Latex Is a Girl’s Best Friend

“Latex Is a Girl’s Best Friend”

by Victor

When my equilibrium finally corrected itself, I smiled in satisfaction.

It worked. I’d arrived at the correct time and place.

One hundred years into the past takes a lot out of a young man,

especially when working with prototype equipment. But perhaps the

university will forgive my borrowing of fledgling technology to fulfill

a personal fetishistic quest.

I slipped from the corner I’d silently materialized in, and made my

way through the people on the movie set, wondering at my surroundings.

It was a far different cry from my own era. I moved about unnoticed,

inconspicuous in the trench coat and fedora hat I wore, a style that

matched those of the men of the time. No one even noticed the overly

wide case I carried, thinking me just another extra on the movie set

carrying props.

I looked about for her dressing room, and soon found it, labeled

with her name on a star pasted to the door. I smiled inwardly, thinking

that was just an old movie cliché. I entered the room, closed the door,

and paused for a moment. It was empty, fortunately. Its occupant was

rehearsing elsewhere at the moment for her big musical number. I

laughed gently to myself, as I knew her practice was in vain. She

wouldn’t even get to film it when the time came. I hadn’t traveled all

this way and studied her life so intently for nothing. I looked around

her dressing room, utterly fascinated. It was just the way I’d pictured

it in my mind, simple, yet enough to pamper a fledgling starlet.

I knew about her intimately, her troubled life, her movies, and her three

failed marriages. I knew her better than any other thirty-year old male

from my time did, even though she’d died over a half century before I

was born. I soon heard her voice outside the door, and slipped into a

corner of the room, hidden. The door opened, and I heard her speak to

someone outside.

“Wake me in two hours, Charlie,” came the sexy, breathy voice. A

voice I could imitate to perfection through years of practice. A voice

which came from a face I would soon wear a copy of myself, thanks to the

contents of the case I carried.

She stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her. I held my

breath as I saw her walk gracefully across the room to the dressing

table. She looked phenomenal in her pink evening gown and long pink

satin gloves, every inch the sex goddess her legend had made her into.

Her blonde hair and makeup were flawless. I grew excited at the thought

that soon I would be her exact double.

The fake diamonds at her neck and wrists flashed as she lit a

cigarette. She sank down into the chair next to the dressing table,

apparently exhausted. I felt a small twinge of sadness for her, as I

knew her troubles were only going to worsen. I screwed up my courage

and cautiously approached her. She heard my steps, and whirled around

in the chair, the smoke from her cigarette leaving a trail in her wake.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” she demanded, a note of

alarm in her voice.

“Please, don’t be angry. I’m just a fan. I’d like an autograph,” I

replied with a feigned meekness.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I’d just like you to sign something for me. That’s all.”

I pulled out a black and white glossy photograph of her from my coat.

I offered it forth, slowly. I even pretended that my hands were

shaking, simulating an overly nervous, timid fan. Seeing this, she

seemed to be more at ease, sensing my “hesitancy”.

“Okay, but you need to go after I sign that, all right? I have a big

scene to film in a little while,” she replied hesitantly, and turned to

the table to get a pen.

With her back to me, I dropped the picture, and from my coat pocket,

produced a cloth soaked in anesthetic. I leapt forward and placed it

forcefully but carefully over her mouth and nose. She tried to scream,

but it was muffled. No one but I could hear it. After a moment’s

struggle, her eyes fluttered and then closed. I laid her gently down on

the couch, and then went to work, apologizing to her unconscious form.

I picked up the lipstick stained cigarette she’d dropped on the

carpet, not wanting an accidental fire to end her life before a drug

overdose would take it some years later. Curious, I took a drag on the

cigarette. They did not have them in my time, having been completely

banned twenty years before I’d traveled here. It was a very strong,

bitter taste, and not to my liking. I coughed out the smoke, and put

the cigarette out in the ashtray. Fortunately, for what I had planned,

I wouldn’t have to imitate her smoking.

I turned and locked the door of the dressing room. I then quickly

but carefully removed her jewelry, gown and gloves, leaving her in just

a bra and panties. I didn’t want her to catch a cold in the drafty

room, so I lovingly covered her with a blanket I found in one of the

closets. I also found her street clothes, a black blouse and skirt,

heels, and a pair of long black leather gloves. I also found her purse.

Inside were her identification, makeup, and a small sum of money.

I was sorely tempted for a moment to extend my plans. I knew my

disguise would be perfect, and with her identification, I could live her

life for an entire day. No one would know. I could be her, walking

around, sightseeing, shopping, signing autographs, fooling everyone.

But, no, as much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t risk more than a few

hours. What could happen if I got caught in my impersonation might

prove disastrous, both for myself and for her.

I stripped completely naked, then opened the large case I’d brought

with me. I gently pushed my testicles up into my body, pulled up my

penis underneath me, then pulled on a pair of tight black spandex bikini

panties. I slid on a pair of hose over my smooth hairless legs, then

pulled on a padded girdle type device for my hips. I then laced up my

waist cincher, pulling it in tightly until I had a close enough copy of

her waistline.

It was a little difficult to breathe at first, but I got used to it

after a few moments. A little discomfort was absolutely worth being her

for a little while. After I was satisfied with the results, I put on

the strapless bra, and placed a pair of silicone breast forms into the

cups. Her measurements were legendary, so finding the necessary

equipment to reproduce her voluptuous form was a simple matter.

Next I pulled the mask and wig out of the case. The mask was a

result of my own creation. I’d worked on it for three years, since I’d

overheard of the university’s plan to develop a prototype time machine.

Members of the physics facility shouldn’t talk about classified

projects in the men’s room. Being a professor in the drama department,

I would encounter fellow professors from other departments daily.

I was also a cross dresser in my spare time, and could impersonate a

woman quite convincingly, having practiced for some time. I was also a

very big fan of movies of the twentieth century, especially those from

the early to mid part of the century. I found the actresses of that

time to be especially glamorous, women I would have loved to have been.

Once I learned I might have the means to travel back to this time, I

knew I could be one of these women, if only for a little while.

I began work on my mask, and formulated a plan to get my hands on the

time machine. Once the mask was perfect, and I learned the machine had

been constructed, I simply snuck into the physics lab one night and

purloined the small device from under the nose of a sleeping security

guard. The machine will be returned, eventually. I thought to myself

I might use it for a few more excursions into the past. Being Rita

Heyworth for a while might be a lot of fun, or maybe even Marlene

Dietrich. I remembered my reaction to the cigarette, and thought I’d

need some more practice smoking if I was going to be either of these

women.

I snapped out of my reverie, and went back to work. My hands really

were trembling as I looked at the mask, years of anticipation focused in

this moment. I brushed my short blonde hair back with my fingers, and

slowly pulled the mask on over my head. It was a snug fit, but it still

felt oddly comfortable. I adjusted the mouth, eyeholes and the ears of

the mask to fit on my head. I smoothed out any wrinkles, then eased the

zipper down the back.

I looked in the mirror. A bald, makeup free goddess looked back at

me. I smiled broadly at the visage I saw. The mask had turned my male

face, while pleasant, into hers. The face I now wore was that of a

woman that would entice men even a century after she’d died. I was now

a classic beauty.

I still needed makeup, though. This part of my impersonation I knew

very well, having seen thousands of her photographs, and read countless

books on the art of cosmetics, many of which showed the reader just how

she wore her makeup. And I’d learned how to duplicate her look with

much practice. I sat down at her dressing table, and went to work.

It took about an hour, and then I was finished with my/her face. I

used her makeup to blend in the edges of the mask’s eyeholes with my own

skin. Only the most miniscule inspection would give away my disguise,

and no one would get that close to me. I was very pleased with the

results. However, there was a slight line where the edge of the mask

ran along the base of my throat. I ran my finger along the thin border

of latex and skin. It would not be a problem. The diamond necklaces

I would be wearing would be more than adequate to hide the mask.

I pulled the blonde wig on over the bald crown of the mask. I smiled

once again at her reflection looking back at me. It was all going just

as I’d expected. I was becoming the twin of the woman sleeping

peacefully near me on the couch. And for the next two hours, I would be

her.

I couldn’t wait to get the rest of her clothes on and complete my

masquerade. I slipped my hosed feet into her pink high-heeled shoes.

Dancing in them wouldn’t be difficult, it had been part of my training,

another detail I’d made sure to perfect. I owned a pair very much like

them in my house. I got up and walked around the room, then tried a few

dance moves in the heels. I didn’t have any problems. In fact, it felt

oddly natural.

I pulled the pink satin strapless evening gown on, and zipped it

closed, her curves showing through. Thanks to my padding, I filled it

out just as she had. I loved it. I wrapped her fake diamonds around my

neck, hiding the mask. I double-checked the image in the mirror. No,

this couldn’t possibly be a man – could it? I laughed silently.

Next, I pulled on the long pink satin opera gloves all the way up my

arms, well past my elbows. I worked my fingers around in them, getting

used to them. I loved the way they felt against my bare skin. After

that came her fake diamond bracelets. They were slightly difficult to

put on wearing the gloves, but I managed.

Just as I had clasped on the last bracelet, there was a knock at the

door. I got up and answered it, cautious not to let anyone in and see

my double asleep on the couch. “Yes?” I asked in a perfect rendition of

her voice, as I opened the door.

It was a handsome young man with a clipboard. He had a sheepish

look on his face, the look of a virgin confronted with his fantasy

woman. “Miss Monroe? Mr. Hawks says it’s time for the big number, if

you’re ready.”

I smiled sexily at the boy, then ran a gloved finger under his chin

playfully. “Of course I’m ready, Charlie. And you can call me Marilyn.

It’s okay.”

He grinned back at me, and blushed. He turned and walked back to the

set to go talk to the director. Marilyn Monroe was ready. As I walked

to the set, I sang to myself in her voice, the song I’d used to learn

to imitate her. “A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but

diamonds are a girl’s best friend…”

I glanced back over my bare shoulder at the dressing room, and I felt

a little sorry for the real Marilyn. This would be one of her most

famous scenes, and she wouldn’t remember doing it at all.