Skin Deep: Episode 2 free porn video

Story Title: Skin Deep - Episode II Skin Deep - Episode II : Babs Yerunkle?s Chapter by Babs Yerunkle & Noel Lexicon Copyright: April 2002 Roger came back holding a large toolbox in one hand, his coat in the other. The expression he wore said the obvious - ?he was not a happy Boy Scout?. ?Okay, I?ll help, but then we?re through! Got it?? Roger looked at me hard to make his point, real hard. This wasn?t the easy going, always laughing Roger the salesman I was used to. His anxiety was such that he didn?t wait for my answer. Truthfully, he wasn?t interested in an answer. ?No night on the couch, no make nice over tea, you?re out of here right now! And you never mention this to anyone - ever. You?re just gone. Okay?? he said angrily. Boy, talk about a dog picking at a bone! I started to give him a smart-ass remark and stopped. The way his eyes continually darted to the front door, in obvious fear not only jangled my nerves but made me suspect that now was not the best time to agitate Roger - it was green ice between us at the moment. What was going on? I took a large breath and exhaled slowly. Sure, the bar was a sleaze pit of a dive, but that was hardly a reason for Roger to be as agitated as he was now. And how in the world did he even know about Club Gigi? His position with Alkali was as a salesman for government and large corporate accounts and he was out of town most of the time. Then I thought of one obvious explanation for his nearly stifling fear. If my political disfavor at Alkali rubbed off on him it would endanger his precious discretionary expense account - maybe even his job. Yeah, that was probably it! I breathed in relief until I remembered bad ass at the club. The muscles in the pit of my stomach tightened ever so slightly - that killer hadn?t been there for slap and tickle. ?Okay,? I agreed. ?Can you drop me off at my place?? Wordlessly, Roger led us to his car. He tossed in his toolbox and then held the door for me, too distracted to realize what he was doing. I looked at him like he was a lunatic before realizing he saw me as a woman. Wonderful! Biting my tongue, I got in. I was holding the coat I?d picked up at the club and was thankful Roger hadn?t thought to question me about it. He quickly climbed in the driver?s seat and shortly we were out of his garage and rapidly headed elsewhere. The city streets were lightly traveled, a testament to the fact that most of Caselton?s weekend entertainment activities hadn?t let out yet. We made good time. ?Roger, where are you going? My house is in Caselton Heights.? "I don?t know how those trackers work,? he said glancing at my wrist, ?But when they lose your signal, I don?t want it to be on a straight line between my place and yours. I?m just hoping they weren?t recording your route, otherwise they?ll know you stopped at my place.? Trackers? What in hell was he talking about? I looked at him like he was insane. Then I looked at the pink metal bracelet on my wrist. It was just a cheap decorated handcuff, wasn?t it? Just a bondage trinket to mark people as victims for whatever SMBD games went on at Club Gigi. Wondering if Roger had gone off the deep end I rotated the pink band on my wrist and tried examining it in the light of the passing streetlights. I didn?t see anything suspicious but still I couldn?t help shivering. Roger turned into one of the Royal Oak shopping center parking lots and drove to a deserted spot at the far back under a light. He parked, but left the motor running. Turning on the dome light briefly, he fumbled in his tool kit before finally locating a hacksaw. ?Step outside.? After a moment of hurried instructions my wrist was on the concrete curb and Roger was sawing violently. His bad case of nerves hadn?t improved since we had left his apartment and was I very uneasy with his nearly frantic sawing. That hacksaw blade was awfully close to my skin. The blade seemed to catch and jump sporadically then Roger swore volubly. He lifted the hacksaw up and looked at it. A number of the teeth were broken. Well, you see that a lot - with cheap blades. Right? ?Just a second,? he said. As Roger went back to his toolbox I examined the bracelet again. It was barely scratched. Roger came back with a tempered cold steel chisel and a heavy hammer. After a short and very terse conversation I nervously put my wrist on the curb again. Roger placed the chisel precisely on the locking mechanism and lifted the mallet. The whole scene was a test of my belief in his physical aptitude. The mallet crashed resoundingly into the chisel and suddenly there was a high-pitched screeching noise. After a moment of panic I realized the sound was coming from my bracelet. Before I could react, Roger hit the chisel a second time, cutting farther through the band and stopping the noise. On the third strike and the bracelet was cut all the way through. ?Ditch it and come on,? Roger yelled, jumping back in the car. I removed the now dead bracelet from my wrist and in the faint light I saw a cross section of intricate circuitry within. Roger gunned the engine letting me know I had no time for a closer examination. I pitched the bracelet into some bushes at the edge of the lot and dove into the car. Roger roared away before my door was even closed. After a minute or two, my breathing had recovered, my heart rate hadn?t. ?You weren?t kidding, were you?? I asked him quietly. ?That really was some sort of tracking device. Wasn?t it?? Roger said nothing. He wouldn?t even look at me! After a few blocks of such silence I turned and rubbed my now unadorned wrist. Obviously getting out of Club Gigi had not been the escape I had thought it. They would have picked me up before too much longer and the games planned for me would have still taken place, only at a much rougher level - as warning to others no doubt. What had Jennifer and Janey gotten us . . . me into? Roger pulled to a sudden stop. ?Your house is two blocks away. I never saw you tonight. Don?t call me, don?t write, and don?t ever try to see me again. We?re ?finis?! Got it?? I stepped out of the car in shock. ?Roger, I --? His car peeled away leaving me standing open-mouthed much like a fish out of water. I watched the taillights of Roger?s car get smaller then disappear as he turned a distant corner. I was alone - I shivered violently, I was cold and scared. Suddenly I was glad for the jacket I?d picked up from the bar - the temperature drops quickly after dark in the desert. I put it on and found it was about two sizes too large for me, making me feel a little like a woman in some man?s jacket. At five foot nine I?m hardly short, but the guy I?d swiped it from (I was ignoring that it was bad ass?s jacket) had been built on the gorilla model. The brief walk to my house was good for me. It gave me just enough time to clear my head and think. What the hell type of game was Janey involved in? It had to be Janey because Jennifer would never have set something up like this on her own. And a SMBD sexual club could hardly explain a bar filled with thugs and professional killers, or Roger?s paranoid fear, or that high tech tracking device. Maybe you?d find things like that in a major city but Caselton wasn?t large enough to support that type of criminal community. Of all the things that flitted through my mind on the short walk, the one that brought hurt and pain was Jennifer?s complicity. She might not have known the full plan, but she knew enough. She?d obviously known about the humiliation part and my planned rape by males. In sickness and in health, for better or for worse - those words had meant something to me. I had attempted to do everything in my power to please her, to see her side, and yet, she had deliberately set out to betray me. And that made it clear that it was far more than the lack of trust our marriage had suffered from during the last six months. I could not forget that when the bracelet had been snapped on me Jennifer had refused to make eye contact with me. She had known! Whatever remaining feelings I had for Jennifer were smothered in a blanket of cold rage. Then logic surfaced. With my marriage dead I had no future in Alkali - if I ever had - or in town (they were pretty much the same thing, after all). As they were always saying on the old Gunsmoke reruns, it was time to get out of Dodge and I?d better do it quick like. I wasn?t up to a return engagement with bad ass or his friends and I really didn?t care to ever see Jennifer again in my life. I was seething. When I reached our street I looked carefully around before I started walking towards our house. There were no strange cars or people loitering near our house or on the street. As I walked up our drive I was sure I was the first one home. The lights were off, both of our cars were in the carport and Janey?s car was still there. That last gave me a pleasant grin. I had no wallet or keys but the spare door key was under a rock in the front yard. Once inside I headed for the spare bathroom. First things first and what I most needed to do was to get out of this damn bodysuit. I flipped on the spare bathroom lights, grabbed all the suit equipment and then paused. That tracker bracelet bothered me. A lot! If there really was something that heavy going down, I didn?t have time to change now. They, or at least someone associated with them, would be by shortly to check the house. I felt certain of that because they had to know I was missing by now. And actually the suit would make an excellent traveling disguise. I nodded to myself - I would change later. I grabbed everything that had come with the suit and dumped it into a cardboard box along with my shaver and other toiletries. Grabbing the keys, I headed out to the car to start loading the trunk. Hmmm, which car? My white Chevy, or Jennifer?s silver Accord? In typical fashion for our relationship, my Chevy was ten years old, the air conditioning had problems, and it needed engine service - soon. Her Accord was only one year old, and still had less than twenty thousand miles on it, even with Jennifer?s trips to Las Vegas. The trunk went up on the Accord. Congratulations, babe! Your new/old car is so . . . umm awesome because Chevy is so all-American. I was thinking furiously. What else should I take? I grabbed some more boxes and stuffed everything from my finance shelf in - the bills, recent financial letters (opened and unopened), our checkbook, and all our bank statements and receipts. I even added in our tax records and tax folders for good measure. When I was done I looked around our ?office? room and stared at the family PC. What about those records? Thank heavens I was paranoid about always making backups. I dumped the full stash of Jazz disks into a box, while booting the computer. ?Are you sure you want to reformat?? Oh, yeah! Couldn?t be surer. The finance, records, and backup disks went into the trunk, along with my laptop. That was a personal possession, since the company (big surprise) had refused to buy me one. I also emptied the small stash of mad money I kept hidden. In the past I had used it to buy Jennifer things. I even had presence of mind to throw in all my CD?s, a couple favorite books, and one painting of sentimental value. I went back in the house and selected some luggage pieces and hastily began tossing in clothes. With a sweep of my arm I took most my suits, shirts, and slacks and carried them out and laid them on the backseat of my new car. Then I paused. If I used the body suit as a disguise for awhile, I?d need female clothes. Thankfully Jennifer and I were nearly the same height. I quickly rifled her side of the closet. There was plenty of stuff that would have pleased Madonna and the local rhinestone factory. Aha! In the very back of the closet were several outfits Jennifer seldom wore. Blouses, skirts, and outfits sensibly cut, in solid colors and tasteful lines. Some of them I?d even bought for her. I quickly scooped those into my arms and hustled them into the back seat of the Accord. When I came back in I looked at most of her clothes and snickered. Leaving treasures like her rhinestone bustier seemed a better revenge than stealing it. As I took the last box out to the car, it finally began to sink in - I was never coming back. I briefly considered throwing rocks through every window, but that wasn?t really my style. Janey, she was the real expert on petty and spiteful. Besides, it might get the cops called and I couldn?t afford that right now. I took one last pass through the house, and the life that I was leaving behind. I grabbed my large travel mug - I?d need it for tonight?s drive. I checked the dresser for the extra credit cards and keys. I might leave Jennifer the car, but I suddenly felt like taking the keys. Bitter? Hell yes! I grabbed our wedding photo off the bookshelf. Let?s see, in the oven, set to self-clean? No. We both looked so happy in the photo. It seemed nastier to leave it behind, as a reminder of what she had destroyed. Instead, I wrote a brief note: Jennifer: Give my regards to Janey. It should be interesting to hear how she makes this incident ?my fault.? That?s certainly the pattern she?s always followed. I expect that from her - I never expected it from you. I loved you, listened to you, and was always there for you. I did my best to be the husband you wanted. I even endured your scorn. I will not endure your betrayal. Here is my wedding ring - I obviously no longer need it. I will be sending divorce papers. I hope you enjoy being single! You?ve earned it. I set up a lovely display on the dining room table: note, wedding ring, smiling wedding picture. The display filled my heart with gloomy bitterness. Then I noticed a set of car keys on the table - Janey?s. I smiled - she kept her laptop in her trunk. When I popped open her trunk, I found myself surprised. There was the shipping box for the body suit. Of course! It was the straw that proverbially broke the camel?s back. I grabbed it - there were extra instructions inside - tossed the whole thing in my trunk along with her laptop and all her spare diskette?s. Then I rifled the rest of her car and struck gold in the glove box. It was Janey?s day-timer. She was fond of saying how lost she would be without it, and how her entire life was run through it. So sad, too bad! I tossed it in the front seat of the Accord. Who knows, there might even be something interesting in it! I?d actually expected to be interrupted by now, but no one had arrived. I had time for one last pass before I left. I took the keys to the Chevy and put them inside my pants pocket, at the bottom of the laundry (nothing malicious, just an accident, right?) It would be days before Jennifer found them at the earliest. Then I had a brainstorm. As I left the house for the last time I grabbed Janey?s keys. Outside I put them in her ignition. If Janey hadn?t liked me as a friend, let?s see how she liked me as an enemy. I took one last regretful look at my home and all it symbolized, my failed marriage, my unfulfilled career hopes and dreams of family then climbed into the Accord and drove off into the night. As for Jennifer (and her mother), I hoped they had cause to look back on tonight with remorse. Yet, despite my outrage, my sense of justification for what I was doing, I felt totally barren. I had really wanted things to work - I had really loved Jennifer. ***** Caselton is large enough to have a couple of all-night stores. I hit the ATM and drained my bank card and all three credit cards. I understand that in a normal city you?re only allowed to withdraw a few hundred dollars. Caselton, like many towns in Nevada, is different. The banks know that at the end of the week everyone is headed for either Reno or Las Vegas. The cash machines are fully stocked, and the limit is $1000. I pocketed four thousand dollars, filled the gas tank and my coffee cup. It was three hours to Las Vegas and eight hours to LA. I couldn?t quite make it on one tank, so I?d fill up in Vegas before heading on. California gas is always more expensive. Everything finally done I found a pay phone. ?Hello, is this Arnold?s Tow?? ?Yeah, wadda ya want!? Perfect! Ten minutes later, very pleased with myself, I got into the Accord and headed out. I had just arranged for Janey?s car to be towed to ?Bill?s transmission and muffler repair?. No, Bill?s didn?t possess a good reputation, but what it did have was location. It was in the heart of what everyone locally called ?lost and found ally?. Unattended cars in this area had a habit of wandering off - and mugging victims had a habit of being found there. And the keys were to be left in the ignition. ***** Las Vegas was a long, lonely drive to hell. Rather appropriate for how I felt. I probably looked like the perfect jilted wife in my silk blouse, long blonde hair, and tear-covered face. Thirty miles out of Caselton I had surprised myself by getting a case of sniffles. At least my waterproof mascara saved me from the indignity of looking like Tammy Faye. Staying awake wasn?t difficult. I had a jumbo mug of coffee and two brands of pain. My emotional hurt left me wallowing in a mix of hatred, sorrow, and self-pity. I couldn?t seem to help myself - the long lonely road wasn?t helping - and soon I was sniffling big time. It felt strange to hear the soft, feminine sobs coming from my throat, but at least it was cathartic of sorts. I also had physical pain. After the first sixty miles, the suit started doing its thing again, this time something fierce. It was like there were two huge, cone-shaped vacuum pumps attached to my chest and my waist was being squeezed into a sausage shape. I had to pant in short little breaths to keep from passing out. It was a pain I deserved - I guess. Well at least it kept me awake. By the time I hit Vegas, nearly two hours later, I felt a little crazy and parts of my body had started to go numb. By then, I had developed an even worse problem. You have to understand about the back roads in Nevada. By ?back road? I mean anything other than I-15 or I-80. The traffic is thick to Reno and Vegas. It?s dead everywhere else, particularly in the middle of the night. If you -- how can I put this -- ifyou need to unload a couple of mugs of coffee, you just pull over and feed the weeds. Unfortunately, my brief stint with femininity was reminding me that a roadside whiz wasn?t an option for women - for me at the moment. And there isn?t anything else available on the long stretch of highway 93, heading into Vegas. So I continued to sit on Mr. Petey, hoping the pressure would keep things closed off. Between the suit and the weird contortions, the only thing I could feel down there was a tremendous bladder pressure. So I did what all good-girls do, I clamped my legs together and pushed harder on the accelerator. Despite the growing bladder pressure, I didn?t take the first place I came to. Many of the Vegas? outlying motels are cheap brothels. Prostitution may be legal in Nevada, but I had no desire to be caught in such a spot looking like an innocent young co-ed. With my luck, they?d molest first and ask questions later. As an alternative I cranked up the radio and tried distracting myself with country-and-western. I usually hate that music style, but for once it was nice to try singing along to the broken-heart songs. And talk about strange - ?I? was able to reach the high notes. The suit?s soprano voice resonated completely different from my normal tenor and it was an exhilarating novelty to sing in a woman?s voice. Janey had obviously invested in a deluxe model suit. It was almost out of character for her, since it was the first item of quality she?d ever popped for. I?d have to thank her by thinking a kind thought when I shredded the suit into tatters - once I was out of it. By now, I was reaching the outskirts of the city itself. I took a tissue and attempted to dry my eyes. It probably didn?t matter. Broken-hearted women are par for the course in Vegas. It is ?sin city,? after all. I finally pulled into a decent-sized hotel just off the main strip. It was 3 AM, so business was booming. I walked in and bought a room for the night, paid cash and signed ?Mrs. John Smith.? The clerk didn?t even blink or notice my hopping from foot to foot. Making my way past the drunks and gamblers, I took a minimal set of supplies up to my room as fast as I could. Groaning with each step, I unlocked the door, scampered inside, locked and bolted the door, then ran for the bathroom where I yanked my pants down and sat on the toilet. It was blessed relief as the urine poured out of the suits feminine gap. I briefly tried to figure out how the suit plumbing worked, but gave up. All I wanted now was sleep. I was exhausted physically and emotionally. I dried myself, washed, pulled off my boots, slacks, blouse and bra and crawled in to bed. I didn?t even bother with an alarm. ***** I was too tired to dream, but apparently not too tired for nightmares. In a garish jumble of scenes my wife changed her name to Lorena Bobbit, and her mother became the wicked witch of the west replete with broomstick and pointy nose. They both seemed intent on ruining my life, my marriage, my job, and everything I valued. Oh, wait, that was reality. After that scene came bondage. Even imagining my mother-in-law tying me up was a nightmare, but in this scene she not only tied me up, she physically tortured me. The pain she inflicted was terrible - it was so bad it woke me. Here?s some free advice: The girl-suits may be a cute gag for parties, I even heard of one guy who held down a job in ?en suit,? working in an ad agency of all things, but whatever you do, don?t fall asleep in one. I woke screaming in pain. Every part of my body was being squeezed to death: my neck, arms, legs, face, but most especially my waist. I could hardly draw a breath. How could such a thin skin exert so much pressure? I gradually realized that not everything was being squeezed. The vacuum pump feeling was still throbbing on my chest. I felt - I don?t know what - perhaps enough room for comfort around my butt and hips. My shoulder joints felt terrible, reminding me of the time back in high school when I?d dislocated my shoulder. Only this time two joints were throbbing, not one. Finally the suit seemed to relent, or I got used to the pain, and I managed to get out of bed. First order of business today had to be getting out of Janey?s torture device. I went to the toilet and sat again (last time for that, thank God). I washed my hands and looked in the mirror. Personal pride kept me from going outside without fixing my hair and though I hadn?t brought makeup in I at least scrubbed my face to a decent clean look. I walked back into my room and went over to where I had dropped my clothes. With my constricted waist I couldn?t bend over, so I had to crouch down, keeping my back straight. I felt like an invalid and dressing proved an exercise in inflexibility. When I was finally dressed I saw how wrinkled my clothes were and I knew I should have hung them up. But what difference did it make, another hour and I was out of girl clothes and the body suit for good. I needed to get to my car and bring in some of ?my? clothes, the suit actuator, and everything that went with the body suit. I looked down at my wrinkled appearance then shrugged. I really had no choice. On the way to where my car was parked I had to walk through the hotel?s casino. Even though it was just mid morning the casino already had a number of patrons. I swallowed hard and felt the pit of my stomach constrict. In daylight they might be able to . . . oh well! On my way through I made no eye contact and tried to maintain my feminine masquerade. It was interesting to receive brief glances of appraisal from the men, and a quick dismissal from the women. One and all quickly turned back to their gambling leaving me bemused and slightly embarrassed. What had ever made me think I would be more interesting than gambling? I stepped through the casino?s side door into the parking lot and felt the heat of the morning sun hit me. It was staggering even this early in the morning. It was going to be another hot one on the strip. But at least it was a dry heat. Yeah, right! I pulled the car around, closer to my room, then gathered together every last piece of ?my? loose clothing in the rear seat and brought it up. It took more than one trip to get my toiletries and a suitcase for a change of clothes (men?s, of course). I entered the hotel with both arms full and gathered some smiles from those watching me. ?Oof!? Suddenly I found myself off stride and falling. I went to my knees, then to the ground when someone fell on top of me. My first reaction was sheer panic - had they caught me? Then I heard a feminine wail. ?Oh, God, I?ve cut my hand.? I felt something wet dripping on me. ?I?m going to have to have stitches,? wailed the distraught feminine voice. Wonderful! Another self-centered female - just what I needed in my life right now. Suddenly male hands helped me to my feet and when I turned around I found myself staring into the most beautiful female eyes I had ever seen. And the rest was just as gorgeous. The living Barbie doll had large breasts, a slim waist, legs to die for, and she was so well put together Mr. Petey was hard somewhere. Her outfit suggested she was a show girl, perhaps the headliner - she was that beautiful. She was holding her hand and the man who had helped us both up was now beside her, looking at her, her hand and me in equal measures. He looked quite anxious. ?If this interferes with her performance we will bring . . .? ?It was my fault, Harry, not hers. She was carrying suitcases and I didn?t see her until it was too late,? she said. Then she moaned again. At least Barbie was honest! Harry, whether he believed her or not shot me a dirty look. Perhaps he was her manager, I didn?t know. Better she dealt with him than me. ?God, I just can?t have stitches,? she moaned again. ?Maybe not,? I said. I had noticed that most of the blood was coming from her small finger. ?May I see.? She looked at Harry. He looked at me then shrugged so she held the hand out to me. Even her hand was beautiful. It was shapely, the fingers long and graceful and her skin seemed to glow. I gently took hold of her hand and as I slowly turned it, some old army first aid training, I finally isolated the source of the cut. It was mostly confined to her pinky. A nasty slice, but not deep enough to be serious. ?A good disinfectant and super glue should do the trick,? I announced. As long as you?re careful you shouldn?t have to have stitches. Glue it precisely and you may not even have a scar.? She smiled at me and I felt as if I had been hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer. What a killer of a smile! She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in person. Undoubtedly she was used to men pretty much doing what she wanted. Whew she radiated appeal! When I got back to the room I put down my things then went into the bathroom to wash off the blood. When I looked at my hands I turned them over and over. There wasn?t a drop, a stain, or discoloration anywhere to be seen. It was as if the suit had absorbed every drop. Weird! After hanging my things up and rearranging things in the bureau I gathered up all the material on the suit, grabbed the actuator and took all into the bathroom. Then I undressed. Curious, I turned and took a last look in the full-length mirrored doors of the closet. Legs spread wide, hands on hips, the girl looking back was an attractive blonde, perhaps just finishing college, or maybe a bit older. I puzzled for a moment over the image, my image . . . the suit?s image. Had it changed since yesterday? I finally decided that all that squeezing had had an effect, I had . . . I mean the suit had more curves. And yet it was more than that? I stared some more. Had my face changed? I looked into the mirror and gave the smile I had practiced. I looked . . . the image looked appealing but the smile didn?t match the blatant display of nudity. I brought one hand over my chest and the other over my lower regions and smiled again. There, that bit of modesty was me! I mean, that was the girl I had been trying to convey. A tease, perhaps, but never a tart, even in private. She was attractive, the girl in the mirror, and importantly sincere. She smiled again, almost making my heart stop from the joy and sorrow of it. I could tell that she was hurting something fierce inside, but she kept going because she had an incredible inner strength. A quiet inner strength that would make her eternally loyal, and wonderfully supportive, if she could only find a worthy man. And I wished with all my heart that she were real, that there was a female in the world just like her for me. I sighed. That sounded - I don?t know - strange even to me. And I didn?t feel mentally messed up, psychologically challenged or any other pop psychobabble term one hears, but in a way I was a little bit in love with the girl in the mirror. She wasn?t the beauty Jennifer was, but Jennifer?s beauty had rejected me so hard that my heart was now badly bruised if not shattered. Perhaps that?s why it didn?t seem strange to me that I wanted the fantasy girl in the mirror to be wholesome, honest, trusting and vulnerable. I needed her to be everything fine I imagined in a woman - everything that had been taken from me, or perhaps had never been mine outside my own dreams. The girl in the mirror made a couple of teasing poses and I heard her giggle. It was a delightful sparkling sound. Gradually, I realized that it was time for the game to end, and I turned to the box of instructions to destroy her. In the mirror, the girl turned away from me to begin her own destruction. I even imagined I saw a tear run down her cheek. ***** Twenty minutes later, her face was a mask of frustration. I had searched through all the equipment and all the instructions, three times. There was NOTHING on how to remove the suit. The closest I could come was the discussion of the actuator unit I had found in Janey?s material, which read: ?Suit should be actuated and ?charged? at time of functionality initiation. For total ?Conversions? internalization charging should be completed within 48 hours of functionality initialization but only after all genetic marking and splicing is effectuated (see 13.2.34.10 (6)).? Huh? I looked through all the material present to find the referenced section but of course no such manual or paragraph was enclosed. So did I need to use the actuator again to remove the suit or not? I kept reading and came to another line that bothered me. ?After initial charging, suit should exhibit first cool down ?memory? ?set? within two hours. If genome-reactic conversion device doesn?t exhibit well defined ?memory set? in that time period, initiate emergency procedures outlined in 13.2.37.1 (3). Occurrence of subsequent adjustment ?sets?, intensity and length, will depend upon divergence between subject and final target and will continue until final sensory and bio-genetic integration is achieved.? I?m no idiot, I even have a dual degree one of which is in Information Technology, but what the heck did that mean? And what was more surprising was that for such a sophisticated product, the instructions were a set of loose laser-printed pages that had a written-by-a-junior-lab-assistant feel to them! I searched around the box, looking for a manufacturer name or a help number - anything. Making things even more puzzling was that there was no company name, no address, no phone number or any other such identification on the boxes or any of the pages. The best I could find was a ?Group: Norma Jean? on the front of the box, and a ?model NJ-47? on the laser-printed instructions, which seemed to match. I sighed then decided to use common sense. I moved to the mirror and started looking for tags or seams. If I could find a seam, maybe I could peel it off. Unfortunately, there was nothing. I felt where I knew the suit had sealed itself and couldn?t find the slightest evidence of a seam. Not a mark, not a scratch, or the slightest of lumps to denote that it had ever been non-joined material. Then I made faces at the mirror and even to my scrutinizing eyes, no matter how I stretched or puckered my face, there was no hint of a seam around my nostrils, mouth, or eyes. Second try. Good old hot water was an excellent solvent. I filled the bath and decided to have a nice soak. Giggling (oddly enough), I decided to have fun, and emptied in a bottle of the hotel?s bubble bath. After 30 minutes every inch of my ?skin? felt soft and clean. My fingers and toes were wrinkled, but there was no hint of a break between my skin and the suit. I?d expected at least a bubble or blister as my fingers wrinkled, but there was nothing. As I dried myself off I kept looking at the towel. I?d never noticed how fluffy hotel towels felt before. When I finished drying I stared at myself in the suit. No doubt about it, the bodysuit was indeed top of the line. And now I was out of ideas. I looked around and spied the actuator sitting on the counter. Why not? Nothing else had worked. I reread the initial instructions one more time and as I did, I noticed a second setting on the actuator. I had missed that yesterday! Excited, I quickly scanned all available documents. Again, instructions for that setting were missing. Well, if there was a setting for getting out of the suit that had to be it! I plugged in the actuator, switched it to the second setting and waited while the unit charged. When the green LED lit I daintily inserted my right index finger. Once again, I felt a click as the activator came to life. The suit began to vibrate, and I felt the familiar tingle as thousands of fingers began to move all over my body. The tingling fingers felt particularly odd at my throat, groin, and on the underside of my breasts. The squirming of the suit continued nonstop but other than that nothing seemed to be happening. I stood there and stood there and stood there. Boring - but maybe the loosening was a longer process than tightening. The suit suddenly relaxed, allowing me my first deep breath in hours. Then it tightened worse than ever. As I struggled to simply breathe I became aware of an ominous buzzing coming from the actuator. I pulled my finger out in confusion. The activator beeped drunkenly and emitted a wisp of smoke. I watched in horror as the unit began melting in upon itself. Before I could react I was hit with excruciating pain. I had never had a hernia before, but I?d had one described. That is what I felt now, as the suit seemed to go into overdrive, simultaneously squeezing me to death while something badly constricted my crotch. I doubled up like I?d been kicked in the nuts and, as another wave of pain sliced through me, I collapsed to the floor. ***** The pain was manageable when I finally came back to full consciousness. I don?t think that more than fifteen minutes had passed. What the hell had gone wrong? Besides my normal aches, my groin throbbed intolerably. I was too stiff to bend over, so it was hard to look down between my legs. I felt with my fingers, but things were pretty numb down there. 'Okay,? I thought, ?let?s think this thing through. The suit?s actuator has blown a circuit and I can?t feel Mr. Petey.? I had no idea of where to go after my brilliant opening outside of screaming. As I moved around I began feeling better and better. I was still in a bit of shock psychologically, but physically I slowly began feeling better. I grumbled to myself as I dressed again in the underclothes from last night. I should have been smart enough to bring along some of Jennifer?s clean under things. After my long soak, my skin felt soft and smelled so good that it seemed almost a crime to be pulling on dirty underclothes. I slipped back into the white panties and bra, pulled on the silk blouse, peach stirrup pants, and last, the calfskin boots. Actually, I really liked the boots. They felt great and looked great. They just wouldn?t work at all for a man. Walking slowly because of my greatly restricted waist, I made my way down to the hotel?s gift shop and picked up a small white purse, breath mints and, thankfully, panties. I made my way out to the car and collected the few decent clothes I?d confiscated from Jennifer before making my way back to the room. The walk, while slightly uncomfortable, helped clear my head. First, Janey hated me. She must have gotten a suit that was a size or two too small for me. Even when it wasn?t necessary, she couldn?t resist causing me pain. That explained why it kept trying to shrink up on me. Second, I had followed the instructions and popped my testicles up into my body cavity - hardly a comfortable or natural activity - and when the suit had undergone its most recent contraction, it must have squeezed said cavity a bit too hard. I had certainly felt a kick in the nuts. I was suffering a severe wedgie courtesy of Janey. I should have punched her when I had the chance. Feeling somewhat relieved I returned to my room, laid Jennifer?s clothes out on the bed and undressed again. Once naked I went to the mirror and looked at myself, especially my groin. Everything looked about the same . . . I think. Were the feminine lips of my . . . of the suits sex a little plumper? I hadn?t thought to measure for a before/after comparison. Then I giggled. Imagining the girl in the mirror trying to measure the lips of her sex somehow seemed hilarious. I did the next best thing and explored with my hand. I pressed gently with my finger, feeling the realistic contours of female flesh. It was weird and oddly erotic, but that was par for the course with this damn suit. More importantly, I confirmed that I didn?t have much sensitivity there at the moment. I wished for the one thing not available, a hand mirror. I poked around a bit more trying to feel if my testicles were still sensitive. I couldn?t quite locate them under the padding of the suit - which now seemed thicker and more mounded in the groin area. Watching my image in the mirror as I explored myself almost made the procedure seem obscene. And just as bad, I gained no knowledge. I knew Mr. Petey was still there but damned if I could feel him. I worried about that until I realized that sitting on your dick for hours on end was bound to be uncomfortable and it was likely that the suit designers had built in a topical anesthetic. That made sense as everything down there was numb! I hoped that made sense. Satisfied, I finally gave a sigh of relief, and sat slowly to reconsider my plans for the day. I looked at the closet mirror and felt as if the nude blonde gave me a smile of relief. As I watched her, the smile turned into the heart-stopping grin that I?d practiced. ?Congratulations, honey,? I told her. ?You?ve gotten a reprieve. You get to live for a day or two longer.? The thought seemed to make her happy. ?Well, girl, so long as we?re here together, why don?t we live it up?? From the look she was giving me in the mirror, she liked the idea. It felt voyeuristic, watching the cute blonde in the mirror as she pulled on her underwear. If this kept up for much longer, I was going to have to come up with a name for her. Something innocent and wholesome, to match the qualities I saw in her, or wanted to see in her. Okay, slip into the bra - damn, I was getting more practice at this than a man ought to have. Still, it was oddly comforting to have my . . . the suits breasts comfortably supported. I was discovering that jiggle is not nearly so charming from this side. Now for an outfit! Sorting though the things that I had once bought for Jennifer, I found a pink skirt that went surprisingly well with my complexion. It had a back zip, and surprisingly, the waist was even a little loose. Unfortunately, it restricted my walk a bit, but if I took smaller steps and kept my legs close together as I walked it should do fine. Men tend to walk with legs just a bit wide, to provide a little room for the equipment but so long as I was wearing the body suit, I could use a woman?s tight-legged walk. For a top I picked a sky blue stretchy knit. It had long sleeves, a deep v-neck that would show a bit more cleavage than I really wanted, and it was slightly flared at the waist. I hesitated, looking at it and a cotton blouse, but the stretchy fabric would have simply fabulous cling. Cling - why not? I was stuck in this full-body corset for the moment so I might just as well have some fun showing off my artificial curves. I smiled to myself then laughed - imagine being on the other side of the flirting promenade, even for a day or two. I was trying for a casual look, so I was hoping I could get by without hose, but I didn?t have any shoes. Sure, I could wear the lovely white boots (which would match my top) but they really didn?t go with the outfit. Well, maybe I?d pick up a cheap pair of pumps before I hit the road. Reluctantly, I pulled on the boots and promised to treat myself later. I did the bare minimum for makeup - something for my lashes, a bit of lip-gloss, and just a touch of blush. I?d watched Jennifer do the same hundreds of times and I was half way through my preparations before the surreal nature of what I was doing struck me. I paused for a moment, shrugged, then continued. What other choice did I have? I skipped the earrings, although I considered them longingly for a minute. Finally, I brushed my hair out and pulled it back into a ponytail and grinned at myself in the mirror. Yep, the bodysuit definitely took a few years off my age! I looked like I was still in college . . . I mean the suit looked like a girl still in college. Satisfied with myself, I repacked all the clothes, Jennifer?s much more conveniently, filled my new purse, and disposed of the melted actuator in the garbage bin outside in the lot. It had left a small charred spot on the counter that no amount of scrubbing by me could remove. As I closed the lid on the garbage bin a horrible thought occurred to me - what if the actuator had a tracking device in it? I shook my head in disgust. The bodysuit was making me paranoid. Back in the room I slipped the makeup I?d need for today?s maintenance into my purse along with three hundred dollars. It was the first time I?d used a purse and frankly, pockets are more practical. But the image in the mirror was a shape that owed more to art than practicality. In a way, I suppose men are like pickup trucks: powerful, practical, not particularly fashionable. And if you extend that analogy, women would have to be sports cars: sleek, graceful, and a hell of a fun ride. No one complains that you can?t haul cargo in a Miata, so I guess I shouldn?t complain that my outfit didn?t have any pockets. But what did this damn bodysuit make me - an El Camino? By the time I finished with the room and packing my car, it was 11:30 a.m., just past checkout time. I headed for the front desk. ?Excuse me?? I called to the clerk, ?I think I?m a little late checking out. There won?t be any problem, will there?? He gave me a slow pan from legs to chest that would have been flattering, I think, if I?d been a woman. ?Not at all, Miss!? His eyes continued to linger on my chest, and the way my top clung. ?I hope your stay was . . . enjoyable.? ?So it?s okay that I?m checking out just a little late?? I took as deep a breath as I could manage, realizing that this was my payment to him. Oddly enough, I kind of liked giving him his little thrill. He was being appreciative and, if I chose to look at it properly, it was flattering rather than exploiting. I pulled my arms back and arched my back in a stretch, trying to look innocent rather than vampish. ?Thank you so much! I really needed the sleep. But now I?m starving! Is there a restaurant around that can bring a phone to your table?? He smiled knowingly at my display. I wasn?t the first girl he had checked out late. He thought for a moment. ?I think you might try the Desert Grill, about three blocks up on the left. Good food at Vegas prices, and I?m pretty sure I?ve seen people calling out from their tables.? I touched his hand lightly and gave him a bright smile. ?Thank you so much!? He seemed as rewarded by the exchange as I was. I guess I could see why these suits were popular. This was kind of fun! The restaurant was exactly as described, and I was quickly set up with private booth in back and a phone. ?Local calls only,? the waitress told me. ?Can I use my calling card?? ?Sure, honey. That?ll be just fine.? After tending to my immediate needs (three egg omelet, right now!) I began unpacking the box that held all my financial papers. Shortly it was time to start making calls. ?Master Card. May I help you?? ?Yes,? I said, ?this is Jennifer Grant, one of your card holders, and I need some advice. My husband and I have recently decided to get a divorce, and as part of that agreement, we?re canceling all of our joint accounts. I have recently made some charges, including a thousand dollar cash withdrawal last night, but we plan to pay off the account in full today and then cancel. What do I need to do?? Followed by? ?Hello, VISA? This is Jennifer Grant.? and ?Is this the number for American Express?? I wasn?t able to finish the entire omelet I?d ordered. The way the suit was squishing my stomach, I guess I didn?t have much room. However, on the positive, by the time I was done with breakfast I had: cancelled all our credit cards; written checks for the final balances; made the final (large!) electronic payment on Jennifer?s car (mine now); and informed our bank that we were divorcing. I also asked them to freeze funds as of this Friday pending joint withdrawal by our lawyers. Not bad for a morning?s work! I briefly debated phoning Jennifer but decided I had nothing I wanted to say. And I certainly didn?t want to listen to harsh words and more accusations. Taking the finance box back to the car, I returned with my laptop to sever the final links to my old life. No matter how much people complain about it, one of the best advantages of AOL is that you can dial on locally from nearly any city in the country. I used my personal email account to send in my resignation to Alkali Industries. I forwarded documents to the appropriate people, then sent out a letter to all my professional and personal contacts letting them know that I was severing all ties with Alkali Industries. For a moment I considered a little justified slander, but decided that my purposes would be better served by taking a professional tone. I honestly explained that irresolvable differences with Jennifer had made it impossible for me to continue with Alkali Industries, her mother?s company. I discovered that the web really does have everything, including do-it-yourself divorce papers. Severing my ties to Jennifer took less than ten minutes. I was even able to send copies to her, our lawyer, and the office of state records, right from my laptop. The last ties to my old life had been severed. I closed the lid of the laptop and felt sadness - more than the lid of the laptop had just closed. I took a large breath and despite my inner feelings, I forced myself to smile. It was time to hit the road in search of my new future. ***** It?s a five-hour drive from Las Vegas to LA, if you take your time. I made it in four and the trip was a blast. First of all, the seat was a little more comfortable than I was used to. I blamed that on my girl-suit?s padded butt. Second, I love singing in the car -- no one cares if you?re off tempo or miss notes. For a lark, I tried to pick girl songs such as ?Natural woman,? ?Girls just want to have fun,? and particularly ?California girls? and sing along with them. I didn?t have much experience being a soprano, but I appreciated the range the suit gave me. It was sort of a weird kick hitting the piercing high notes with hardly any effort. I found myself more than a little impressed with the suit?s attention to detail - I guess I?ll always be a techie at heart. Fascinating new gizmos have always impressed me. Cool as the suit was technologically, my first order of business was getting rid of it. So after getting a motel room in Las Angeles, unloading the car, and having a nice dinner, I set out to find the local experts in body suits. I used everyone?s favorite research assistant, the phone book. It seemed obvious in retrospect, but the largest collection of bodysuit stores was smack dab in the middle of Hollywood. There was an entire row of the things along Hollywood Boulevard, and up North Cahuenga. I picked up a map, hopped in the Accord and made my way towards freedom. I only stopped once! I passed a cheap shoe store and had to look. It only took a couple of minutes and this was my last chance to show off. It was a waste of money, but inexplicably I really wanted matching shoes. The store had a fairly nice, white, low-heeled pair of pumps such as I was looking for, but when I saw them on my feet I knew comfortable and I knew dull. I ended up buying a much more attractive open-toed slingback. The heel was a teensy bit higher than I?d wanted, but it did look a lot better than the pump, and I have to admit, the height did make my legs look nice (not that you could see most of my legs, with a knee-length skirt). I switched my white boots for the slingbacks, and finished the drive up to Hollywood. Parking was a pain, but it gave me a little extra distance to practice my walk. I was feeling pretty natural in the slingbacks by the time I reached the first store on my list. I looked up to see the surprisingly tasteful sign proclaiming: ?Ye Olde Body Shoppe.? I shook my head. Who comes up with names like these? On a whim, I decided to see how long it took them to figure out that I was in a suit. I stepped inside. The softly lit store was replete with mannequins, rotating slowly under spotlights. Many were of famous actors, both male and female. Others were people I didn?t recognize, ranging from the attractive to the plain. ?May I help you, miss?? The salesman was attired in a crisp dark suit, and his raven-black hair made him look rather dashing. ?Umm, well . . . yes. I?m interested in finding out about bodysuits.? I made a nervous gesture with my hand, finally bringing it up to my chest in a show of embarrassment. ?But of course, miss. Why else would you be visiting the finest purveyors of bodysuits in the country? Where should we start?? Now What? I had never been particularly good at lying. ?Well, I was thinking that I?d kind of like one for my boyfriend, you know, as a gag? Sort of a costume party. How much would that cost?? Gently touching my elbow, he guided me toward a set of wall displays titled: The Tiresias Line. ?This is only a small sample of a very popular line, but they offer a good introduction to the first-time customer. Rentals hardly provide the best value, but it would be the most economical introduction and I assume that you?re not yet interested in a full purchase.? I nodded affirmatively. I sure didn?t need another one! ?In which case the fee would include a damage deposit -- merely a reservation on your card, not an actual payment -- a cleaning fee, and the rental itself which would range from the minimum of $489 for a two-night rental, up to our finest units, at $3500 for the same period.? ?How good are they, really?? I glanced at his nametag, ?Mr. Jones.? ?Honestly, miss? Given your purpose, I think you?d be quite pleased. Naturally, the cheaper units can be spotted by anyone who is modestly observant. But the top-grade models should pass in front of anyone but an expert.? When he finished we stood silently until he sensed I wanted more detail. ?Well, the lower models suffer from gaps between the suit skin and the skin of the wearer. When the head is twisted, the suit - how shall I put it - wrinkles. There are also fairly obvious seams at the mouth, eyes, and nose, but those can be mostly covered with makeup.? ?I see,? I said. There was something odd here. Janey was a notorious tightwad. I was surprised that she?d spend five hundred bucks to humiliate me, but my suit hadn?t shown even a hint of seam or wrinkle. Why would she spend thousands just to make me miserable? Did it have something to do with the fun and games at Club Gigi or was it a reason entirely different? ?Those seams,? I asked deliberately, ?where are they exactly?? I leaned into the spotlight, and pursed my lips. If he could find the seams I was out of this puppy! ?If you?ll pardon the familiarity, miss,? he reached forward and softly touched his fingernail to the edge of my lip - just where the pink flesh of the lip changes to normal skin. ?Here, there would be a definite seam. It would be apparent under close observation, or to an experienced observer.? He moved his hand softly tracing the edge of my eye, where the eyelid meets the cheek. ?Here is another spot, difficult to conceal. If you are wondering, look the person in the eye. The flexibility of the eyelid and the fine structure of the face makes this seam almost impossible to eliminate.? His hand trailed gently down my cheek before releasing my face. ?You have very beautiful skin, miss!? ?I . . . I see,? I said a bit breathlessly. It took me a moment to catch my breath and get my heartbeat under control. Why hadn?t he noticed any seams? ?How . . . how about the voice? How good is that?? He gave me a smile that showed a hint of admiration. ?Excellent question. Many people overlook that. Yes, it?s virtually impossible to completely conceal the man?s Adams apple. The shift in vocal register is accomplished by a vibrating mechanism, derived from technology developed to help victims of larynx cancer. It shifts the pitch, but adds something of a mechanical buzz. A trained ear can easily detect it, but most people could be fooled if they didn?t know what to look for.? ?Really?? Of course, my voice cracked. My hand went to my own throat, seeking in vain for the bulge of an Adams apple - my own preferably. He was looking at me curiously. ?Any other questions, miss?? ?Well, um, I was told that the full body models are, how can I say it, anatomically correct? How do they do that? Can the man wearing them really, uh, you know?? The salesman gave a wry smile. ?Yes, that?s one of our most common questions.? He opened a panel on the wall to display a diagram. ?You see: the man tucks himself back here. The ?shaft? is actually forward, along the front of his abdomen. The angle and position aren?t really accurate, but it allows a simulation of the real thing, which is enough for a surprising number of people. And to anticipate your next question, yes, the wearer can achieve a type of sensation. Small hydraulic bladders in the shaft, here, transmit impulses to this pocket, here. The man is even able to perform basic elimination functions, although frankly, we recommend limiting this use of the suit as much as possible. There?s always a chance pooling or leakage inside and once the wearer experiences that, he?ll be in discomfort for the rest of his time inside the suit.? ?I . . . see.? My heart hadn?t slowed. If anything, it was beating faster than ever. None of this sounded right. ?Even on the top of the line suits?? ?Miss, even the astronauts haven?t quite solved that problem yet.? ?Oh! So how do you get one of these suits off?? I was actually holding my breath. ?The suit control tab is hidden under the hair, on the back of the head. The suit is taken off opposite of how it was put on. The seam is opened, and the suit peeled off.? ?But, but isn?t there some sort of glue or something that joins it to the skin?? He was looking at me very sadly now. ?That?s only used for the highest quality impersonation, or for special effects, in movies. We do sell a solvent, if you?re really interested.? ?Yes!? I immediately barked out, before I could stop myself. He glided up to the front counter and produced a small spray bottle. ?This is an antagonist for the bonding agent. It isn?t harmful to skin, but I?d advise rinsing off within a few minutes of use. And avoid eye contact.? I nodded, reaching toward the bottle. ?What if, what if someone?s used a really strong glue or something? Isn?t there some way to just dissolve the suit?? He nodded, not surprised. ?Oddly enough, we do make a product like that.? He pulled out another spray bottle. ?It isn?t cheap, at $189 per bottle. The advent of convincing masquerades also created a need for quick exposure. This product will initiate a breakdown in the polymers used in every brand of suit sold today. It?s harmless to skin, but will cause suit polymers to bubble and run almost immediately. The sprayed area will completely dissolve within an hour. But be careful, you could get yourself into a hellacious lawsuit without meaning to.? I paid happily and turned to go. ?Miss,? the salesman called, with a kindly tone, ?I don?t want you to leave feeling bad about yourself or body suits. The pretense was unnecessary. I know what you were really asking. We see it, from time to time, although less frequently with your gender.? ?You know?? I was stunned. ?It?s not that unusual, here in Hollywood. You were approached at a party - another girl. She told you that she was really a man inside a body suit. One thing leads to another and there were intimacies. Afterward, you feared that you had done something unnatural, that you?d had relations with a member of the same sex.? I stared at him, dumbfounded and unable to speak. I?d forgotten. This was California! ?As I say, we see this situation more commonly with men.? He reached forward and delicately brushed my cheek. ?If I may be permitted. First, remember that even with the finest suit, there is nothing that compares to the texture of real beautiful skin. Second, it?s tragic to see a pretty young lady like you disturbed by something that brought no harm, only joy. If body suits have taught us anything, it?s to look below the surface, to look for love and beauty in the person that lies beneath the facade. That beauty is more than skin deep.? With that, he gave an almost courtly bow, and stepped back behind his counter. Tears welling in my eyes, I turned and fled. I walked the crowded streets for an hour before I began to calm down. He hadn?t known! An expert in body suits, rich patrons, and movie special effects and he hadn?t been able to tell I was in a bodysuit. What was wrong with him? Or maybe a better question was ?what in hell had Janey gotten me into?? After rubbing all over my scalp in a fruitless search for a seam, I finally gathered the courage to enter another body suit shop. The answers pretty much matched the first. I tried another with the same results. In the fourth shop, I noticed something different. ?Excuse me,? I asked, but why are all of these suits missing the arms and legs?? ?This is a newest body suit creation, miss. Much less expensive and it gets rid of all the areas that give away the fact that you are in a body suit,? the saleswoman told me. ?It?s too easy to spot. You can?t get enough stretch on the bend points and everything tends to bunch up in the knees, elbows, and palms like baggy pantyhose.? I looked at my fingertips, at my palm all the while flexing my hand and trying to see evidence of what she was talking about. ?What about in movies - that blue-skinned girl in ?Space Fighters?? How did they do that?? ?Oh, yeah, she had a full suit. You?re right. But watch again and look at her inner elbow. You can spot it.? ?Isn?t there anyone that provides full-body suits that don?t wrinkle or sag?? She cocked her head in thought. ?Well, I was reading a couple months ago that someday they might do skin grafts like a suit. It would be based upon an entirely new technology, a collagen based polymer instead of the oil polymer derivatives now in use. It would be for serious burn patients, or people like that. You could give them a whole-body-skin-graft as easy as putting on a suit. But they?re years, maybe decades away from anything like that, miss.? I stumbled out of the shop, mind reeling. Somehow, none of the salespeople had detected me. They all believed themselves expert enough to spot someone in a bodysuit and all of them had thought I was a woman. One thing was now clear, whatever I had crawled into last night wasn?t anything available on the commercial market. In fact, if the material with the actuator and the body suit was correct, it was something that wasn?t supposed to be available for years or decades even. I stopped in a drug store on the way back and bought a set of razor blades, a lighter, and a small hand mirror. It was time for desperate measures. Back in my motel room, I locked and bolted the door, then sprayed myself with the suit dissolving solvent. I sprayed my cheek, my arm, and my breast. I waited thirty minutes, then sixty minutes. Nothing! I waited another twenty minutes to be sure then washed the last of the stuff off. Using the lighter, I carefully sterilized a razor blade. I then sat under the light and gritting my teeth I slowly made the shallowest cut I could, on the top of my left forearm. It bled. I wiped it clean, and tried to use the tip of the blade to peel up the top layer of plastic, or polymer, or whatever the suit was made of. No matter how hard I tried, there seemed to be nothing more there than skin. I dabbed the cut clean and then sprayed the glue ?dissolver? on my leg. I waited thirty minutes and saw no results at all, aside from the fact that it stung like the dickens! I gave up and finally washed it off. What the hell was going on? After a few minutes, I looked at the cut I had made on my arm again. It was gone. There wasn?t the slightest trace. No cut, no scar, not the slightest sign of a wound. When I touched the spot I flinched. The skin may have healed on the surface, but underneath the wound was still there. This time, I heated the razor blade in the flame of the lighter until it was almost too hot to hold. Clenching my jaw to hold in the scream, I set the hot blade on my forearm. Yeah, it hurt like hell. I knew it was going to blister. I lifted off the blade and waited, trying to think this through. After a few minutes, I checked my arm. It was blistering nicely. I carefully sliced through the top of the blister, hoping that the plastic had melted, so that I could see the real skin. Unfortunate