Welcome To Saturn Beta - Part 6 free porn video

Tyler took a deep breath and gathered himself as he rested his hand on the door handle leading into the main section of spindle #7. This was the first time he'd ever been alone on the station since his nanosurgery finished. He'd always been accompanied by someone else before - either Jackson or Amber. The thought of wandering through the wild west all by himself, while sporting this incredibly alluring female body, gave him pause. He needed to get used to it, however, and sooner was better than later. He twisted the handle and went out into the spindle, leaving the safety of the dormitory behind him. He had to admit, the relative poshness of spindle #7 was the perfect place for his first solo walk through the station. It was safe here, loaded on either side with boutique shops, reminding Tyler of a nice shopping district in Miami Beach that he liked to visit. The walkways were populated but not crowded, allowing Tyler to blend into the crowd without being enveloped by teeming masses of people. He held his head high, ponytail bouncing against his shoulders as he walked purposefully atop his two-inch heels, beautiful green dress swishing along his knees. He received a few long, studious looks from the men in the spindle, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He knew he was presenting himself to the station as a beautiful woman now, and he knew what the average's man's reaction would be to seeing something so lovely. He noticed the attention he was getting without focusing on it. He exited the spindle and entered the 48th floor foyer, then made for the elevator hub in the middle. The crowd was sparser and more unfocused here, standing around, wandering aimlessly, or looking at maps on their tablets and phones. Many people in the crowd were looking up and out into space through the foyer's massive bay windows covering every inch of the ceiling. Tyler remembered how tall everything had looked to him when he returned here from the Relax-n-Unpack, after the nanobots had done most of their work on him, reducing his height by at least half a foot. Tyler was still shorter than many of the women around him and the vast majority of the men, but the sea-foam heels he wore now provided a little help in that department. He recalled a quote from the 20th century, a movie star - something about how a girl could conquer the world if she only had the right pair of shoes. Tyler could appreciate that quote now. He felt much more confident in these heels than he ever did in those sandals he'd been wearing. He smiled and strode over to the bank of elevators - heel to toe, heel to toe, smaller steps, don't be in a hurry... just like Amber had coached him. "Well, look who we have here," said a sultry voice to the right of Tyler. He turned to see who was addressing him. "Oh," he said, annoyed and disappointed. "Lola. Hi." "The scared little girl, all dressed up and ready for church," Lola said, placing her hands on the sides of her exposed midriff. Wearing her platinum-colored sports bra and matching hot pants, as if it were the only set of clothing she owned. Amber had been right - there was a certain trashiness about a girl who wore the same outfit every day. Or maybe Lola was just a trashy person. Tyler was certainly on board with that theory. "Church, right," he said, threading a thumb between his purse strap and his shoulder. "Gotta go say my prayers." "I heard about what happened to you, yesterday in the lounge," Lola said. She began to walk over in Tyler's direction, atop her skyscraper heels - if the shoes Tyler wore had two inches on them, Lola's had at least five. "It's a real shame, having to put up with grimy old men violating your personal space like that, isn't it?" Rolling his eyes, Tyler mashed the down button on the elevator bank. "Christ, Lola, why are you such a gigantic bitch to me?" "Because I'm a gigantic bitch, period. You're not special, Violet Taylor." She spoke Tyler's assumed new name in a tone of voice that dripped with disdain. "None of us are special." "Uh huh," Tyler retorted. "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what I was doing today and who I was doing it with." He held the left side of his dress with his free hand and gave Lola a little twirl, causing his long skirt to swish playfully over his shins. "I was picked out especially for this job today. The client took one look at me and just had to have me." Narrowing her eyes, Lola smirked at Tyler. "Sure he did. And I thought you weren't going to do any freelancing work. What changed your mind, hmm? Started thinking about big, meaty dicks, and realized you couldn't live without them?" The elevator doors opened, and Tyler allowed the passengers to exit before he made his way on. "Who said anything about dicks?" he said, leaning his skirted backside against the rear wall of the elevator car. Lola glared at him from outside the sliding doors. Tyler figured he had a chance to get one last jab in before they closed... "You told me I had to be confident, right? Yesterday in Amber's room?" he said, resting his purse over his tummy. "Well, here it is: I'm fully confident that I'm going to have a more enjoyable day on the job than you will, Lola. And I'm gonna get paid more, too." Lola crossed her arms. "Bullshit." "Nice outfit, by the way," Tyler said as the doors slid closed. "Very original." Lola laughed, actually laughed at the insult, as if she found it amusing rather than derisive. The doors shut before Lola could fire her own jab back at Tyler. Very proud of himself for how he handled that encounter, Tyler placed his hands on his hips and allowed a satisfied smile to cross his face. Normally he wouldn't stoop so low just to make someone feel self-conscious about themselves, especially not over something as petty as what they were wearing, but... well, Lola had asked for it, first of all. And she really was wearing that platinum outfit of her every time Tyler saw her, both in his current form and when he had still been a man. And he knew he looked better than she did, in his frothy green tea- length dress and matching pumps, even if he had no makeup on and his unkempt hair was corralled in a ponytail. He took a strange pride in his appearance, or at least in the knowledge that he didn't look like a common street whore, an image Tyler was aiming to avoid while Lola seemed to revel in it. As the elevator descended to the 20th floor, Tyler once again took inventory of himself and his clothing, first by looking down at his form and then by looking at the reflection in the chrome-plated elevator doors. He looked every bit the classy, refined lady... albeit one who, above the neck, looked like she had just rolled out of bed. Well, that would change, soon enough. He had that salon appointment coming up with Connie Giordano, and after that... well, he'd look that much better than Lola. His heart swelled with pride and anticipation, while his mind wondered why he cared so much about something so catty... and so feminine. After a few stops to pick up and drop off more passengers, the elevator deposited Tyler on the 20th floor of Saturn Beta, where he stepped out into the foyer on his 2-inch heels and looked around at the premises. Amber had been right with her "fancy-pants" comment earlier - this floor was done up with high marble columns, gold and crystal chandeliers, entrances toward high-ceilinged restaurants and boutique shops, and only a pair of spindles leading away from the lobby. One spindle advertised and entrance to the San Hernandez Memorial Symphony Hall (and Tyler wondered, briefly, how the hell you could fit an entire symphony hall inside an orbital space station). The entrance to the other spindle sat beneath a large block of polished sandstone, into which had been carved the words PYRAMID SUITES. Tyler adjusted his purse on his shoulder and walked toward his date with Connie Giordano. heel-to-toe, small steps, don't be in a hurry... Inside the spindle was what Tyler had expected, more or less. A luxurious hotel lobby, filled with equally luxurious furniture and hotel staff rushing around in fitted suits. Tyler stood dumbly in the spindle entrance and scanned the room for Connie, recalling her face from yesterday's lounge event and the research he'd done on her after returning to his room. Eventually he saw the back of her head, her signature brown pixie cut with blond highlights streaking throughout. She was reading a newspaper - an honest-to-God, paper and ink newspaper, the kind of unwieldy thing that Tyler had only seen pictures of on retro social media. He'd seen the real thing once, in a display case, at the 21st-century museum where the Miami Herald had once been. And now Connie Giordano was holding one. The mark of someone who was extremely eccentric, or extremely rich... or both. Tyler already knew which category Connie fell into. He took a deep breath and walked over to her stuffed leather chair, tea-length dress swishing around his ankles as he moved. "Ms. Giordano?" he said, leaning into her field of vision. Connie looked up from her newspaper, at Tyler's face, then over at a wrought-iron clock on the far end of Pyramid's massive lobby. "You're early," said Connie, folding her newspaper. "Good. Punctuality's a lost art out here, I've noticed." She rose from her chair and dropped the newspaper on an end table next to the vacated seat. "Yes, hello. I'm Connie Giordano." She grasped Tyler by the upper arms and leaned in for a kiss on the cheek, which Tyler accepted and returned, though he wasn't expecting it and his delivery was a bit delayed. Connie then switched to the other cheek and repeated the kiss, and Tyler timed his own much better. Slightly flustered by the gesture, Tyler smiled weakly at Connie when she pulled her face away from his. Europeans and their cheek kissing... "Please, sit," Connie said, gesturing to a chair across from hers. Between the chairs was a low, round coffee table. Tyler followed Connie's lead, holding his skirts behind him as he sat, unshouldering his purse and placing it in his lap. The skirt of his sea-foam dress rode up to his kneecap as he took his new position in the leather chair, and Tyler decided to cross his legs just to be on the safe side. He figured that's what Amber would have wanted him to do. Connie looked at Tyler with a blank expression on her face - studying him, maybe, and taking mental notes. She wore a sheer white blouse, tightly fitting with buttons along the left side. Her skirt was blue plaid, long, pleated, and cinched tightly around her waist with a stylish belt. She wore white heels that matched the color of her blouse. Heavy gold jewelry dangled from everywhere - her ears, her neck, her fingers and wrists. Tyler self-consciously tried to feel his own earlobes, wondering if Jackson's nanobots had put holes in them yet. He'd be expecting two holes per ear, at least, based on what Amber had said earlier... "So," Connie said, folding her hands over a knee and smiling. "How are you today?" Shrugging, Tyler tried to match Connie's muted enthusiasm. "Good. I'm good, thanks. How are you?" "Good. Well, off we go." She suddenly rose from her chair and held a hand out for Tyler to take. Tyler reached his hand out and was tugged to his feet. "Oh, okay," he said, surprised at how quickly this appointment was moving along. "Off we go." "We can chat on the way, not that we have much of a walk." She looked down at Tyler's hand as she held it, studied it, and then looked over at his other hand. A look of slight dissatisfaction appeared on her face. "You in front, please. I'll stay behind." "Um," Tyler said, trying to make sense of this. He reminded himself that Connie was the client, not a friend, not even an acquaintance... just someone who was paying him to be the guinea pig in her weird little social science experiment. So he followed instructions, standing in front of Connie as they clicked through the lavish Pyramid Suites lobby on their heels. She pointed him toward a set of glass double doors which opened as he approached, leading to the hotel salon's waiting room. A receptionist at a tall desk stood up as the double doors slid closed behind Connie and Tyler. "Ms. Giordano," the receptionist said as she stood. "Good morning." "Good morning," Connie replied. She came alongside Tyler, placed one hand on the countertop, and looked furtively at the receptionist while blindly swiping a text message out on her phone. Tyler wondered who she was messaging with. "We have an appointment." "Mm-hm," the receptionist said. She tapped a few times on the tablet behind the desk. "For you and a Miss... Violet Taylor?" She stared expectantly over at Tyler, who was gripping his purse with both hands. "That's me," Tyler said. He shifted on his heels and looked over at Connie, who looked right back at him with great interest, examination, maybe even longing. Observing, observing... "And we have you down for several things today," the receptionist said. "Hair, makeup, mani, pedi... we have a few slots open for waxing today, if that sounds like something you're interested in." Nervously, Tyler looked off to the side, not wanting to make eye contact with either Connie or the receptionist. He knew this wasn't his decision to make, but the thought of waxing his legs - or something more private - had him unconsciously holding his knees together under his flowing green dress. His breasts heaved slightly as he took a single panicked breath. "I believe we'll forgo the waxing for today," Connie said, noticing Tyler's obvious discomfort with the idea. Tyler tried not to let his relief show too much. "Well, let's get you started, then," the receptionist said. Connie and Tyler were swept into an open-plan room with dozens of salon chairs, mirrors, high cabinets filled with countless tiny drawers, countertops with styling tools in every direction, and several stylists wearing stereotypical black T-shirts and black jeans. The contingent of stylists glanced up from their phones and tablets as Tyler and Connie walked between them. Tyler felt very much like he did yesterday in the printing press on the 5th floor, walking through the sea of overly-interested men while wearing an abbreviated top and a short skirt. This felt different, though, as if Tyler's body was being viewed not as a plaything or object of conquest, but as a promising canvas that hadn't yet been allowed to reach its potential. The male and female stylists both studied him and Connie as the two of them were ushered to their chairs, pointed in front of two large vanities, and welcomed by the staff. "The usual for me today, Phoebe," Connie said to her stylist, who had snuck up from outside Tyler's peripheral vision. "Nothing fancy with the hair. Daytime makeup, of course." "Of course, ma'am," Phoebe the stylist said. She reached for a protective smock and fastened it around Connie's neck. Tyler stared straight forward at the mirror in front of his chair, where he saw a dark haired man approaching. "Good morning," the man said, in what might have been the most flamboyantly gay lisp Tyler had ever heard - which was saying something, for someone from Miami. "I'm Pierre. You must be Violet." Pierre took Tyler's right hand and shook it limply. Tyler tried not to smile or laugh. "Yes, hello," he said. "So," Pierre said, jutting his hip out and placing a hand on his waist. "What are we doing today?" "Um," Tyler said, looking over at Connie for an answer. He had no idea how to respond to this... he was used to short haircuts at the barber shop down the road from his condo, in and out in thirty minutes without the need for any meaningful instruction or elaborate finished products. He figured Connie expected something specific, or had something specific in mind for him. Instead, she just shrugged at him, watching him closely as Phoebe worked her fingers through her hair. "Okay, uh," Tyler said, looking away from Connie and back at Pierre through the mirror. Pierre had begun taking the ribbon out of Tyler's hair, which caused the auburn tresses to cascade attractively over his shoulders. Tyler cleared his throat. "Something... pretty, I guess. We have high tea after we're done here, so whatever you think would be best for that." Pierre smirked at Tyler's response. Phoebe smiled a bit. Connie remained stone-faced and serious, which in turn made Tyler's own face flush with embarrassment. He really had no idea how to answer Pierre's question, and he had hoped Connie would take charge of the situation, offering up her own advice for what was to be done with Tyler's hair. "Hmm, well," Pierre said, "I suppose we don't need to do anything too dramatic. It's looking a little frizzy, though, honey. We'll need to relax it a bit." "Sure, okay," Tyler said, nodding, glad that someone finally made a suggestion. Pierre produced a smock identical to the one Connie was wearing and wrapped it around Tyler, fastening the snaps behind his neck. Pierre then threaded his fingers into Tyler's long auburn hair and fussed with it for a while, checking the length and volume. Tyler flinched at first from the contact, especially when Pierre's fingers drifted onto his scalp, but his sensitivity soon ebbed away as Pierre continued evaluating him. Tyler's own fingertips started to tingle under his smock. He looked into the mirror at Connie, who looked right back and didn't break her gaze when she started speaking. "She's in your capable hands, Pierre," Connie said. "Unless you can give us a compelling reason not to trust you." Pierre scoffed. "Girl, please. Okay, Violet, up, you go... let's get you shampooed." "You too, Connie." Phoebe said. Tyler, Connie, and the stylists made their way over to a pair of low porcelain hairwashing sinks, next to which were a pair of black leather recliners. Tyler sat in his, holding his hands under his skirt as he did so, and leaned his head backward into the sink's headrest. The chair was contoured to support every part of Tyler's body from his shoulders to his feet and everything in between. Connie waited until Tyler was fully situated in his own chair and sink before she allowed herself to sit. Tyler wondered if it would be like this all day, with Connie just watching him, studying his movements and speech, waiting for something interesting or unfeminine to happen. Tyler had been a bit uncomfortable with the prospect of this "girls day out" when Jackson first explained it to him, then had felt better when Amber had tried to tell him there was nothing particularly unusual or creepy about it... but now that he was actually participating in Connie's little science experiment, the discomfort had come back. Connie was doing so much staring and so little talking. Jackson had been convinced that Connie had no idea who Tyler actually was, who he used to be before he arrived at the station. The way Connie was studying him, though, had him wondering if Jackson had been lying through her teeth. Maybe Connie's project wasn't about observing an intriguing young woman as she enjoyed the finer side of femininity... maybe it was about recording the reactions of a man who had been feminized against his will. Or maybe Connie was just a disconnected, eccentric, weirdo lesbian; Saturn Beta's equivalent of a dirty old rich man who wolf-whistles at girls young enough to be his granddaughters. Or maybe she actually was who she said she was, who Jackson said she was. Tyler couldn't decide which story to believe as the faucet behind his head hissed to life and Pierre flicked his fingers through the stream, checking the temperature of the water. "You let me know if this is too hot or too cold, Violet," Pierre said. He brought the handheld showerhead toward Tyler's hair, and Tyler felt the spray coursing through his tresses, against his scalp. The temperature was perfect, hot enough to be soothing but not scalding. Pierre worked the water through Tyler's hair almost like an elaborate massaging hairbrush. It felt amazing, sensual, and Tyler felt his concern for Connie's true intentions melting away. After a minute or two, satisfied with how wet Tyler's hair was, Pierre halted the showerhead. "Okay," Pierre said, kneeling behind the sink and pressing a switch there. Suddenly, Tyler's recliner hummed to life and began vibrating, massaging his back, his upper legs, his shoulders, and his hips. Tyler jumped in his seat a little, surprised at the new sensations. He hadn't been expecting that. It only took a few seconds for him to settle completely into the recliner again, luxuriating in the feeling of the automated massage and closing his eyes to focus on the enjoyment of it. "Nice, huh?" Pierre said. He squirted some shampoo into his hands. "Mmm-hmm. Yes," Tyler said, nearly moaning the words. He was sure Connie was taking a mental note of his reaction to the chair's ministrations, and he didn't give a shit. Then, when Pierre began working the shampoo into Tyler's hair, scratching lightly over his scalp, as if finding ten undiscovered erogenous zones and addressing each of them with the utmost care, Tyler couldn't help but emit a satisfied, feminine groan. He found himself becoming relaxed, entranced... and aroused. He'd heard stories about women attaining sexual release while sitting on top of those old, 20th-century clothes dryers, the ones that chugged and wobbled as they spun clothing through hot air. He'd always thought it was an old wive's tale, but now that he sat in this massage chair, he could feel his vagina swelling slightly, moistening slightly... He opened his eyes again and glanced surreptitiously over at Connie, who had finally stopped staring at him. She had her head leaned back in her own sink bowl. Her eyes were closed, presumably to focus on the sensations coursing through her body, enjoying them just as much as Tyler was. Tyler repositioned himself in his seat, closed his eyes again, and tried to hold off the approach of orgasm. He sure as hell didn't want Connie to "observe" that, even if she did have her eyes closed. A couple minutes later, Pierre rinsed the shampoo out of Tyler's hair, then knelt down below the sink to get a handful of some other product - conditioner, Tyler assumed. Pierre's fingers began working their magic again and Tyler, despite his efforts, fell once again into a relaxed state. Another moment later and Pierre was rinsing Tyler's hair again, patting it dry with a fluffy white towel, and asking him to lift his head out of the sink. Phoebe asked the same of Connie, and the four of them left the hairwashing stations. Tyler was glad to be rid of the massaging chair, though a part of him wanted to jump right back into it and ask Pierre to turn it on again, full blast. "How do you feel?" Connie asked, brushing her fingers against Tyler's hand, through the protective smocks, as they walked back to the styling chairs. Tyler's fingertips continued to tingle. Nodding, Tyler said, "Good, thanks. Relaxed. I almost fell asleep in that chair." Connie grinned at him. "Oh, not me. Sleep was the furthest thing from what I was capable of back there." She winked at him, and Tyler had to stop himself from laughing. That comment settled it. Connie wasn't a weirdo, and not even that eccentric. She just had a subdued, classy perviness to her, one that Tyler found less creepy and more... fascinating. Even though Connie tried hard to maintain appearances when discussing the details of today's date while messaging with Jackson, she ultimately knew what she wanted and wasn't bashful about asking for it once in the presence of her "date." Tyler would've loved to run into a woman like Connie back in Miami. She was about the same age as him, after all. Connie's lesbianism wouldn't have allowed the two of them to be anything more than friends, though, if Tyler had his old body and old equipment at his disposal. In his current form, though... as Violet Taylor... Pierre and Phoebe set to work on their clients, and Tyler slipped into a daze as scissors and combs flashed around his head. His hands rested underneath the protective smock, and he found himself fingering the wispy fabric of the dress Amber had picked out for him. It truly was pretty on him, and he knew he'd leave the salon even prettier. He had a manicure and pedicure to have done, after all, and then a makeup session. He wondered how long this all would take, not that he was in any particular rush. Eventually Pierre finished the job with a wide hairbrush, and Tyler regarded himself in the mirror. He couldn't tell much of a difference in his own look, apart from his long auburn hair finally being tamed of its typical frizziness. Although... whereas all of his new hair usually hung completely behind his neck and shoulders, some of it now was in front, dangling near his eyes, along his cheeks and under his jaw. Connie's hair looked much the same as it had when she walked into the salon, too - brown with blonde highlights, pixie length, and attractive. Connie complimented Phoebe on her work, and Tyler followed suit with his own kind words for Pierre. "You got it," Pierre said, twirling the hairbrush in his hand. He removed the protective smock from around Tyler's neck, which caused Tyler's hair to swish slightly as it fell past his shoulders again. "We'll really go to town on it later tonight." "Tonight?" Tyler said, confused. He looked over at Connie for an explanation. "Before the concert," Connie explained. "High tea is one thing. The symphony is something else altogether." She looked deep into Tyler's eyes. "I don't know about you, Violet, but I refuse to show up to a formal event looking anything less than formal." "Oh. Okay," said Tyler. "You're the expert. I've never been to a symphony before." "I wouldn't expect you had. Well, I supposed they're waiting for us over at the nail bar." Phoebe and Pierre unbuttoned the protective smocks around Connie and Tyler's necks, and Phoebe lead the two of them over to the manicurist station. Two women with thick accents greeted them and escorted them into their chairs. These chairs looked even more elaborate than the massaging recliners next to the hairwashing sinks - each had a copper- colored basin where the client's feet would go, a tiny footrest away from the seat and beyond the basin, and two small, circular tables attached at the end of either armrest. Tyler sat in the chair, removed his shoes on the orders of the nail technicians, and rested his dainty feet in the copper basin. He then dug his elbows into the armrests and placed his hands on the little circular tables there. He caught a glance at his hands then - long thin fingers, perfect skin... and his nails, sporting only their natural color and looking noticeably longer than they had when he first left his dorm room this morning. That explained the tingling Tyler had felt in his fingertips over the course of his hair appointment with Pierre. The nanobots had lengthened his fingernails. He brought a hand up to his face and examined what he found there at the ends of his fingers. As the nail technicians gathered their supplies, Connie leaned over to Tyler from her mani-pedi chair. "It's about a quarter of an inch past the skin," she said. She held up her own hand for Tyler to see. Her nails, done in French manicure style and squared off at the tips, looked to be even longer than Tyler's were now. "Really no point in getting your nails done if you have no nails to begin with." "I had nails," Tyler replied, returning his gaze to his own hand. "Not very long ones, but..." "They needed to be longer. Trust me on this." She leaned toward Tyler a little more and lowered her voice. "When I saw you in the hotel lobby, I knew I had to do something about your nails. I got on my phone, started messaging with your boss..." "Ah," Tyler said. "Hence wanting to walk behind me." "Well, yes. That was part of the reason. Me trying to be sneaky. Plus, let's face the facts: I wanted to watch you walk. That body of yours is probably illegal in half the countries back on Earth. I can't wait to see the rest of those legs you're hiding under that dress." Tyler blushed and snickered at the compliment, unconsciously rubbing his thighs against each other. God, Connie was just so... blatant about her interest in him. Blatant without being creepy, too. She was awfully proficient at walking that fine line, and Tyler found it quite charming. "But, yes," Connie continued. "I asked our mutual friend to lengthen your nails a bit. Sorry for the surprise. I didn't want to make a big deal of it while we were with Pierre and Phoebe. They strike me as the gossipy type." Tyler shook his head. "It's fine. I just wasn't expecting it, is all. You're the fashionista. I'm just a regular girl from Mars who's never been into any of this stuff." The technicians returned to the chairs and began pouring something warm and slick into the copper basins at Tyler and Connie's feet. Tyler hummed contentedly as the liquid reached up past his toes, to the tops of his feet, to his ankle bones. A pleasant aroma came from the basin - lavender, maybe, or jasmine. Tyler was never very good with scents. "Never been into it, or never had the chance to try it?" Connie asked, taking a deep breath through her nose. "Um," Tyler said, knowing he was about to extend the fake life story that Amber had unknowingly helped him create earlier today. "A little bit of both, I guess. Never had much time for the finer things in life back on the mining colony. You basically work from the moment you wake up until the moment you go to bed. Men, women, kids, doesn't matter." "There aren't regulations to keep that from happening? Labor laws?" "Not from the part of Mars I'm from." "And where's that?" Tyler panicked. He didn't know a damn thing about Mars' geography, the settlements there, whether there were different countries or regions... "The bad part," Tyler said, hoping that answer would land safely. "The uneducated part. I could tell you what the colony looked like, but I couldn't tell you the name. All I know is, I had to ride in the back of a rover for half a day in order to get to the nearest launch port." "Hmm," Connie said, without a shred of pity in her voice. "Well, you're here now. That's what matters." "I'll drink to that." "We both will," Connie replied, winking at Tyler once more. Tyler winked right back. ***** As Tyler and Connie soaked their feet in their copper tubs, the technicians addressed their hands. Connie's nails required more prep work than Tyler's did, as the technician had to remove the polish that Connie already had. Tyler's technician, who still hadn't properly introduced herself, lifted Tyler's left hand and brandished a nail clipper. She snipped a few times on each finger, not to reduce the nails' length, but to shape them. Then she took a filing instrument and applied slight pressure to each nail tip, filing down the rough edges. By the time she'd finished both hands, Tyler's fingernails had been shaped into attractive ovals and had maintained most of the length Jackson's nanobots had given them during his session with the massage chair. He held the fingers of his right hand close to his face, curling the nails in toward his palm, examining the technician's work. He wasn't sure what to look for, how to determine whether or not the technician had done a good job, but the end results looked good enough to his untrained eyes. The technician brought two small, flat bowls over to Tyler's chair and placed one on each handrest. Tyler was instructed to dip his hands into the bowls. The slippery liquid inside these new bowls felt much the same as the stuff in the copper basin at his feet and gave off the same pleasant smell. As the two technicians retreated to get more supplies from cabinets on the other side of the room, Connie caught Tyler enjoying the scent. "Black plum blossom," Connie said, ending the mystery once and for all. "Soothing, isn't it?" "Mmm-hmm." Tyler sighed. "There are machines that can do this, naturally," Connie continued. "The sacred arts of cosmetology have advanced, technologically speaking, well beyond the need for human beings to handle it. You can walk down the street and find a KwikSalon booth on every corner, back in New York. Ever been to New York?" "Yeah," Tyler said, lost in the black plum blossom scent. He jolted out of his stupor when he realized he'd diverted from his poor-little- Martian-girl story. "I mean, no. Not personally. I've heard about it, though. Supposed to be a big city. I've seen pictures." "It's a shadow of what it could be," Connie said, not reacting at all to Tyler's slip. "It's fast-paced. Every running around a million miles an hour, busy busy busy. Those KwikSalons - ever seen one of those, on Mars? No? - you make your payment, push a few buttons, stick your hands in the slot, wait a couple minutes while the machines do what they do... presto, instant manicure. Then you do the same thing for your feet. Stick them in a machine, wait two minutes, pull them out again. That's fine if all you care about is the end result. I don't know about you, but I personally prefer the human element to be present when I'm having my nails done. I prefer the pampering aspect, for lack of a better term. You should never have a sense of urgency to it when you're having yourself taken care of. You're supposed to forget everything negative that's going on in your life, if only for an hour or two. It's not something to rush through. It's something to be enjoyed. Savored." "That makes sense." "So?" Tyler turned his head toward Connie. "So, what?" "So, are you enjoying it? Are you savoring it? How do you feel? Take a full inventory of yourself." Tyler thought about the question for a moment. How did he feel? Strange, mostly. A fish out of water. Violet Taylor, the escapee from a shitty Martian mining colony, had never experienced the treatment Tyler was in the process of receiving. Tyler Hillman certainly hadn't experienced this before, either, or anything remotely like it, or any of the other insane things he'd done lately that led up to this moment. He'd been getting the same short, low-maintenance haircut at a barber shop for the last twenty years. He'd never so much as thought about his fingernails or toenails, apart from when they'd grown too long and needed to be trimmed. He'd never worn a dress, or heels, or a bra and panties. He'd never had breasts or a vagina. Everything about this scene was brand new to him as of two days ago. Two goddamn days, and his life and world had changed so much. Is that what Connie meant by asking him to take a full inventory? But then he thought about her other questions... how did he feel, was he savoring his morning at the salon, was he enjoying this? He looked down at the copper basin, where his dainty feet soaked in warm, soapy, plum- scented water. He looked at his small hands and thin fingers, which likewise soaked in their own bowls. He observed his dress - long, classy, frothy on the top layer and heavier on the bottom, the sea-foam color of which complimented his skin and the wisps of hair that hung below his jaw. He focused on the way it felt on his body, the way the bodice hugged his torso, the way the skirt fell over his legs, the way it tingled his thighs. He concentrated on the lacy panties under the dress, how they rode over his widened hips, how they gently framed his new pubic mound. He then focused on his breasts, hanging heavily in his size-36D bra, jutting proudly outward from beneath the confines of the bodice of the dress he wore. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out in a content, feminine sigh. "I'm savoring it," Tyler said, as a thin smile crept across his face. He felt himself slipping into a moment of pure honesty, both with himself and with Connie. "I feel good right now. I wasn't expecting to. I thought it was going to be weird and... awkward. But I feel really, really good. I've never felt this way before. I'm enjoying it." "And how about forgetting?" Connie asked. "Cares, worries, circumstances... have you been able to forget everything negative in your life?" "Yes," Tyler said dreamily. This was also true. He'd forgotten about the anxiety he'd experienced as a result of being changed into a woman, the anger he'd originally felt toward Jackson when she revealed what she'd done to him. The stress of the new body, the new identity, the new clothing, the new living situation, the new job, the new ways he'd been treated by men and women alike: none of these bothered him in his current state, sitting there in the mani-pedi chair, soaking his feet and hands in warm water and smelling the plum blossoms. He reveled in every sensation. He only vaguely remembered a message from Dennis from earlier today, when he told Tyler about what Gordon Rosenthal may or may not be up to... "Well, then, congratulations," Connie said. "You've discovered the point of treating yourself. Or, rather, allowing yourself to be treated. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." "I definitely am," Tyler said. The nail technicians returned from their cabinets, brandishing several implements and bottles, and went to work on Tyler and Connie's fingernails. Tyler was instructed to spread his fingers out as his technician addressed his cuticles. She then rubbed a cream into Tyler's hands, moisturizing them, careful not to get any of the cream on Tyler's nails. After that came the part Tyler was half-dreading, half- anticipating - the painting of his nails. The technician first took a bottle of clear polish and brushed the contents along Tyler's pinky nail, then ring, then middle... "You look nervous," Connie said, looking over at Tyler's young, concerned face. "You don't seem too sure of this." "Sorry," Tyler said. He could smell the pungent scent of the clear polish as the technician applied it to his index nail. "It's just... weird. I don't know how else to describe it." "It's weird for you, perhaps. Weird isn't bad. Weird is just a word we use to describe fantastic things that we've never been exposed to before." The technician finished with Tyler's left hand and began on his right. After all ten fingernails were coated with the clear polish, the technician told Tyler to lift his feet out of the copper basin. Tyler did as told, and the technician wrapped his bare, wet feet in a warm towel to dry. Connie's technician asked her what color she'd like on her nails. "Hmm," Connie said, looking blankly at the ceiling for inspiration. "I might go with something off-kilter today. Something I've never done before. How about you, Violet? Got a favorite color?" Tyler gulped. "Um... I don't know. Something normal. I'm not quite ready to go crazy on my nails yet." Getting the attention of Tyler's technician, Connie said, "Pink for her. Pink with some sparkle in it." And before Tyler could speak up to object, she continued. "Green for me. THAT green." Connie lunged a clear-polished finger at the skirt of Tyler's dress. The technicians considered the choices Connie had made, spoke to each other in a language Tyler didn't recognize, and retreated to their cabinets again. Tyler absently looked down at his dress, then at his fingernails. Connie gave him a wry grin. "It'll be cute," she explained. "We'll match. My nails and your dress." Tyler smiled back, weakly. "You're the expert. I don't know, though... I don't really like pink." "I do. It'll took great on you. Trust me." The technicians came back with several bottles in each hand - many different shades and versions of pink for Tyler, sea-foam green for Connie. Connie studied the options for a moment before picking out a subdued bottle for herself and a gold-flecked one on behalf of Tyler. The technicians positioned themselves at the handrests and began their job. Tyler watched his technician closely as she applied streaks of gold-freckled pink polish, starting again with his pinky nail and eventually moving to his thumb. Tyler felt the subtle weight of the polish as it went on and watched his nails transform from his accustomed skin tone to Connie's preferred color of sparkly, attention-grabbing pink. Tyler was pretty sure this nail polish was the girliest thing he had been subjected to since his surgery, and that included his stint in the French maid outfit and fishnet stockings yesterday. At least those items could be removed at the end of the day. This polish was going to be with him for much, much longer. After the first coat of polish was on Tyler and Connie's nails, the technicians unwrapped their feet and discarded the towels. They then knelt down and treated the toenails with the same clear polish they had used before. Then they left Connie and Tyler to sit for a while, waiting for all twenty nails to dry. Tyler looked over at Connie's hands, at the polish on her nails, then down at his dress. They matched almost perfectly. When the technicians returned again to apply the second coat of polish to Connie and Tyler's fingernails, the end result looked even better - bolder, less like a fingernail and more like the sheen of an expensive paint job on a sports car. Though Tyler had never seen a sports car painted pink with gold sparkles before... After many more minutes of drying and painting, the technicians finally applied a top coat to Connie and Tyler's nails, clear in color but different than what they had used for the first coat. Then they waited once more, Tyler watching the technicians as they worked, Connie mostly watching Tyler. He was tempted to ask Connie or someone else what time it was, how long they'd been in these chairs... he knew it had been a long while. And he was curious, purely curious, not bored or wishing to be somewhere else. Looking down at his nails again, sparkly and lustrous and undeniably pink, he admitted to himself once again that he was genuinely enjoying this. Not just the time with Connie, who was endearing herself to Tyler more and more with every passing minute; but also the treatments that were being done to him, the attention being lavished upon him, the sensations of women's clothing and long nails... and the remarkable way in which all of it helped him forget about his troubles, both here in the station and back on Earth. He couldn't help but fixate on how good he felt, and on how strange and unsettling it was that his masculine mind wasn't resisting those good feelings. Maybe it was just his inherent optimism, and his ability to always see the good side of things, even when circumstances were difficult. That had to be it. He looked over at Connie and the two of them smiled silently at each other as their nails dried for the final time. A few minutes later, Connie and Tyler were escorted over to another set of vanities, where Phoebe and Pierre rejoined them. Protective smocks were once again tied around Connie and Tyler's necks, and Pierre placed what looked like a large toolbox on the shelf in front of the mirror. He touched a button on the side of the toolbox. Several drawers slid open, both from the front of the box and the sides. "You said daytime, correct?" Phoebe asked her client. "Yes," Connie said. "Unless we've drifted into evening hours without my noticing it." "I didn't think our nails were drying for that long," Tyler quipped, which got a chuckle out of Connie. Pierre and Phoebe groaned quietly and gave each other a look that made Tyler wonder if they'd heard that joke a million times before. Tyler looked at the contents of Pierre's toolbox. One drawer looked like an old-fashioned painter's palette, showing off dozens of shades of red, pink, and skin tones. Another was full of tall, thin bottles with long cylindrical handles. Tyler recognized the contents of one drawer in particular - lipstick tubes. He readied himself mentally for the next and final step to today's appointment, and yet another utterly feminine experience he'd never thought he'd have to experience: a makeover. Pierre positioned himself behind Tyler and held his head between his hands. Tyler stared straight forward and looked at Pierre in the mirror as Pierre looked right back, considering the facial canvas in his hands. "I assume you want to keep it simple," Pierre said, his lisp sounding almost degrading as he spoke. Tyler was keen enough to catch the disdain in Pierre's voice, but didn't know how to respond. It wasn't as if he had an arsenal of makeup-related terminology stored up in his mind, with which to dazzle Pierre and make him shut his condescending mouth. All Tyler could do was look at Pierre in the mirror, dimly, and shrug his shoulders. "Feel free to drop the attitude any time, Pierre," Connie said, staring straight ahead into her own mirror as Phoebe prepared her own toolbox. "You need to be nice to the new girl, if it's not terribly too much to ask. Just because she doesn't know what she wants doesn't mean you can speak to her like that." Pierre took a deep breath through his nose. "Sorry. You're right. I'm being a bitch." He leaned in between Connie and Tyler's chairs. "I haven't had a day off in three weeks," he whispered. "Goddamn boss lady's been treating me like a goddamn slave lately." "Well," Connie said, "don't take it out on our lovely friend Violet, here." "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, honey," Pierre said, and he stroked the back of Tyler's hair, as if apologetically petting a dog. "She's just... sorry. Okay. Back to work. Daytime makeup. I'm gonna make you look gorgeous, Violet. Don't worry about that." Tyler shrugged again. "Sounds good to me." Tyler gave Connie a confused look, and she gave one right back. The four of them remained silent during the first stage of the makeover. Pierre produced a large bag of cotton balls, dipped them in a solution on the vanity counter, and went over Tyler's face with them. The damp cotton was odorless and left no streaks as Pierre worked it across Tyler's skin. When Pierre was done, Tyler saw himself in the mirror again. His complexion looked... cleaner, somehow, maybe a tiny shade lighter. Pierre then leaned forward, face to face with Tyler, and examined his face closely. "No blemishes that I can see," Pierre said. "Neither can I," Connie offered, even though she wasn't looking. Connie Giordano, the semi-perverted middle-aged lesbian, checking Tyler out in her mind's eye... Pierre returned to his toolbox, grabbing a brush and a bottle of something skin-colored. He squeezed some of the bottle onto the brush, teased out the liquid until it covered the whole thing, and brought the result to Tyler's face. "This is great stuff," Pierre said, twisting the brush in his fingers. "Highlighter, primer, and foundation all in one. It's a miracle drug." "Made from some of the minerals they found on Enceladus, if I'm not mistaken," Connie said. She looked over at Tyler. "One of Saturn's moons. Minerals, plus the frozen leftovers of a comet collision from however many millions of years ago. They brought that stuff to market thirty years ago and it changed cosmetology forever." "Huh," Tyler said, trying to sound interested. He had no idea what any of them were talking about. He'd never heard of "primer" or "highlighter" in regards to makeup before. "She's not impressed," Pierre said, cocking his head to the side. "Well, maybe she'll change her mind once she gets a look at herself with this on her..." Pierre grabbed the armrests of Tyler's chair and spun it slightly counterclockwise, away from the mirror, so Tyler could no longer see himself. He shifted in his seat as Pierre brought the brush forward and began smoothing it over his face. Every atom of his face, Tyler mused silently. Forehead, nose, the sides of his eyes, cheeks, jaw, chin... soon Tyler could sense the light layer resting atop his face, feeling very much like a thin second skin. "Mmkay," Pierre said, placing his brush on the countertop and picking up another one. He brought with him a flat jar and unscrewed the cap. Tipping the powdery contents toward Tyler, Pierre said, "Coral peach for the blush. Goes well with your complexion. Not sure if you're aware of this, honey, but you're pretty pale." "She's aware," Connie said from behind Tyler's turned chair. "I was thinking coral peach, too." Tyler knew better than to shrug, lest he prompt another snide comment from Pierre. "Okay," he said, nodding his head and taking a closer look at the jar. "That sounds good. Not too much, though." "Definitely," Pierre said. "Not too much is the name of the game when it comes to daytime. Just a few swishes..." Pierre dipped a fan-shaped brush into the jar of blush, then whisked it over Tyler's cheekbones so lightly that it almost tickled. He then backed away a step, looked at Tyler's face carefully (causing Tyler, in his discomfort at being stared at, to look off to the side). Pierre then returned to Tyler's face and brushed at it a few more times. "There we go," Pierre said, satisfied. He returned to his countertop and reached into the toolbox, grabbing that thing Tyler saw earlier that looked like a painter's palette. He also picked up a new brush - how many of those things did he have in there? - with bristles shaped almost like an old- fashioned pencil eraser. Pierre told Tyler to close his eyes, which Tyler did. "Coral peach again, for sure," Pierre said. Tyler could only sit back and listen as Pierre worked out what he was doing. A moment later, Tyler flinched as he felt the tip of Pierre's brush touch the skin on his eyelid. He relaxed again as Pierre kept going, brushing along the full length of Tyler's left eyelid and all the way up to the skin just below his eyebrow. Pierre then switched to the other eyelid and repeated the process. He went back and forth like this until Tyler had three layers of eyeshadow applied to him. Even with his horribly limited knowledge of women's makeup, Tyler thought three layers might be too much. The weight of the powdery eyeshadow made his eyelids feel much heavier. Pierre told Tyler to open his eyes again, then told him to blink slowly a few times. "Perfect," Pierre said as Tyler followed instructions. Pierre came at Tyler's eyes once more, this time with a sharp-tipped pencil, and told Tyler to look straight forward. Tyler tried not to fidget too much, as Pierre wielded the pencil so close to Tyler's nervous eyeballs. Pierre pecked at Tyler's lashes with his pencil for a few minutes, then brought forth some sort of scissored clamping device, which he used to clamp on each set of lashes for a minute or so each. He then stood up, but both hands on his hips, and examined his handiwork. "Not too bad," Pierre said, nodding. "Not too bad." "It needs to be better than a mere 'not too bad', Pierre." Connie said, again from outside of Tyler's field of vision. All Tyler could see was the various booths, chairs, and staffmembers of the salon. He wished he could see Connie now. She had rapidly become a comfort to him in this sea of new, strange, feminine procedures. This makeover had been the most uncomfortable part yet for Tyler, despite how relaxed he had felt before he sat down for it. There was just something disconcerting about having Pierre study him face to face, and the amount of direct eye contact Pierre made while doing Tyler's eye makeup. Tyler wasn't used to being scrutinized so closely by anyone other than a doctor or dentist. Pierre took another bottle out of his toolbox - a long one with a long handle, which Tyler immediately recognized as mascara. The long, serrated brush was removed from the bottle, bristles firm and black. Pierre combed the brush upwards and outwards from the base of Tyler's lashes, switching between eyes quickly, once again applying multiple layers before it was all said and done. Pierre seemed to pay extra attention to the tips of Tyler's lashes. "Last little bit," Pierre said, sensing the anxiety in Tyler. "Almost done." "Okay," Tyler said. Thank God for that. Tyler needed this to end as soon as possible. Pierre returned to the toolbox and brought three tubes back with him. The first tube was uncapped and Tyler saw it was simple clear lip balm, which Pierre streaked across Tyler's lips quickly, almost carelessly. The next tube was the same shade of pink Tyler had become accustomed to over the last few hours. Pierre dabbed a bit of this on the center of Tyler's lower lip, then brushed outward in both directions toward the corners of Tyler's mouth. He then repeated the process on Tyler's upper lip and had Tyler press his two lips together. Tyler felt the slickness of whatever Pierre had just applied to his lips as he rubbed his lips against each other. Once Pierre was satisfied, he took out a similarly shaped bottle, this time filled with clear liquid, and brushed it thoroughly over Tyler's lips. Pierre recapped all his supplies, returned them to his toolbox and stood in front of Tyler with folded arms and a serious face. He stared at Tyler's face, studying it from the top of his forehead to the bottom of his chin. "Looks good," Pierre said, to Tyler. He turned to Connie. "Better than not bad. Not to brag or anything." "Can I see?" Tyler said. He was anxious to find out the full scope of what Pierre had done to his face, thoroughly worried that Pierre had made him... well, too pretty. He knew the transformative effect that makeup could have on a woman's face, the difference between what a woman looks like when she first wakes up in the morning and what she looks like before she heads off to work. Jackson's nanobots had already made Tyler into an extremely attractive young lady, and he shuddered to think how the world would treat him if he graduated from merely attractive to completely irresistible. But then another part of him, a part from an emotional layer separate from his masculine nervousness of becoming even more feminine, was hoping Pierre's artistry had done exactly that. Made him irresistible to his current company - to Connie. Over the course of the salon appointment, Tyler had drifted away from thinking Connie was a weirdo and an eccentric who threw money at people until they did what she wanted them to do. He had really grown attached to her in these last short hours, and was hoping genuinely that she would become even more attracted to him now than she was when she had first seen him in the 5th floor lounge, wearing a French maid outfit and serving her a cosmopolitan. Tyler wanted to look good for her, from his hairstyle to his makeup to his dress and purse all the way down to his low-heeled shoes. And yet another part of him, buried deep in his psyche, in a place so secret that Tyler would never even admit it existed, was a tiny voice telling him that he was enjoying this. Not just the sensations of the warm water back when he was soaking his hands and feet in preparation for his mani-pedi, or the massaging showerhead and recliner that soothed him into genuine peace... no, he was enjoying the whole feminine ordeal now. Body, clothing, sensations, experiences... so much of it had become enjoyable to him over the last two days. He had built a career out of pretending to be other people, but he had never enjoyed the process - he had only enjoyed the results, the kill shot of scamming someone out of their passwords and account numbers, the reward of passing that information off to the highest bidder. This was different. The process and the results were the same thing, and the rewards were moments like now, anticipating what Connie would think when she saw Tyler in all his ladylike glory, wearing his daytime makeup. Pierre spun the chair toward the mirror and Tyler got his first look at Pierre's handiwork. It was a masterful job, blending the typical natural look with something slightly more formal, but not too over the top. The "miracle drug" foundation had made Tyler's face smoother, a smidge shinier. His blusher warmed the pale complexion underneath, as did the peach-coral eyeshadow hiding behind his eyelashes, which were a bit thicker, longer, and more pronounced than they had been before. Tyler's lips now sported a slick sheen along with a different color, the same muted pink as the rest of his face. A woman he'd slept with in Miami once said, while working at her vanity in the morning after a romp through the sheets, that her makeup made her feel like a different person. Tyler, examining himself in the mirror now, didn't necessarily agree with that woman. He didn't think he looked like a different woman - he looked like the full potential expression of Violet Taylor, in all her youth and beauty. Elegant, put-together, confident, gorgeous... Tyler looked flawless. Though he knew he had nothing to do with it, and that he had been helped along by Amber, Pierre, and Jackson, Tyler couldn't help but feel a surge of pride welling up in his chest at how fantastic he appeared. He stared at his reflection with a face full of happy disbelief, and the girl in the mirror's face repeated the look back at him. "Told you," Pierre said. Connie stood up from her chair, walked over to Pierre and Tyler's vanity, and put her hands on Tyler's shoulders. She and Tyler looked at each other through the mirror, both of them smiling at what they saw. Connie's makeup had done the same favors for her that Tyler's had done for him, and the two of them admired each other and themselves in turn. Pierre and Phoebe stood next to their clients, proud of their work. A moment later, Tyler stood up from his chair, looked at himself in the mirror one last time, and followed Connie to the front of the salon. Connie paid for the appointments while Tyler stood demurely at her side, clutching his purse in both hands. He leaned forward and saw Connie signing for a large tip for both Pierre and Phoebe. "They earned every penny," Connie explained. "And I'd like to keep myself in both of their good graces." She turned away from the front counter of the salon and motioned for Tyler to walk out the doors with her. Two steps into the Pyramid Suites lobby, she said, "I sort of have both of them on retainer while I'm here visiting the station." "Retainer?" Tyler asked, striding along in his pretty green dress, hem whispering around his calves as he walked. There was a new confidence surrounding him, brought out by the excellent job Pierre and the nail technicians had done on him. He found himself walking in his heels without measuring his steps or worrying about falling over. Maybe Amber had been right about Tyler being a natural... "Yes," Connie answered. "In case I need either of their services outside of business hours." "Would you really need a hair appointment or a makeover so urgently that you..." "Yes," Connie interrupted. "Sometimes. It's been known to happen." Connie looked over at Tyler shiftily. Tyler smirked back at her, wondering what was on her mind. It was interesting that Connie now wanted to walk side-by-side with Tyler, when before she had been so adamant about keeping him in front, fully in her vision, so she could observe him as he made his way through the world. Maybe she'd done all the observing she needed to do back at the salon. Tyler hoped the rest of the girls' day out would be like this, with the two of them behaving like friends rather than one scientist and one test subject. "Thanks again for that," Tyler said, meaning the salon appointment. "That was all very..." "Hang on to that thought," Connie said, as they reached the elevator hub. She pressed the down button on the console and rocked back on her heels. "If we talk too much now, we won't have anything to talk about when we're at tea." Slightly surprised, Tyler pressed his lips together and folded his hands behind his back. The two of them waited for the elevator, and Connie stood close to Tyler, less than an inch separating their elbows from touching. Eventually the elevator doors slid open, a few passengers got out, and Tyler and Connie went in. They had the car to themselves as Connie pushed a button near the top of the interior console. The doors slid shut again and they began their ride to the 138th floor. "Interesting thing about the station," Connie said, standing on Tyler's side, as close to him as ever. "The uppermost floors and the lowermost floors..." "I thought we weren't supposed to talk," Tyler said, sensing a moment to be clever. He turned to face Connie and gave her a wry grin. She giggled, turned to face him, and looked deep into his eyes. Tyler stared right back at her. Phoebe had done a fantastic job on her face, choosing colors that made Connie look less serious. Her hair, too, had been teased to make her seem more playful and... flirty. "Well," said Connie. "We should find a way to pass the time, then. It's a long ride to the 138th." Tyler turned to his left, putting himself face to face with Connie, as his heart pounded beneath his large breasts. He knew what was coming, or he thought he did. He felt his pink-glossed lips tingle in anticipation as Connie looked hungrily back at him. The two of them were about the same height, no need for either of them to get on tip-toes for what was about to happen... Connie inched forward until their noses were a breath away from each other. She looked nervously at Tyler - nervous for the first time since Tyler had first seen her back at the lounge on the 5th floor, nervous in the same way Tyler had been nervous during foundational adolescent events like picking up his date for the senior prom. Tyler didn't think Connie had an ounce of nerves in her, considering the way she carried herself and the way she spoke to people. Tyler's own nerves were on edge as he smelled Connie's enchanting scent, a mixture of her own natural musk and the aroma of the shampoo and conditioner that Phoebe had used in her hair... And then they leaned their heads forward together, slowly and in unison, both of them eager to drop the pretense and just act. Eyes closed, their foreheads touched, then their noses, then their lips. Tyler tasted the faint bitterness of Connie's own lip gloss mingling with his own. She stepped forward again and placed her hands lightly on Tyler's thin waist, pressing her own small breasts against Tyler's massive rack. Tyler threaded his hands through Connie's arms, wrapping around her back and squeezing tightly, mashing their breasts together as they kissed. Connie opened her lips slightly, just enough for her tongue to sneak out between her teeth. That was all the invitation Tyler needed to proceed further, and he opened his own mouth to accept Connie's tongue, forcing his own tongue into her mouth as well. Tyler felt a heat building in his feminine groin as Connie's tongue plunged deeper into his mouth and her hands gripped his waist tighter, the elevator's floor indicator displaying 30, then 31, then 32... Stepping forward, Connie forced one leg into the space between Tyler's legs, their skirts rubbing against each other as Tyler felt Connie's thigh pressing against his pussy. Connie's other leg lifted off the ground, then hooked around Tyler's backside, resting just below his ass. Tyler sneaked a peek in the reflection on the elevator door. He saw two beautiful, elegant women locked in the throes of passionate kissing, arms tangled, with Connie's left leg proceeding tantalizingly out of her blue plaid skirt. Tyler took a hand off Connie's back and brought it to her leg, placing it on her knee and then advancing upward, to her lower thigh, then further up until his hand was completely under her skirt, drifting slowly toward the uppermost part of her leg. Eventually his pink-painted nails found the beginning of Connie's panties, where he stopped his approach, not wanting to take things too far too soon... Connie came up for air when the elevator passed the 53rd floor. She and Tyler looked longingly at each other as they both breathed heavily. Tyler noticed a smudge of pink on Connie's lower lip as she spoke to him. "I've been wanting to do that since you first showed up at my table in the lounge yesterday," she said between gasps, leg still locked around Tyler's thigh. "God, Violet