“Latex Is a Girl’s Best Friend”
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
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
“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
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
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
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
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
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.
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.