Doc's Complex 05 - What's Wrong With Fantasies free porn video

Doc's Complex 05 - What's Wrong With Fantasies by Lee Most Copyright 2012 by Lee Most -------------------------------------------------------------- Doc's Complex 05 - What's Wrong With Fantasies For several seconds after the robot's metal feet clanged off into the distance, everyone was afraid to move. Someone, one of the dozen tall blonds with shoulder-length straight hair, finally went to the doorway, quietly moving on tiptoe, and looked out. She looked both ways, and turning back to the room and shrugging, she said at normal speaking volume, "I guess it's gone. Do you think we can take Tom off that thing now?" "No!" Four of the girls chorused, then each continued a different way: "It'll wipe his mind!" "He'll be disfigured!" "The robot 'll come back!" "Doc'll know!" Alice (I can't even call myself "Al" in my own thoughts anymore!) had decided that the women who had the shoes with the shorter heels and spoke with too many contractions were probably the natives of Doc's Complex, or they ARE our eight missing companions, who now think they were born here! He glanced at the comfortable six-inch heels he was wearing, and winced when he looked at the two and three inch heels on the shoes of those women. He knew intellectually that he had not felt this way before he'd been Changed, but now even the thought of flexing his foot so it could step flat on the floor seemed painful. The question of freeing Tom became moot a second later, as a featureless metal shield suddenly slammed into place around the table, blocking Tom's body from view. "Now what are we supposed to do?" a blond woman said. Alice wished they had nametags. He had never been able to tell blond women apart and there were eight now with long straight blond hair, and four with long curly blond hair! A different blond woman said, "We can't leave him here," at the same time another, or perhaps it was the first - he really could not tell blonds apart -- said, "We can't just abandon him." "Wait'll the machine finishes, and then take'r with us," suggested one of the four who had protested moving him. "Y'saw how little time it takes for't to finish. We can leave in ten minutes, fifteen minutes tops." "Look at the screen! He's dreaming or something!" One of the women wearing super-high heels looked at the screen and shook her head in disgust. "That's not a dream; that's one of his sex fantasies." Alice asked, "What's wrong with fantasies? They help to relieve the pressure of reality. They're harmless fun!" "Humph! You haven't seen HIS fantasies, then. He showed me some of his drawings. See that woman on the screen? He'll do something to make her miserable. I'll bet he EWW! I told you! Oh, I can't watch!" She moved away, but Alice kept his eyes on the screen. As he watched, Alice began to have doubts about his position on fantasies. He knew that what went on in a man's own mind should be his to keep private and he should be able to think whatever he liked, but Tom's depraved fantasy in full color and sound was there for all to see on the display over the table where he was encased. As awful as it was, Alice could not look away. In Tom's fantasy, he was at least a foot taller than everyone else, not because he had grown, but because he had made everyone else shrink to four foot ten or smaller. Various women arrived before his throne, were humiliated by him, and then were replaced by other women. As the fantasy progressed, Tom's childish tricks became mean, then cruel, on to sadistic, and beyond that to horribly unthinkable. One extremely short woman kept reappearing, and Tom seemed to like torturing that young woman more than any other. He made her do more and more degrading things, and soon she was the only other person besides Tom who appeared on the screen. She seemed to be a composite of every pretty girl he had ever seen, and that included the caricaturized beauty of cartoon characters and comic book heroines. Her face was not that of an adult woman. It combined features of a very pretty young girl, with pointed, elfin ears, oversized, sparkling blue eyes, and a mouth about five inches wide that exaggerated both the happiness of her smiles and the look of misery when she turned her lips down. Her body, by contrast, was an exaggeration of everything a man might think is sexy. Women were shorter than men, so she was extra short and stood only four feet tall. Sexy women had big breasts, so she had breasts even larger than Alice's and just as round. Sexy women had tiny waists, so her waist was as small as her neck. Her hands and feet were tiny, her legs impossibly long, her rear end rivaled her breasts in its immensity. Nothing about her was normal and everything was exaggerated to the point of parody. The girl-woman was such a mishmash of so many different kinds of images that she looked grotesque to the watchers, except that Tom thought she was beautiful, and somehow that opinion affected how everyone watching saw her, in much the same way that the exaggerated features of a beautiful cartoon character would look weird on a real, live woman, yet in the cartoon, she is seen as lovely. Her hair was gold -- not blond or yellow, but threads of pure gold - and it was so long that she often walked on it, or it wrapped around her legs when he spun her so she was trapped in a cocoon of her own hair, or it trailed on the floor after her like the train of a wedding dress, and Tom would step on it to make her fall. Sometimes he humiliated her by cutting off her golden hair and selling the gold, leaving her with a crudely cut head of hair she could do nothing about until the next fantasy, when she would start again as an elegant or rich or successful woman with a full head of golden hair, until he came along to bring down into the gutter. At first, Tom played the kinds of tricks a 13-year-old boy would play on a girl who looked like she did if he had the power. He had her wear costumes, nurse's outfits, and maid uniforms several sizes too small, so her breasts constantly popped out when he made her stretch to retrieve things, and her skirt would lift up to reveal her panties, much to her embarrassment and Tom's amusement. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [AUTHOR'S NOTE: THIS IS THE PART OF THE STORY THAT EARNS IT THE "HORROR" CATEGORY. TOM HAS THE KIND OF TWISTED IMAGINATION THAT THINKS TEARING OPEN PUPPIES TO WATCH THEM BLEED TO DEATH IS ENTERTAINING, SO IF YOU ARE LIKE ME AND WANT TO SKIP THE SICK DETAILS OF HIS FANTASY THAT GET PROGRESSIVELY MORE EVIL THROUGHOUT THE REST OF THIS SECTION, JUST SKIP FORWARD TO THE NEXT DOTTED LINE.] Tom quickly tired of those lame pranks and his sadism began to grow. He made her eat disgusting things like road kill and excrement; he tied her with ropes or straps or her own clothing and then arranged her in devious bondage situations where she had a choice between suffocating from a slowly filling bladder above her face, or swallowing the noxious mixtures of bodily fluids and poisons he filled it with. He made her beg to smear herself with offal, slimy, smelly garbage, mud, and other filth and then made her present herself to people she wanted to impress. He made her crawl on the floor behind him when he walked, licking his footsteps, and eating the things he dropped, and have sex with any men, animals, or phallic objects they came upon as they strolled. To make sure that he could always do his worst to her, each new fantasy started with her dressed in the nicest fashions, the richest gowns, the sexiest lingerie, or flattering everyday outfits or uniforms. To demoralize her, he would cut away her long skirts, tear open her modest blouses, and strip away her fine jewelry and make her look and act like a slut or a drug addict or a whore. Then he brought in someone she respected or loved and presented her to him in a way that made him think that she had lost her morality, that she was such an awful person that she did not deserve his love or respect, and the man would not try to save her, but would walk away disgusted at what she had become, as if it was her fault he had been fooled into thinking she was better than that. Of course, it was then, when she was vulnerable and discouraged, that Tom would take the girl away to do the really harsh things he had planned for her. Tom seemed to relish the look of a pretty woman crying so much that her tears melted her makeup, causing black streaks that ran down her face. Tom's demented mind devised ever crueler tortures for his victim to suffer through. He seemed to thrive on hearing her begging him to stop, so he always increased the violence and depravity of the things he did to her or made her do herself. Each fantasy was worse than the one before it. His favorite setting seemed to be a rural country fair far from the clean hospitals, neat offices, fabulous palaces, or richly-decorated mansions where the woman had started out. At the fair, the woman inevitably fell in mud, tore their beautiful clothes, were unjustly accused and then beaten or whipped, and any other physical abuse Tom wanted them to suffer. Also, the fair was crowded with plainly-dressed coarse, unshaven men and old, disapproving women, who sneered at her after he had made her look like a slut, or spat on her, or yelled nasty epithets, or threw rocks at her. Sometimes they threw other things: rotten fruits and vegetables, or bottles that always shattered and cut her skin. Only after she went through that gauntlet of humiliation, after the constant put-downs and humiliations had brought his victim to tears, did he begin the worst part of each fantasy, where he made her do worse and worse things to demean and defile herself, and then he personally tortured and mutilated her body, only stopping and letting her die when he was bored with her and he wanted to start over with her taking on the role of another innocent victim. When he tired of simply wandering through the country fair, he put the woman or girl on a stage in a sort of sexual version of a sideshow. In one scene he had her there, held immobile in a strange machine that forced wide both the jaws of her mouth and her legs, and he invited dirty, crude men from the crowd to thrust long, phallic objects - dildos, rotten fruits and vegetables, rusty tools, handles from old mops and shovels, bunches of slender, sharp things like pencils, darts, and the thorn-covered stems from a bouquet of roses -- into all her openings at once, while she had to listen to him and the crowd shout insults at her for being such a debased woman that she would let those men do such things to her. She was never allowed to enjoy sex. Sex always meant humiliation, or torture, or rape. His fantasies developed more sophisticated ways to torture a woman. No longer satisfied by doing horrible things to humiliate them himself, he apparently decided it was an even better torture to have her humiliate herself without him even touching her. He released his latest victim from the machine, and she again became that golden-haired damsel in a golden evening gown. She sparkled, she glittered, she was free! She could walk away and spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying the fair, but instead, she pointed at the machine and the pile of things that has been inside her, and she stood up and unhappily bowed to the audience, who seemed to be not only sadistic but also to want to blame her for her depravity. She then tore the bottom from her own gown, ripped off a wide strip around her waist, to leave only a ragged micro-mini-skirt and a golden strip that barely held her enormous boobs. The audience jeered! They yelled, and threw things at her, and clearly unhappy, she continued her show. Using a showman's extravagant gestures she pointed at a row of balls on the. In a neat line was a series of spheres of progressively larger sizes: baskets of marbles, golf balls, pool balls, baseballs, softballs, some grapefruits, and then a bowling ball. She then gestured at her exposed belly button, chose a marble, and inserted it. She did the same with her ears, putting two marbles into each. She shoved marbles into her nostrils, and then tilted her head back and, one by one, dropped a handful of marbles into her mouth. Tom suddenly appeared on the stage behind her, grinned mischievously at the audience, and slapped her on the back so she swallowed them all. He disappeared as she looked around confused, her eyes scared. She did similar things with the golf balls, and in his fantasy, her openings stretched wide to accommodate them. Her ears looked like bulges on the sides of her head, and her nose so distorted that she no longer looked human. She pushed golf balls into her mouth, so her cheeks bulged out, and then she knelt on the stage and spread her legs, and inserted the golf balls into her pussy and her butt, her mouth. When she stood up, Tom appeared behind her again, and again comically slapped her back and disappeared before she could turn around to see what had made her swallow all those balls. The audience jeered and threw things as before, yet she continued her show and picked up the basket of pool balls and held it up. Alice looked at the remaining, progressively larger balls, and thought with disgust, "It's obvious what the rest of this show will be like," but he was wrong. It would be worse. When the girl on the screen picked up the basket of baseballs one of the women in the Changing Room somewhere to the right of Alice cried, "No! Walk away! He can't make you do it!" He could, though. It was Tom's fantasy, and although the object of his derision was not tied down or forced open, no one held a weapon to coerce her, and no one else was on stage to thrust things inside her, she knelt on the stage and spread her legs, and inserted the larger balls into her pussy and her butt, her mouth and her ears, her nostrils, and navel, filling herself up with spheres, her opening stretching, and then tearing wider to accommodate things no human could put into them. The bowling ball was the finale of her act, and when she held it up, they could all see that it was not a solid wooden bowling ball, but a hollow sphere of the same size made of green glass, filled with some clear liquid. With tears pouring down her face, she brought the sphere down between her legs and in a horrible parody of the act of giving birth in reverse, she pushed and stretched and thrust the sphere into her own womb, screaming with the pain as her vagina ripped wider to allow its passage. The ball thrusting her belly out as if she were pregnant, she struggled to her feet and walked back and forth in front of the sneering mob that was her audience. Instead of applauding, they threw rotten tomatoes, apples, broken bottles, and rocks at her, bruising, nicking, and cutting her skin until it was black and blue, with streaks of red blood. Still she stood there, and when the audience quieted down, she pointed at a muscular man to come up to the stage. It was the beefed-up fantasy version of Tom. He put on a pair of thick, leather gloves, and then he punched her as hard as he could in her belly, shattering the glass ball inside her with such force that a piece of it cut its way through and gleamed in the harsh sunlight. Filled with broken glass, pain, agony, and the liquid contents of the sphere, she looked at Tom and screamed at him in pain and agony, begging him to let her die. He did not. Instead, he put one hand on the top of her head, forcing her to look down at the shard sticking out of her belly, and he used his other hand to grab the shard and pull. It was not just a shard, it was half the thick, glass sphere and it came out all in one piece. It tore through her belly, bringing with it a gush of blood and gore and intestines that hung out through the hole. Tom, the biggest man in his world, stared at the bloody thing he held, roared with laughter! Tom then produced a clear, empty glass beer mug, pushed it into the gaping hole through which her guts and life's blood gushed out in a never-ending stream, and he withdrew the mug filled with a swirling mixture of all the liquids it collected there. Dropping his pants, he showed the audience his impossibly exaggerated erect prong, and thrust it between the legs of the screaming, crying woman. Playing the clown, he acted as if there was a problem, pulled his cock out, and reached in with his hand. He pulled out a ball, making the audience laugh. He reached in and pulled out another, and the audience laughed harder. Again and again, he extracted handfuls of balls and tossed them over his shoulder, until he reached in so far his hand came up out of the hole in her belly, which he and his audience seemed to think was hilarious. He raped her, thrusting again and again, and as his sick passion grew, his clown act fell away as he finally screwed the object of his sick fantasies, as she cried, and sobbed words of protest, bleeding so much the stage looked like a red swimming pool. The fantasy did not end when Tom was finally sated. No, he continued to mutilate his victim. He lit a match and tossed it into her wound, from which a small fireball erupted to his and the audience's loud approval. The girl stood up and looked down past her enormous boobs at a smaller flame escaping from the top of her open wound while blood poured from the bottom, spilling like a river down her belly and legs. Tom tipped some of the liquid from the glass onto the woman's breasts from where it trickled down until the flame caught it, making the cloth of her costume burst into blue flames so her breasts were on fire. Again, his audience cheered as she used her tiny hands to try to pat out the flames, but Tom made her hands like a baby's hands: so small they were useless. Continuing his torture of his favorite victim, Tom grabbed her hair and tilted her head back. He poured a huge amount of the flammable liquid from the mug into her mouth and then let go of her hair and dumped the remainder over the top of her head and stepped back to watch. T The woman again slapped at her burning breasts, but the flames spread to her hands, and then her face caught fire. As her golden hair became a mane of flames, her head fell back, her mouth fell open, and a fountain of fire shot up into the air as if thrust from a flamethrower in her throat. As the fire fountain ended, she collapsed to her knees and fell backward, her dead body again presenting her spread legs to the audience with blue flames rising from her mouth, her breasts, her belly, and her groin. Screaming and screaming, her charred skin bubbling, smoking, and steaming, she could do nothing to end her agony as Tom refused to let her die, choosing instead to walk circles around his mutilated handiwork endlessly suffering as she lay in a pool of her own blood there on the stage in front of the audience that enjoyed the destruction of her beauty and innocence. [WHEW! I DIDN'T LIKE THAT AT ALL!] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Alice watched the screen in morbid fascination. It was like a gory horror movie: too awful to watch, and yet he could not turn away. In the Changing Room, one of the women gagged and threw up onto the floor, and two were sitting on a table on the other side of the room holding each other and crying. Several others, including Keela, had gathered around another crying woman, and a third group was standing near the door talking quietly. In fact, as Alice looked around the room, he realized that only he and three others had stayed to witness the gruesome end. "Look," exclaimed one of those three, "I think the Changing Machine is going to use that last girl as the model for his changes." "Good!" spat one of the two who were sitting together across the room. "He deserves it!" They had all gone to both high school and college together. Tom was their friend, and had proved his friendship in dozens of ways when they had all been teens and young men together. Alice wanted to speak out in his friend's defense, but every time he tried to muster up the words, he thought of how much his own body now resembled that of Tom's favorite victim. His breasts were not as big as those of the golden-haired elf, as he thought of Tom's victim, but he had the largest breasts of all the women present, and they were as round as the elf's, too. His hands were not as small as Tom's victim, but again, his were the smallest here. His hair was not as golden, but Keela had made it so long that he shared many of the problems that girl had with her long hair. The more he thought about wanting to speak up for Tom, the more he also thought that if Tom could choose any of the women or transformed men in this room, Alice would be his first choice of victims! On the screen, the images continued, but they now had a different flavor, the light became different, brighter, things had more color, and Tom was nowhere to be seen. The focus shifted to the dead body, and a glow appeared around it. She opened her eyes, and sat up, the crust of blackened skin cracking and flaking off her chest and face, revealing bare skin as smooth and pretty as it had been at the beginning. She stood up, stretched, and the entire scene changed as the crumbling remains of Tom's idea of what to do to a woman flaked and fell off her and dissolved away into nothingness. Now she stood up straight, her unusually wide mouth smiling her cartoony smile, her tiny, buxom body bare and glowing with health, and then glowing with light, and Alice recognized the shadowless look of people and objects in the Complex. The stage and background faded away, and the golden-haired woman slowly spun on the screen the same way as the image Keela had created on the screen above Alice when he had been lying on the Changing Machine table while he had Changed from Al to Alice. The floor vibrated as the machinery of the Changing Machine came to life, and Alice turned and began slowly walking away, thinking about what he had seen, how the Changing Table had changed his body, his mind, and even his name. My name is Alice, he thought. He was still trying to reconcile himself to having Alice, a girl's name, as his name. His first thought when he heard that name was the Alice of the Walt Disney cartoon Alice in Wonderland, but she looked sweet and innocent compared to the way he looked now. He looked like a living sex-- Was "fantasy" the right word to complete that idea? He had never before thought a fantasy could be bad or have negative connotations, but after what he had just seen, he hesitated to associate that word with good things. And the name "Alice" was the same for him. He had never actually known a girl named Alice, but everyone knew it was a girl's name. The only other instances where he had actually heard the name used was the recipe for "Alice B. Toklas marijuana brownies," and "Alice's Restaurant," a funny protest song by Arlo Guthrie. The Changing Machine had obviously changed his body, but it had also changed his mind. Here he was with the biggest, hugest breasts he had ever seen in his life, but whenever he looked at them or saw himself in a mirror, they seemed as normal to him as his small hands, slender arms and legs, wide hips, and the tiny nose on his pretty face. He had put on his bra almost without thinking a few minutes ago, and he was pretty sure that only an hour ago, he would have taken several minutes even to figure out which strap of a bra went where and then bungled the job of fastening it if he had tried to wear it. And it had changed his name! He knew he had been called "Al." He could say the name "Al." He even wanted to still be known as a man named Al, yet his reaction to someone using his old name had been immediate: "My name is 'Alice'," he had said, and he meant it. As much as I want to be a man with a man's name, I can't think of Al as me, he thought. Al is some other guy, not me. I am Alice, and I'm the only girl in the whole of Doc's Complex with this spelling of the name. As upset as he was at his name being Alice now, he did not notices two other things: he no longer even remembered that he'd had a surname, and he now thought of himself as one of the girls who lived in Doc's Complex. Someone saying, "Look! It's done. It's opening up," broke him out of his reverie. He saw Keela coming toward him, and he put his arm around her and they joined the crowd around the Changing Table to see the new Tom. The helmet slid off the end of the table, but there was no head. The foot and hand covers went up to the ceiling, and there were no feet or hands there. "She must be really tiny," someone mumbled. The cones moved straight up and just like the reveal of Alice's breasts, two huge mounds flopped and bounced into view. "That's it! Tom's been changed into a couple of giant boobs!" As if waiting for something to relieve the tension after watching that awful fantasy, suddenly the whole room was laughing! The women laughed so much that tears streamed down, and then someone would make another silly comment and they all started laughing again. "Whoever said Tom was a big boob was wrong. He's two big boobs!" "We'll have to carry him around in a bra!" "A pretty big one." "A bra bag." "Well Tom always did like girls with a pair of big fun bags." "And now he IS a pair of big fun bags!" "Sorry Alice, Tom's got bigger boobs than you now." "That's okay; that's all he has left!" After a few minutes, the laughter died down, and an odd, little-girl voice said into the silence, "Tom's not here." The girl from Tom's fantasy sat on the edge of the table, and her gigantic breasts were no longer her most eye-catching feature. Her hair poured down from her head like a gleaming golden liquid to spill onto the floor below in a pool about three feet wide. Whenever she moved, a wave rippled through her hair down from her head to the puddle on the floor. It looked so much like liquid that Alice kept expecting the hair on the floor to ripple as well, but it just sat there. Each of her golden hairs was a gold fiber so thin and fine that in the Real World's sunlight it would not be visible except as mere reflections of light. Here, in a world with no shadows, where even what should be dark crevices seemed to be illuminated somehow, her individual hairs were invisible. The mass of her hair, though, reflected the colors near it, looking like a fogged-up flexible golden mirror. "Yes you are," one of the curly-haired blonds said. "We just watched what you did to someone who looked just like you do now, and then that Changing Machine you're sitting on changed you into her." The girl's eyes widened with fear and then anger and her ears perked up. Usually that means someone is listening with more attention, but in her case, her pointed ears really did perk up. They actually moved like a dog's ears to turn toward the sound of the woman who had spoken. They may have moved like a dog's ears, but that doesn't mean they looked like a dog's ears. They looked like human ears, except that the tops came to a long point. Actually, they were a little smaller than normal ears except for the point, and they did not stick out much more than normal ears, but they did move, and they were strong enough to shift her metal hair out of the way when they did. "No! Tom's not here," she shouted, jumping off the table and facing her accuser. "I ran away from him, and I came here to the Complex where men aren't allowed, and I'm going to live here all the rest of my life, and will never ever have to ever do anything that Tom wants me to do ever again!" Her voice, just like the voice of Tom's favorite victim, was that of a little girl, and like a little girl, she repeated what she meant for emphasis: "Ever ever ever ever ever ever again! Ever! I hate him!" When she violently shook her head no, her hair and the colors it reflected moved so much that it looked to Alice like the time he had been at a concert where the guy running the light show aimed his movie projector at the dancers, and the girl he'd been with, dressed all in white, was suddenly alive with dancing colors and shapes that might have been images if she or the movie had held still long enough to make them out. Charletta had assumed the role of leader, and no one else protested. She said, "Right. The clothes dispenser is over there. Do you want to come with us? We're going to set these guys up in a new suite." They all stepped back to let the new girl through, and she casually bounced off the table and to the corner. That was the only word to accurately describe how she moved. Her breasts bounced like water balloons, and so did her butt. Her metal hair was so heavy that it generally hung straight down and then trailed after her, but when she hopped up to take each step, a wave traveled back so the hair on the floor lifted and could be moved forward with less effort. Exactly like the hair on his victim in his fantasy, Tom, or whoever she now thought she was, had hair that trailed a good six feet behind her when she walked. Later, as they followed Charletta to their new, hopefully temporary, abode, Keela quipped to Alice, "She's the shortest one here, but she takes up as much room as four of us!" "She is also the most annoying girl I've ever met. One minute she's all cute and bouncy, and the next she's so self-effacing I want to be any place but where she is." "That's what's wrong with fantasies. Everyone wants fantasies t'come true, but no one can stand t'be around fantasy people when they do become real." A few steps later, she remarked, "Y'know Tom's real punishment? He's th'only one who ever could really love 'er." "Love her? He hated her! Didn't you see all the things he did to torment her?" "No. I couldn't stand it. But he felt so passionate 'bout 'er that he put 'er in every fantasy he could think of. Do y'think he'd do that to someone he din't care 'bout?,Now she's here and Tom's not. How's that for torture?" Even after a long discussion about who should or should not be called a "girl," everyone continued to think of her as a "girl." She never acted mature, she had the voice of a six-year-old, she bounced like an over- eager five-year-old wherever she went, and she had the sweet, innocent face of a four-year-old girl. After she had dressed in a costume very similar to something elegant from before his former self started one of his fantasies, she declined to use the make-up device. "Makeup always makes my face look as if I've snuck into my mommy's room and tried her stuff without permission. It doesn't matter. No one ever looks at my face anyway." That was the other annoying thing about her. She always talked like that, putting herself down, acting like a child who was not allowed to have her own opinion among the adults around her. The group found itself divided into those who wanted to mother her and reassure her, and those who wanted her to stop being a victim, to grow up and take charge of her life. She had no name. "I never had a name. Tom never gave me a name. Why? Do I need one?" "What should her name be?" became one of the many recurring topics of conversation as they walked towards the other women's suites. Alice and Keela had something else to talk about. "Do you want to live together with me?" Alice asked, and Keela gave him one of her looks. "Yes, I do, but you didn't say that the way I say it when I ask someone to Live Together with me. I don't think we're talking 'bout the same thing." She looked up at the purplish-pink ceiling of the corridor they were in. "Doc? How do I explain what Living Together is to Alice?" She paused, listening, as Alice had seen the other natives do, and then she turned to him and said, "Doc says that Living Together like what y'call marriage, but it's more intense than that, and it only can last three months. It means being together day and night; sharing our lives, our work, our love, and everything we are with each other." "Why only three months," Alice wanted to know. "Hah. Because no one can stay in a relationship that intense for more than three months!" She shook her head and bit her lip again, a sign Alice recognized already as an indication that she was about to say something she had been holding back. "Also, there's something else." She took his hand and stopped walking, turning to look up into his eyes, then watched the others walk on ahead. She waited until they were out of earshot and told Alice in a low voice, "The other reason is that YOU can't stay here longer than three months! I don't know if Doc wants any of y'to know, but Changing Machines'r not, the rays from that light will change any male completely into a female if y'stay in Doc's Complex that long!" ----------------------------------------------- To Be Continued! ----------------------------------------------- Author's note: Here's a category FM probably doesn't need, since it probably would contain only this chapter: Depraved man to annoying girl! I guess I'll check off "Bad boy to good girl" instead. In the next chapter we may get to discuss Living Together, who got Changed into who, and finally find out everyone's names. Either that, or we'll see another part of Doc's Complex. I don't know myself what's going to happen in the next chapter since I haven't written it yet! I'm writing this novel as part of the 2012 NaNoWriMo challenge to write a novel of at least 50,000 words between November 1st and 30th. I intend to post a chapter a day during November. (For more info about National Novel Writing Month, see www.NaNoWriMo.org.) Chapter 5 should have been posted yesterday on 5 November, but thanks to having the same file open on two computers and closing the wrong one first, I lost this whole chapter when it was overwritten by the file I started first, but closed second. Luckily, Dropbox saves deleted files! I'll write an extra chapter this weekend so the novel will still be 30 chapters as promised. By the way, if you like to write and can't resist improving this story with extra characters or new adventures or situations for the existing characters, go ahead! I know other writers can describe that orgy in a much more exciting way than I did, for instance, and I can't describe more than a few of the 17 of the people in the room and what happens to each of them. You have my permission to post your version on FictionMania. To avoid confusion, add a letter to the chapter #, like "Doc's Complex 03a", and make up a new title. Who knows? If enough people do it, FictionMania may add a new category! Editing/Reposting: If you want to post this or an edited or amended version of this story anywhere other than FictionMania, send me a message so I'll know where it is. (I'm not against other people reading my stuff. I just want to know how far it can spread.) If you can figure out a way to make a profit from my writing and do, the share I claim is owed to me is modest: $0.01 per copy read on screen or printed or downloaded, or 1% of gross sales, or 10% of the profits, whichever of the three amounts is largest.