, less perfect skin underneath.

Diana turned back toward Chris and smiled looking up at him. “I can finish from here,” she said. Using her right hand, she pulled the fingers of her left like a person removing a rubber glove, loosening the layer of artificial skin over them and pulling the surface of one arm until it swung loosely in front of her, touching one of her breasts. Then she reached back across her chest, grasped the opening where Chris had undone her zipper and — straining slightly — pulled her shoulder and arm free of the artificial skin. Using her free arm, she repeated the process, tugging the other “sleeve” loose and the top of the zippered opening up and over her head with a quiet, rubbery rustle. The life went out of her “face” as she peeled away the body mask. When she had finished, her “head” hung loosely in front of her, with a pair of empty holes staring out of it where her eyes had formerly been. Working quickly now, she stripped the rest of the suit off her body and handed the entire “skin” to Machen.

Although she was still pretty in a boyish way, Diana was not nearly the striking beauty she had been while wearing the Femsomatex suit. Her breasts were small enough to belong to a boy, and her hips were narrow, her rear end surprisingly flat. A long, purplish burn scar covered the left side of her torso, running from just below her breast to the middle of her thigh. It was clear that plastic surgery had been used to repair some of the burn damage, but a large chunk of tissue seemed have been erased in the process, leaving a deep purplish hollow on one side of her leg. Perhaps most surprising was the fact that the naked Diana had a slight pot-belly. Her stomach had been completely flat when she was wearing the skin!

Without the mask, Diana’s face was also subtly different, Chris noticed. First of all, her actual hair color was medium brown, cropped close to her head. Her cheekbones were flatter than they appeared when she wore the Femsomatex skin, and the shape of her chin was not as attractive. Her natural lips were quite thin and her natural nose was shorter and slightly flattened. Even her real eyebrows were less dramatic and well-shaped than those on her Femsomatex face.

He hefted the plastic “skin” in his hands. It seemed to weigh nothing and still radiated the warmth of her body. Even though it was “empty,” the body retained its shape remarkably well. He stretched part of the suit and found that it had very little give. When he released it, the plastic seemed to shrink back to its previous size.

“As you can see, Diana’s suit corrects a number of different figure faults and completely eliminates the scarring she suffered in a fire seven years ago,” Dr. Peterson said. “The face of the suit enhances her good features considerably, and corrects her bad ones by improving the shape of her cheekbones, chin, nose, lips and eyes.”

Putting her arm around Diana’s shoulders, Dr. Peterson continued: “Without the skin, Diana is an attractive young woman, but she is thinner, flatter and less curvy. In short, she is no head-turner. Wearing the skin, Diana is almost perfect for her height, weight and general physique, and has a very nearly perfect face to go with her gorgeous body.”

With a shy smile, Diana held out her hand to Chris and he gave her back her “body.” She gathered up her clothes and disappeared into a small washroom adjoining Dr. Peterson’s office.

“What Femsomatex has done for Diana, it can also do for you, Mr. Machen,” Dr. Peterson said, sitting back down behind her desk. “We can create the same sort of ideal body and face for you to wear. In effect, we will give you a mask for your entire body.”

Chris sat down heavily on the love seat. “It’s incredible,” he said softly. “But how do you do it?”

“We make a hard plastic mold from your body and head and use it to cast a full-size mannequin, then we mold a new body over the mannequin, working from your specifications and a computer-generated model of the perfect female form for your height and weight. Using an individual mold of your body insures that the skin will fit precisely in every respect. We do the same sort of modeling for your face, right on the mannequin. Then we dip the finished full-body mold into the polymer compound — the plastic — and set the skin with ultraviolet light.

“The detailing — lip color, eyebrows, finger and toenails, liquid-filled inserts for the breasts, various beauty marks and variations of skin color — are added after the skin is complete, but all are chemically bonded directly to the Femsomatex plastic for permanence. You can bathe, swim, sleep and make love in the skin. It will respond just as normal human skin does.”

Chris shook his head. “Simply amazing,” he said. “How long does it take to make one?”

Dr. Peterson smiled. “Actually, about four hours,” she said, glancing down at her wristwatch. “Since today is Saturday, I assume you are free all day. You could walk out of here wearing your new body, if you are so inclined.”

Chris reached inside his coat pocket for his checkbook. “I don’t know what this is going to cost me,” he said with a smile, “but if it totals anything less than the price of a new Lexus, it will be the biggest bargain I have ever purchased.”

When Diana had replaced her Femsomatex skin and finished redressing, she led Chris into the laboratory area and introduced him to a slender red-headed technician named Linda. Linda took over as Diana left, and ordered Chris to remove all his clothes and step onto a tiled apron in front of a shower stall.

“To make an exact casting of your body, we need to get all your body hair off,” she said, putting on a pair of thin latex gloves and unscrewing the top of a large jar. “This is a powerful depilatory,” she said, dipping out a handful of white cream and slathering it onto his body. “It takes about five minutes to loosen the hair down to the roots so it will come off in the shower.”

Chris already regularly shaved his body, so he had no qualms about using the hair remover. He watched as she coated his torso, arms and legs with the goop, feeling his penis go hard as her hands slipped over his body. He could feel a tingling sensation as the cream began to work.

Linda kept an eye on the time. After a few moments she used a rough towel to rub the cream down. He got into the shower and cranked open the taps, rinsing the remaining depilatory off, and with it the tiny stubble that had emerged since the last time he shaved. When he got out of the spray, she handed him a towel to dry off with, then fitted him with a corset made of heavy latex, pulling it tight around his waist and fastening a dozen or so tiny hooks at its rear. The garment was so snug that he could only breathe shallowly, and it nipped him in dramatically at the front and sides. Linda explained that Femsomatex would use “artificial” tissue to construct new breasts, hips and buttocks for his skin, but in order to get a feminine waistline, the company needed to start with a body mold that had inches trimmed away from his normal sides and paunch.

As hairless as a baby, his tummy and “love handles” constricted by the rubber waist-cincher, Chris followed Linda into a second room with a stall that looked like another shower — only this one featuring a spray nozzle that was clearly designed for something other than water.

She handed him a pair of clear latex briefs and told him to pull them on. “We need to confine your genitals for the body casting process, because the inside of the mold has to be as smooth as possible to give us a clear surface for the vagina on your Femsomatex skin,” she explained.

He struggled into the briefs, noting that there was almost no line where the rubber pants ended and his own skin began. The top of the garment came to just below his pectorals, and he noticed that it all but erased the lines caused by the latex corset.

Next Linda rubbed a handful of jelly-like chemical into his hair, shaping and smoothing it until it was flat against his skull. The jelly felt remarkably cool on his skin. “This is a thermal gel that will protect your body from the heat of the liquid plastic that we use to make the casting of your body,” she said. “It also will keep the plastic from sticking to your hair.”

She slathered more of the gel over his torso, arms and legs, building up a thick coating of the viscous liquid over his entire body. Then she led him to the second stall, where she fitted him with earplugs and a pair of eye guards similar to those used by sunbathers. Finally she gently pushed a brace of small respirator hoses into his nostrils. He could feel cool air flowing through them and he took a breath, relieved that his need for oxygen had been taken care of.

“It takes a minute or so to spray on the plastic casting compound, then another minute or so for it to harden up under the ultraviolet light,” she explained as she closed the door to the stall. “You have to hold completely still while the cast is being taken, OK? If you move, the plastic cast will be damaged and we will have to start all over.”

Chris did as he was ordered, posing stiffly with his feet about shoulder-width apart and his arms held away from his body. The plastic compound began to shower down. Even through the thermal gel the liquid plastic felt quite warm. His inability to see what was going on unnerved him, but he found he could breath easily through the respirator, and managed to stifle his inclination to panic.

The hot plastic shower ended shortly and he could feel the compound cooling as it set. He kept his breathing shallow to avoid disturbing the plastic shell forming over his body and worked hard to ignore the slight itch that had picked that particular exasperating moment to tickle the tip of his nose.

“How are we doing in there?” came Linda’s voice after a few minutes, muffled through the plastic and the earplugs. “You should be set up now. Can you move?”

Chris attempted to nod his head but found he was completely immobilized. He mumbled under the heavy layer of plastic, feeling his tendency to panic grow.

“Don’t worry — I’ll have you out of that in a few seconds,” she said. He felt pressure at the top of his head that moved down along his arms, legs and side. In a second, he felt a cool draft against his naked body as she separated the front and back halves of the plastic casting and pulled it free of his body.

When she removed the eye guards, he could see she had placed the two halves of the casting against the wall. Then she pulled the earplugs out and he could hear clearly again.

“Now we join these parts of the casting together and inject them with another plastic to make the mannequin for your skin,” she explained. “You can take off the latex briefs and put them in that bucket over there, then I will help you get out of the girdle. After that, you can take another shower to get what’s left of the thermal gel off.”

In a few moments, Chris finished washing up, redressed and was guided back to the front part of the lab. Before his plastic shower, Diana had taken photographs of his face with a digital camera. The pictures were now displayed on a large computer screen. Diana sat at the computer’s keyboard and looked up as Chris entered the room, reknotting his necktie.

“Your new body shape will be generated by the computer, based on an analysis of your height, weight and physique taken from the mannequin,” she explained. “What you get in the way of a face is largely a matter of your personal preference, except based primarily on your existing appearance. Any major modifications would look rather artificial, so we go for a subtle redefinition of your normal features rather than a radical reconfiguration, just as any good plastic surgeon would. Why don’t you watch while I run a number of different configurations on the screen, using a computer modeling program?”

As he looked on, his image began to morph subtly, showing what he would look like with higher cheekbones, a slightly larger forehead, different nose and chin shapes and different sets of lips. He evaluated the different combinations as she ran through them, telling her which ones he liked.

After reviewing about a dozen different sets of features, she showed him three versions of his face from the front, side and three-quarters profile, showing variations of the combinations he had liked best. He told her he thought two of them looked far better than the third, and she expertly generated a new possibility that was midway between his two choices.

“That’s it!” he said excitedly. “That’s perfect. My God, my own mother wouldn’t recognize me!”

She tapped in a code sequence that locked the final version into the computer’s hard drive and turned to him with a smile. “The mannequin should be done by now,” she said. “It will take the technicians in the fabrication shop about 30 minutes to come up with the specifications for your perfect woman’s body on the computer and about an hour to dip-mold, set and detail your new polymer skin.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s a little after noon right now,” she said. “How about lunch? Your new body should be ready when we get back.”

Chris treated Diana to a Caesar Salad and a chicken salad sandwich at a restaurant two blocks away.

“You seemed so blasé about taking everything off in front of me back there,” he said as their plates were cleared and they started their second glass of Chardonnay. “How do you ever come to be so matter-of-fact about doing something so completely outrageous by most people’s standards?”

She sipped wine and thought about it. “Just natural, I guess,” she said finally. “I was a swimmer in high school, so I spent a lot of time in front of strangers without much clothing on. I worked my way through college as a pole dancer in a topless bar, and you get used to people looking at your body in places like that. In fact, they often do a lot worse than look.”

Chris shook his head. “”I went to a strip place once, but I never saw a strip tease like the one you gave me in Dr. Peterson’s office,” he said ruefully. “It’s one thing to take your clothes off down to your birthday suit, but it’s something else to take the birthday suit off, too!”

Diana laughed. “Actually, that’s kind of the way I think about my Femsomatex suit now — as just another article of clothing,” she said. “I mean, when I look at myself in the mirror while wearing it, it’s me but it isn’t in a way. Once you have worn it for a while, you don’t even realize that its on. It’s kind of like bundling up to go play in the snow.”

He stared at her with open admiration. “You look so beautiful,” he said. “The suit is so lifelike.”

She dropped her eyes. He would have sworn she was blushing under her incredibly lifelike mask.

“The best thing about it in a way is the eyes, because that is the only real part of the wearer you see,” she said looking back up at him with a smile. “The skin is made so the edge around the eye holes lies absolutely flat against your skin. A little bit of foundation and eye makeup and you can’t even tell where the artificial skin stops and the real skin begins.”

Chris studied his wineglass in silence. After a moment he asked, “How did you come to work for Dr. Peterson?”

“It was just an accident — literally, in a way,” she said with a shrug. “You saw my scars today. I got them in an auto crash shortly after I got out of college. The doctors medical doctors — tried to repair the damage, but there was only so much they could do. I couldn’t swim any more because I didn’t feel comfortable wearing a swimsuit in public with my messed-up leg, and a two-piece or bikini was totally out of the question. I was resigning myself to a life of wearing pants and floor length skirts when I saw a weird little ad for Femsomatex in a newspaper. I checked it out and the rest, as they say, is history: Dr. Peterson created my new body for me — thanks to her miracle plastic — and offered me a job as her assistant.”

Chris considered what she had said. “Dr. Peterson is a fascinating person,” he said. “She must be very brilliant as a chemical engineer, but she seems so . . . well, attractive. I’ve never known a woman who had a really technical mind who dressed so well, or wore makeup so beautifully. For a scientist, she’s really a knockout!”

Diana laughed again. “Gee, if she had done the demo, you would have been even more impressed by Femsomatex,” she said. “Dr. Peterson is like the guy who owns the Hair Club for Men: she doesn’t just own the company — she’s also a client!”

Chris was astonished. “No!” he said disbelievingly. “You don’t mean she wears a Femsomatex suit, too?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Diana said, making the symbol over her full breasts. “She’s actually 15 years older than she looks, and is nowhere near as trim or curvy. Her legs are like skinny little pipestems, I swear to God! Actually, everybody at the company wears the product, including Linda, the technician who did your full-body mold. Our clients wouldn’t have much confidence in our ability to make them look beautiful if we were all plain Janes and dowdy people ourselves. It’s the best advertisement we have: our product works so well that you can’t even tell we are wearing it — And if it works for us, just think what it will do for you.”

Chris smiled and glanced at his watch. “I can hardly wait to find out,” he said. “We’re due back right about now. Finish your wine and let’s be on our way.”

Returning to Femsomatex, Chris waited in edgy anticipation inside Dr. Peterson’s office while technicians added the final touches to his new polymer skin. He shifted from side to side nervously, checking his watch surreptitiously, and practically jumped to his feet when the door opened and Diana and Linda entered the room.

Linda was carrying the skin. It looked a little like one of those inflatable love dolls sold in adult bookstores, except that the material was extraordinarily lifelike, even without an actual person filling it out. She lifted the body mask up by the shoulders so that its feet just touched the floor and said: “You are going to need some help learning how to put it on. Take off all your clothes.”

Chris disrobed with a slight degree of embarrassment. His excitement over getting his new body — coupled with the proximity of two extremely beautiful women — had given him a slight erection and he was a little self-conscious about exposing himself in front of Diana and Linda.

Diana sensed his nervousness. “Don’t worry, Chris,” she said. “We won’t be seeing anything we haven’t seen before. Penile erection is something that happens to most men who buy our products. If you have a hard-on, believe it or not, it will help us to demonstrate how perfectly this skin covers you up.”
He took a breath and finished stripping out of his clothes.

Linda held up the skin so that the zippered back was facing him. “This is like putting on a regular body suit in many respects,” she said. “You set down and slip your legs in the opening at the rear, pulling the legs of the skin up and over your own legs. Make sure you put them on straight, though — unlike panty hose, this suit has individual toes that have to slip over your own.”

He sat on the sofa and slowly worked the plastic skin up over his own smooth legs, enjoying the slight rubbery friction as they slid on. When he had his legs completely encased in the polymer, he stood and pulled the padded hips and buttocks up and over his own.

The technicians had added almost two inches of additional flesh to the suit’s butt, and had padded the hips in a graduated fashion so that the curve molded naturally into the upper thigh. He marveled at the fit — the crotch of the skin pulled up smoothly over his slightly erect penis and constricted it so tightly that it scarcely made a bump between his legs. In fact, the slight protrusion where the vagina was molded looked for all the world like a genetic woman’s mound of Venus!

“Now work the rest of the outfit up over your waist and front,” Linda said, gesturing with her hand. “I will help you if necessary.”

Chris followed her instructions precisely, noticing that the slightly elastic nature of the polymer allowed him to stretch the torso of the suit over his own trunk, but pulled back to its original molded shape almost immediately afterward, squeezing his stomach and sides into a feminized waist that was at least five inches smaller than his normal waist size.

“This is a snug fit,” he muttered, worrying that after everything, the suit would turn out not to fit him.

“No problem,” Diana said. “It’s made to be snug. The skin has to serve as a corset as well as padding to give you an ideal feminine form.”

Linda moved in front of him and held up the front of the skin, an empty woman’s torso and head, with full, round breasts hanging loosely in front. “Now comes the tricky part,” she said. “You slip your arms into the skin’s and pull the head and shoulders over your own. This will be the tightest fit of all, but once it is completely on and the back is zipped, it quickly becomes very natural feeling.”

He wriggled his hands into the glove-like arms of the suit, guiding his fingers into the skin’s own fingers and wiggling them until they fit snugly and naturally. The skin of the hands was perfectly smooth and each finger was tipped with a medium-length acrylic nail, polished bright red and buffed to a high shine. He was surprised at how thin and flexible the skin of the gloves was, and how easily he could feel textures through it.

Finally, he gripped the opening just below the nape of the mask with both hands and said, “Here goes,” then stretched it up and over the top of his head, pulling down securely to slide the mask over his own head and face.

For a moment he could see nothing, then he caught a glimpse of light through the eye holes and the mask settled snugly onto his face, seeming almost to melt over his own features. The inside of the mouth had a flap-like construction that seemed like a thin rubbery negative of the outside of the lips. In order to breathe, he opened his mouth broadly and the flap slipped inside, fitting snugly between his teeth and his own lips. Using one of his hands, he adjusted it slightly and the mouth of the mask suddenly conformed exactly to the shape of his own mouth.

He smoothed the bald crown of the mask over his head with both of his hands and turned toward Diana and Linda. “How do I close the back?” he asked excitedly. “I can’t wait to see what I look like!”

Linda handed him a length of nylon filament with a hook at one end. “Use your hands to feel the zipper, down near the top of your butt,” she said. “Put the hook through the eye of the zipper and use the cord to pull the zipper straight up your back until it won’t go any further. Don’t worry about pulling too hard — this cord is very strong and will take an immense amount of strain.”

He did as he was told, finding his sense of touch almost completely unaffected by the layer of plastic. It took him only a moment to catch the zipper and he pulled it tightly closed with a metallic rasp, then unhooked the cord and placed it on a side table nearby.

“Now come over here and take a look,” Diana said, taking one of his hands gently and leading him to a full-length mirror on the opposite wall.

Chris could not believe his eyes! Standing before him was a stunningly attractive — although completely bald — woman. He blinked and the reflection blinked back at him. He smiled and found himself staring disbelievingly at her smile.

The female figure in the mirror was exactly his height and physically resembled him in a vague way. But she was also totally different: Her waist was gracefully trim and her hips flared in a sexy tulip below it. The nail of each toe had been lacquered with the same bright red that covered the fingernails. The breasts were full and beautifully formed, with tight little nipples standing at attention. What’s more, they were filled with some kind of liquid center so they jiggled gently as Chris moved around the room.

He leaned forward and searched the face of the woman in the mirror. Diana had been exactly right: the line at the edge of the mask’s eyes was completely invisible. The full, sensuous lips fit perfectly over his own mouth and moved easily and naturally as he changed expressions.

“Oh my God!” Chris said as the reflection before him mouthed the words back. “This is utterly amazing! I wish I had brought a wig, shoes and clothes with me — I would walk right out of here as a brand new woman.”

Diana laughed. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “We have a wardrobe and you can borrow some clothing and hair. You can return them later, once you have changed into your own things. The question is, how do you like it?”

Chris turned with a broad grin. “It’s beautiful!” he said. He hugged each woman in turn, enjoying the feel of their bodies against his new synthetic breasts. Doing a pirouette in front of the mirror, he put his hands on his newly womanly hips and said, “What do you think?”

Linda grinned. “A very good job, all in all — but then, we strive for perfection here,” she said. “Before you dress and leave, there is one more little item.”

She reached in her lab tunic and pulled out what appeared to be a roll of inch-wide masking tape then handed it to Chris. “This is a chemically bonding tape that goes over the zipper. We call it concealer tape. It essentially melts into the Femsomatex skin and completely disguises the zipper opening.”

She next handed over a silver spray can. “This is remover for the tape,” she said. “It loosens the chemical bond so that it can simply be peeled away cleanly.”

Chris handed the tape to Diana. “Please tape me up and lead me to the wardrobe,” he said, admiring his new woman’s body in the mirror. “I want to go out and enjoy this all the rest of the day.”

Diana smiled again. “Enjoy it for the rest of the weekend, if you like,” she said. “The Femsomatex skin can be worn to bathe, swim or shower in. You can leave it on as long as you like. When you do take it off, just rinse it out with warm water and detergent, turn it inside out and hang it up over the shower. Turn it back right side out after the inside is dry. All the water would eventually seep out anyway, but reversing the suit will hasten the process.”

A half hour later the brand new “Christina” walked out of the Femsomatex suite wearing blond shoulder-length straight hair, a pink Spandex tank-top, black stretch leggings with stirrups and a pair of black two-inch heels. The male clothes that she had worn as “Chris” were tucked into a large shopping bag that she carried by her side, and her wallet and car keys were inside a simple black shoulder bag she had borrowed from the company’s surprisingly large assortment of “loaner” clothing.
As she settled behind the wheel of “Chris’s” silver Corvette and lit a cigarette, she smiled at her image in the rear-view mirror and turned the engine over.

“I can’t wait to run into Cheryl,” she thought to herself as she pulled away from the curb. “She’s about to find herself with a brand-new girlfriend!”