The Perfect Match free porn video

The Perfect Match By RH Music Paul signs up for a service that promises to match him to his 'perfect mate'. Unfortunately, there are no perfect matches currently in the program, and so the company offers to match Paul to someone who is 'nearly perfect', if only he will agree to some modest modifications. Paul finds out that those modifications may not be so modest after all... Introduction: ** Zero Results ** ** There are no perfect mates in our database. ** "Damn." I looked at the screen in dismay. I had just spent $5,000 dollars on an insanely detailed psychological assessment to find my perfect mate, and all I get is "Zero Results". Okay, the company had warned me that "only 17.2% of applicants find their perfect mate on the first try", but after all that time, dozens of personality tests, and having to wear those monitoring implants and glasses for a full month... and all for nothing. I clicked "refresh". ** Zero Results ** I sighed. Now I would just have to wait until someone matched me as their perfect mate. It could take days, months, or even years. It might never happen. ** Click here to search for matches that are within modification distance. ** What was this? I clicked on the link. ** 1 match found. ** A MATCH! I clicked on it. ** Match 89423132: within modification distance (87.2%). ** ** Click here for more information. ** I clicked. Perfect Mate Matcher Inc., in an on-going effort to make more perfect matches, has implemented an innovative new "modification" service to enable more perfect mates to be matched to each other. We recognize that finding that perfect mate can be a long and difficult process, but perhaps there is someone out there who is "close enough?" Near-perfect matches who are "close enough" (within the modification distance) must both agree to be modified - both physically and psychologically - to be each other's perfect mate. ** Click here for terms and conditions. ** I clicked. I read through the terms and conditions. Lots of legal mumbo jumbo. But a few things stood out: I understand that I will be modified to be the perfect mate for my match (and they will be modified to be my perfect mate). Once modified, there is literally no one else on the planet for whom I will be more perfect, and vice-versa. For this reason, I understand that once I agree to enter the modification program, I enter into a binding contract and I cannot back out. I understand that modifications are permanent and irreversible. I understand that I must bear the entire cost of my modification. Estimated at $249,996.97. Shit! How was I going to afford that? - - - - - It took a couple of months, but I finally scraped together the money. First, I sold my row-house, paid off the loan and got some profit. I cashed in my stock investments and cashed out my pension. I went through all of my stuff and sold as much as I could, including the engagement ring and jewelry that my ex had returned when we divorced. I sold my car. I moved to a cheap apartment within walking distance from work. All this so I could get modified to become the perfect match for 89423132. At the time, all I could think was, "I hope she's worth it!" Of course, she would be modified too. I wondered if she was going through the same experience, trying to raise the money. Or maybe she was rich and would have no trouble affording it. It would be nice if she were rich. Of course I checked on-line every day for new matches. Once you are evaluated, you can check for perfect matches as much as you want. I must have checked, like every 15 minutes. But nothing. ** Zero Results ** every time. And that same singular match. ** 1 match found. Match 89423132: within modification distance (87.2%). ** I wondered what "87.2%" meant. I went to the local PMM office with my cashier's check for $252,183.22, the exact amount required for the modification, plus additional fees. Once I signed, I would be admitted to the clinic to begin my modifications. "You understand that this is a permanent change," the administrator asked. "Yes, I understand and agree." I looked into the camera. The entire interview was being video recorded. "And that once you start the modification program you will be unable to back out," she continued. "Yes, I understand and agree." "You understand that both physical and personality modifications will be required." "Yes, I understand and agree," I added. "Very well." She started to hand me the contract to sign, but then hesitated and instead reached over and turned off the video recorder. "Listen, Mr. Kelly, you seem like a nice man. Why are you doing this? You could find a wife somewhere and be happy. Have a normal life. You don't have to do this." "Give me the contract to sign," I said, annoyed at the delay. "I have the money." "But why? Why is this so important? You know you will be changed, right? You won't be the same person after the modifications are done. And you're okay with that?" "Because," I started, then stopped, thinking about the appropriate response. "Because," I continued, "I thought I had found my perfect match. In fact, she was perfect... for me. I kept asking her to have children, start a family, but she wouldn't. "But then she dumped me for someone she met in a coffee shop on a business trip. How does something like that happen? Is life that fragile? And now she's married to him and I just found out that she's pregnant, with twins. It wasn't that she didn't want to have children after all. She just didn't want to have *my* children." I took a deep breath. "And I am NEVER going to go through THAT again!" I said, defiantly. "It nearly killed me. After that, I decided that the only way that I could ever trust anyone ever again is if there was some sort of *guarantee*." I paused for a long time. "I just want someone I can trust," I said. "Someone who is honest and values my loyalty. Someone who wants me just as much as I want her." "I see that I can't talk you out of it," the administrator said, with a sigh. "I just wish I could convince you that life - in all of its messy randomness - life can be better than perfection. Studies have shown that you can be just as happy, more happy in many ways, with a less-than- perfect mate." "My mind is made up." "Well, I understand where you're coming from," she said. "After all, recent divorcees are our biggest market. Okay then." She turned the recorder back on. "Please read this out load and then sign." "I, Paul Kelly, have been fully briefed on the modification process and the anticipated results of the perfect mate matching service. The risks of the modification have been clearly and completely explained to me and I understand and agree to them. I understand that I will be modified to meet the needs of my perfect mate partner. I agree to be modified, both with physical and personality modifications, to meet the goals of the program. I enter into this agreement of my own free will, and I understand that this is a binding contract which can not be terminated." * * * Chapter 1 Back at home. The PMM modification computer was set up on the kitchen table and ready to go. Surgery at the clinic was performed right after I signed the contract, that afternoon. I spent the night at the clinic recovering. The following day they tested and calibrated everything. I was now wired up. Sensors and probes had been surgically inserted throughout my body, each one with medical-grade wireless communication (like Bluetooth). The PMM computer could now sense (and influence - to a limited degree) my emotions, my feelings, my adrenal glands and all sorts of things. Time to get started. I put on the virtual reality helmet (two wrap-around 4320x8270 screens, one for each eye, eight coordinated high-fidelity 4D-audio speakers, ultra-compact stereo condenser microphone - an awesome piece of technology) and started the program. Oh.... It felt like I was floating in blissful, stress-free cloud. Soft lights in shades of pink moved to soft, gentle music and environmental sounds. "So this is what it feels like to run the modification program," I thought to myself. "Nice." I floated like that for a while, completely at ease and relaxed. And then it was over. 'What?' I thought to myself, annoyed. 'That was it?' * * * Following the instructions from the clinic, I plugged into the modification program every day, three times a day. Once in the morning, once after work, and finally right before going to bed. Sessions got longer, but otherwise nothing much changed. I looked forward to the sessions. They were so relaxing. After a hard day at work stressing out about deliverables and last minute requirement changes, it was nice to plug in and just let the cares float away. After a week I began going back to my apartment for lunch breaks too, just so I could plug in some more. I ran the program six times a day on weekends (the most it allowed). "Losing weight?" Brad, my office-mate, asked. "Uh yeah, I guess." I hadn't noticed until he said something. After work I weighed myself. I had lost 7 pounds! It was probably because I was skipping so many meals as I ran the program. Cool, I thought to myself. * * * After a couple of weeks, the mod program started playing movies. The movies were computer generated films showing generic characters in everyday situations. The camera always showed a first-person point of view. There was no plot to speak of, just banal vignettes over and over. The CGI was realistic and the backgrounds were rendered in enormous and loving detail, but the characters were clearly animated. The speech was computer synthesized as well. Very high quality synthesis, but clearly computer generated. I watched with rapt attention. "Hey there," said the man in the movie. "Hi Tom," said my first-person POV character. The voice sounded like a woman, which was fine with me. I always chose the woman avatar when I played video games, just to be different. "Would you like to go to a movie?" "Sure, Tom, that would be wonderful!" "What movie would you like?" "Oh, Tom, why don't you pick? You're so much better at picking movies than I am." Tom smiled. My character felt pleased that she said the right thing. We got up and left the coffee shop together. And that was it. Just short scenes like that, over and over. "Here, let me get that for you," Tom said, reaching for the door and opening it for me. "Thank you," my character looked up at him and felt pleased and protected. We approached his car where he stepped up and opened the car door for my character. Pleased, my character stepped gingerly into the car and let Tom close the car door behind her. "I'm so glad you're driving," said my character. "I can drive, but I don't like it much." "My pleasure," said Tom. There were dozens and dozens of them, covering all sorts of random situations. It seemed obvious at the time that I was supposed to be Tom, and the other character was supposed to be my perfect match. I liked that she seemed so easy going, carefree and happy all the time. "I'll do the dishes," said Tom. "Oh no, you go sit down and relax. I've got it covered." "Are you sure?" "Of course! It will be no trouble at all. Now you just go sit and just let me take care of everything." Tom smiled at me. My character felt pleased that she could be so helpful. My character put on an apron and the film went through the details of washing the dishes, again from the first person POV. When the dishes were done, my character fetched a plate, cut a slice of cake, added a fork and then went out to the living room where Tom was relaxing with a magazine. "Cake?" my character asked. "Chocolate, my favorite," said Tom. My character sat on the sofa, and snuggled up close to him. "Oh, I forgot to bring a fork for myself," my character said, in a voice which made it obvious that she really hadn't forgotten at all. "No problem," said Tom, slicing off a forkful of cake and feeding it to her. "Mmmm, thank you," my character said, accepting the cake from Tom with pleasure. As I said, banal. * * * Once nice side-effect of the modification program was that I seemed to be less stressed at work. I felt less grumpy and confrontational. More helpful. Little irritants seemed to not matter so much. If this was the result of the modification program, I was all for it! I was getting along better with my coworkers and my boss seemed happier with my work. Rather than argue or look put-upon when I got a new assignment, I accepted them with a smile. And it was a pleasure to report back when I had completed them. As a consequence, my boss started giving me more of those tedious assignments that most programmers hate. You know, like reviewing past tickets and merging code branches. I didn't mind. They still needed to get done, after all, and I was happy to do them. And it was so nice to be able to report back "complete". * * * "Honey, would you fetch me my book from the bedroom?" "Of course, Tom!" My first person character went to the bedroom, our bedroom apparently, and returned with the book. She handed it to him. "Thank you, dear," he said. "You're so welcome, Tom," my character responded, feeling the pleasure of a job well done. "And could you fetch me a bourbon? On the rocks?" " My pleasure," my character said, meaning it. She went to the bar, expertly fixed the drink, and returned with it. "Mmmmm," Tom said, sipping it. Tom kicked off his shoes and put them up on the sofa. "Would you like a foot massage?" my character asked. "Why dear, that would be wonderful!" My character sat on the sofa and pulled Tom's feet into her lap and massaged them for a long time as he read and sipped his drink. It felt good to provide these small pleasures to Tom. I could practically smell his damp feet and shoe leather. Weird. Even weirder was that the smell turned me on a bit. * * * I was now 15 pounds lighter and looking more fit than ever before. My waist was down to a 28! I hadn't been that thin since high school. I looked in the mirror and realized that I hadn't had to shave all week. 'Nice,' I thought. 'I hate shaving.' It also looked like the hair on my chest was thinning. 'I guess she wants a smooth-chested man,' I thought to myself. 'Like Tom Cruise. Cool.' * * * Chapter 2 A lot of the modification movies that followed were focused on cooking. I would watch in rapt attention as my character prepared a wide variety of dishes from spaghetti to coq-au-vin. 'My perfect mate must really like to cook!' I thought to myself, thinking how wonderful that would be, to have my own personal chef in the kitchen. "Tom?" my character called out. "Yes?" Tom appeared. "Could you open this for me?" my character held up a jar of mayonnaise. "Of course," Tom ginned, easily twisting the lid open. "Thank you!" My character said, grateful to have someone strong and tall to call on. "I'm just so weak, compared to you." "Happy to help," he said, giving my character a peck on the cheek. In every cooking scenario, my character would serve the plated meal to Tom and sit down next to him. "Thank you for this home cooked meal," Tom would say, looking into my eyes. "Oh, it's no trouble at all," my character would say. "I love to cook. Especially for you, Tom." And then we would pray ("Thank you lord, for this food we eat") and enjoy the meal, making small talk. Always my character would be asking Tom how his day went, hanging on his every word as he described what happened in the office and asking questions and agreeing with him wherever possible. She was such an endless fountain positive support. Amazing, really. I wished I could be more like her. "You're so talented," my character would say. "I'm sure that you'll figure out a way to get your boss to recognize the merits of your proposal." "Thank you," Tom would say, "for always believing in me." "It's easy," my character would respond, "because you're so amazing." She was only half teasing. * * * And then, one afternoon, the movie just froze. "Let's see, for meatloaf I will need..." my character was saying as she opened the refrigerator. And then the action just stopped, with the door open and my character (apparently) trying to decide what to fetch from the refrigerator. What was going on? It had never halted like this before. Maybe it was waiting for something? "Ground beef," I said, out loud. "Right! Ground beef," said my character, snapping her fingers. She fetched the ground beef from the refrigerator. Then the action stopped again. I guess it was waiting for me to list out more ingredients. "Horseradish, catsup, Worcestershire sauce, onions, eggs, and bread," I said, out loud. "That's right, horseradish, catsup, Worcestershire sauce, onions, eggs, and bread," she said. "Perfect!" A surge of pleasurable satisfaction flowed through me. I got it right! The movie continued, but then stopped again when my character opened the spice drawer. "Let's see," my character said. "I will need..." I knew what to do this time. "Celery salt, garlic powder, and ground black pepper," I said. "Perfect!" my character said, fetching the items. I smiled, as I felt a jolt of satisfaction and pleasure when she said, 'Perfect!'. This was fun! * * * "What are you bringing to the pot-luck?" asked Ed, the guy working in the cubicle across the hall. "I'm making an Asian salad," I said. "Since when did you learn to make Asian salad?" "It's super easy," I responded. "Just coleslaw, sunflower seeds, crushed uncooked ramen noodles, and scallions with an oil/soy-sauce/vinegar sauce. You just throw it all together. It has a really nice mix of textures. It takes, like, 10 minutes." "Huh," said Ed. "Well, I have no idea what I'm going to do." "How about meatballs? Here, let me write it down for you." I pulled out an old envelope. "Just get some pre-made meatballs from the freezer section of the grocery store, add a jar of chili sauce, a jar of Welch's grape jelly and some cayenne pepper, if you want. And then just heat it up. It's amazingly easy that even a bachelor like you can do it, and everyone will love it. No kidding." I handed the recipe to Ed. "Uh, thanks," Ed looked at me with a weird expression on his face. "Sounds perfect," he said, finally. "Thanks." "My pleasure!" I said happily. * * * Now that the modification program was waiting for me to answer, it started repeating the older movies, this time waiting for me to fill in the lines. "Darn it! I spilled the milkshake!" Tom said, angry at himself. The program paused, waiting for me to fill in the dialog for my character. "Oh Tom, that's okay!" I said, as cheerfully as possible. "Accidents happen. It's no big deal and certainly nothing to get upset about." **Ping** The program had started pinging to indicate that I had made a 'perfect' response. I felt a delicious surge of pleasure in getting it right. Clearly the program was making me understand everything from my future perfect mate's point of view. I could definitely see the value in that. She was such a happy, charming, easy-going person, I was really looking forward to meeting her. "But you made the milkshake by hand," Tom continued. He said it in such a forlorn way, that it just broke my heart. "I was really looking forward to it." The program paused. "Oh Tom," I said, filling in my character's dialog, "it's no problem at all! I'll just whip up another one! It's super easy." ** Ping! ** Another perfect response! Yay! "Are you sure?" Tom asked, looking hopeful. "Absolutely," I said. I could feel my character smile. "Now you go relax. I'll clean this up in a jiffy and be right there with a new one." ** Ping! ** Three for three! "You are a doll," said Tom. Oh god, I loved this program. I could play it all day. Way better than computer games. Of course I didn't always get the responses right. Sometimes I would get a less-satisfying **bim** saying that it was a 'good' response, but not perfect. Other times I would get a completely un-satisfying ** tch, tch, tch **, which sounded exactly like the tongue-clicking my Mom used to do when I had done something wrong. Each time, the program would wait until I came up with the perfect response. If I wasn't able to do it after five tries, my character would say it for me and then the computer would come back to it later. I had been paying such good attention to the movies all along, so it really didn't take long before I was giving perfect responses nearly all the time, even when it started presenting new situations. "Close your eyes," said Tom, "and hold out your hands." My character dutifully did as instructed. "Now open them." He had placed a necklace in my hands! It was a simple gold-plated heart- necklace on a thin gold chain. The program paused for my response. "Oh, Tom, it's *beautiful*," I said, with genuine feeling. ** Ping! ** "Do you really like it?" Tom asked. "Yes, absolutely. I *love* it," I said. ** Ping! ** "Oh, I'm so glad," Tom smiled, looking at me expectantly. The program paused. I thought for a second. What was it waiting for? "But what is the occasion?" I asked. ** Ping! ** Yes! I got it right! "No occasion, I just wanted to get you something nice." "Oh, Tom, thank you so much. You treat me so well. I really don't deserve it." ** Ping! ** The program paused. Now what? I looked closely. It was a locket! "Can I open it?" I asked. ** Ping! ** "Of course!" Tom said, smiling. This was clearly what he had been waiting for. My character opened the locket. Inside was a small, handsome photograph of Tom. "Oh Tom, thank you *so* much," I said. "This is perfect. I will cherish it always." ** Ping! ** Pause. "Uh..." I thought some more. What else did it want me to say?? I struggled for a good 60 seconds, the program patiently waiting for me to figure it out. "Can... can I put it on?" I asked, hesitantly. ** Ping! ** Yes! That was it! "Of course!" Tom took the locket from my character and slipped it over her head. "Thank you," I said. The locked nestled down at the top of my character's cleavage. "This way, I will always have you next to my heart," I finished, cribbing a line I had heard my character say previously. ** Ping! ** Awesome! * * * Chapter 3 "So, as you all know, Melissa is having a baby and is going on maternity leave," my boss announced. The conference room was over-packed with some 20+ tech employees. Some were sitting in chairs, some on the floor or window sill, while others were standing and leaning against the walls. It was our every-other-week "all-hands" meeting. Melissa was the receptionist, our all-around office manager, and the 'mom' of the group. I should explain that I work in a relatively small remote IT office, an off-shoot of a much larger organization. "Okay," Ben continued, "now the problem is that there's a hiring freeze until the next fiscal year. But we need someone out front to watch for customers and sign them in, show them around, and handle all of the deliveries and what-not. Sooo...." He looked around at everyone. "... I need someone, and hopefully more than one someone, to volunteer to be the receptionist. Just for the next few months." There were snorts of derision and disbelief. "Get a temp!" someone shouted. "No can do," said Ben. "We would only have enough budget for like, two or three weeks." "I'll do it!" The words just slipped out of my mouth. I didn't even realize that I had spoken until I saw everyone looking at me. "Paul?" my boss asked, astonished. "But you... you're... a senior developer." "It's no big deal. I'm happy to chip in! Anything you need me to do. Really." I felt a surge of pleasure at being so helpful. Everyone in the room brightened up immediately. He'll do it! Problem solved! People got up and started to leave. "But, we need you working on the product," said Ben, feebly. I think he could tell at this point that it was already a lost cause. Apparently he had hoped to come up with some sort of rotating schedule or receptionist by committee. "Oh Ben," I said, "it'll be no trouble at all. Just let me take care of everything." "Well, okay, I guess that settles it then," Ben said, resigned. * * * And so I moved to the receptionist's desk. I still did programming, of course, but now I was also watching for the occasional customer, business partner, or random guest who showed up at the front door. It turned out to be not a big deal, and my regular work barely suffered at all. And best of all, it meant that I had the authority to finally clean out the fridge and the kitchen, which was so desperately needed! I don't know why, but the mess had really been bothering me lately. All those dirty dishes, all that moldy food! UCK. So I emailed out an ultimatum (as the replacement 'Melissa', I wrote), and then on Friday it was all gone. Dishes washed, countertops scrubbed, everything put away. All nice and clean. And I added a box of baking soda to the fridge to absorb the smells. I made some other changes too. I added a plant to the receptionist area, and brought in a big bowl full of candy for the front desk. I never ate any, of course (I didn't want to regain all that weight I had just lost!), but it was good for morale. People would wander by and chat, just to get a candy bar. I loved it. One consequence of my e-mail was that everyone started calling me 'the new Melissa' now. It probably should have bothered me, but in truth, I kind-of liked it. It was just the sort of office teasing that meant everyone thought it was cool how I was being so helpful. * * * New sorts of scenarios were being introduced in the modification program, focused on personal grooming. It started with simple things, like brushing teeth and face washing. But even these simple things turned out to be much more complicated than I thought possible. "Step one..." "I use a gentle foaming cleanser to remove makeup and excess oil," I responded. ** Ping! ** "Step two..." "I use a light moisturizer with UVA and UVB protection." ** Ping! ** "Step four, at night..." "I add a serum with Vitamin C and a light moisturizer to fight free radical damage." ** Ping! ** I got it right again! I could totally understand why my perfect mate would want me to know this. After all, who wouldn't want to know how much effort it takes to maintain a beauty regimen for your partner? * * * As I walked home from work a few days later, I passed the local department store and looked in at the makeup counters. 'You know,' I mused to myself, stopping at the window display. 'It wouldn't hurt to start a skin care regimen myself...' Somehow I found myself floating into the store and then lingering around the makeup counters, unsure of what to do. "Can I help you?" said a bright young lady wearing a white smock. "Sure... I guess?" I said, uncertainly. "I was, um... looking for some moisturizer, and maybe, uh some skin cleaner?" "And I am here to help! My name is Sandy!" "Hi Sandy!" "And I must say, I can see why! Your skin is so smooth and beautiful! Of course you want to take good care of it!" And so, after some discussion, Sandy set me up with an entire program. She was so helpful! But then, oh my god, she saw me glance over at the makeup counter. "Would you like some makeup, too?" she asked, carefully. Her question took my breath away. The modification program had been showing movies of my future perfect-mate's makeup routine, going through every aspect, item by item, and quizzing me on everything. I was learning so much about how women put on makeup, even different styles for different occasions! It was really fascinating and I was getting so into it. "Yes," I whispered, blushing. I looked carefully at Sandy, not daring to see if anyone else was looking at me, a man, purchasing makeup. "Lots of men buy makeup," Sandy assured me, with a wink. "It's no big deal." "Thank you," I said, grateful she was so supportive. Back at my apartment, I arranged all of my new purchases on the bathroom countertop. I washed, exfoliated and moisturized just like the movies had taught me. I looked at my face in the mirror. I really did have such smooth and clear skin. Whatever long-release drugs had been injected into me at the clinic were really working. I had a feeling that my perfect-mate would be pleased. I know I was! I stopped there, hesitating. "It's just me, alone in this apartment," I said softly, looking over at the makeup I had just purchased. "It would be a waste to not try it," I reasoned to myself. "After all, it's clear that my perfect-mate wants me to understand what it's like to put on makeup. Otherwise, why do all of those scenarios?" I reached for the anti-aging foundation primer, my heart beating a mile a minute, applying it lightly to the center of each cheek and then blending it outwards using light, circular motions. As I finished with that step, I felt a surge of satisfaction. It was almost as if I could hear the ** Ping! ** even though I wasn't connected to the computer. * * * After that, I sort-of became addicted to putting on makeup. It was such a relaxing routine! I would get home from work and race to the bathroom to wash my face and then put on makeup for the evening. I then did one session on the modification computer, then made a light dinner, fixed up my makeup, did another session, and then washed it all off and cleansed and moisturized my face for evening. In the mornings, I would wake up early (I was an early bird now, waking up without an alarm at 6am every day!) get a shower, wash my hair (the computer was also spending a lot of time on hair styles), and put on some light makeup for my early-morning session on the modification computer. One day, I actually walked out the door without washing it off! But fortunately, I realized my mistake (as I checked my face in my compact mirror) and quickly raced back to wash it off. But I must not have done a very good job, because later that day, my boss, Ben, mentioned it. "Are you wearing... makeup?" he asked. My hand jumped up to my cheek, embarrassed. "I... I guess," I said. "Why?" "Uh... just covering up a pimple," I explained. "Oh, okay." But as Ben walked away, he glanced back at me with a 'something weird is happening' look on his face. * * * Chapter 4 "You look beautiful in that dress." "This old thing?" I responded, coyly. The computer ** Ping! ** told me that I'd answered correctly. My character in the movie twirled, her dress flaring out prettily. I basked in the pleasure of Tom's praise. "Yes, that old thing," Tom laughed. "It's just something I picked up on sale," I said. "It's nothing, really." Nothing, hah! The modification program had been taking me through endless scenarios with clothing recently. I watched as my character went on various shopping trips to all sorts of stores, flipping through racks and racks of clothes. The program was teaching me about my perfect mate's sense of style. It was probably so that I would learn what sorts of things she liked so that I could better buy her gifts when the time came, I reasoned. And so, on these virtual shopping trips, I was required to say 'yes', 'no', or 'maybe' to each clothing item. The yes's and maybe's would be taken to the dressing room where my character would try them on and I would have to decide, and correct answers got a ** Ping! ** and incorrect answers would get a "tch tch tch" until I had picked out the correct wardrobe. And it wasn't just dresses, either! I had to do the same thing for slacks and blouses and jeans and swim suits and lingerie... it was endless. My character bought bags and bags of clothing. It's a good thing it was all virtual, otherwise it would have cost a fortune! And don't get me started about shoes. Literally hundreds upon hundreds of varieties that I had to view and judge and give a 'yes', 'no', or 'maybe' on. But, you know, I had to admit that I enjoyed it. After all, it was fun to guess what she might like and it was always so satisfying when I guessed the correct answer. Over time I got better and better, to the point where I felt like I basically understood her style, inside and out. It was a classic, slightly retro (but updated) style with an emphasis on feminine items and colors. Silhouettes tended to emphasize her curves and make her look graceful and approachable. And so, every morning after showering, hair and makeup, my character would choose the outfit for the day, and naturally I was required to choose from the closet the combination of clothes that was best matched to the season, the weather, and the event. "You look beautiful in dresses." "Why thank you, Tom," I said, pleased. My character held his arm as they both walked down the street, chatting. "In fact, I think you should wear dresses all the time." "A-a-all the time?" I stammered. The computer clicked its tongue with the 'tch tch tch' sound. I tried again. "Of course, Tom!" I said, as happily as I could. "I agree. I *should* wear dresses all the time. You are so smart!" ** Ping! ** The computer accepted my new response. "And stockings. I hate pantyhose. You should switch to stockings." "Really?" I asked. "Stockings??" ** tch tch tch ** Damn it! Wrong again. I took a breath to try again. "Of course, Tom! I didn't know that you liked them so much. Of course, I'll switch to stockings right away." ** Ping! ** "You know, those kind which require garters to hold them up." Garters?? "Well, those *are* the best kind," I said, my character smiling up at Tom. "If I'm going to wear stockings all the time, then, *of course* that should be the type that I would wear." ** Ping! ** "And high-heels, of course." "Of course! They go with the stockings." My character held tighter onto Tom's arm and placed her head on his shoulder. "Anything you want me to wear," I said, "just tell me. I'm happy to do it. You have such good taste, after all." ** Ping! ** "You are the most wonderful girl any guy could ever hope to have," Tom said, holding my character's hands in his and looking me straight in the eye. "And you know I just want you to always look your best." "Oh, of course, Tom! And it's a pleasure to dress nicely for you. You are always so appreciative!" ** Ping! ** "And I think that if you look nice, you feel nice, and you have more self-confidence," Tom said. "I completely agree!" ** Ping! ** "And so I always you want to wear the nicest things. You know, stockings, dresses, high heels..." The computer paused. "Lingerie?" I wondered out loud. ** Ping! ** "And of course, *lingerie*," said Tom, grinning. "You'll wear nice lingerie, won't you? For me?" "Absolutely! I love wearing nice, luxurious lingerie. But just for you, Tom." ** Ping! ** The scenario was repeated over and over, with slight variations, over the next few days. I did wonder about it, though. After all, if that's how she was supposed to dress, then why did the computer take me shopping for all of those ordinary girl-clothes, like slacks and blouses and plain-cotton-panties? I supposed that it wanted me to understand the full scope of her clothing options. Maybe so that I wouldn't be so demanding of dresses, stockings, and high heels as Tom was? That made sense. After all, my perfect mate would not want to wear dresses or stockings or high heels all the time. What woman would want that? To be dressed up in such a feminine way for her man all the time? 24x7? That would be ridiculous. Any real woman would want to wear sweat pants and T-shirts most of the time. But wait, maybe the point was that my character was doing this *for Tom*. She did it because she wanted to be nice to Tom and do things for him. Maybe that was the point of those scenarios? She dressed in this ultra-feminine way because he had asked for it, and she was happy to do it for him. Eager, even. And I thought to myself, how amazing would it be to a perfect mate who always dresses so feminine? I could see how these scenarios were making me really understand, so that when she wears dresses and stockings and nice lingerie, and when she does up her hair nice and wears makeup and nail polish... all of these things she would be doing not because she wanted to, for herself. Instead, she would be doing all of these things just for me. As a present. What an amazing woman she must be! I couldn't wait to meet her. Of course, they said it was going to take about nine months for the modification program to run its full course, so I still have a few months to go. I had to admit, however, watching all of these scenarios, over and over through the Virtual Reality goggles was starting to get to me. "Do you really like wearing dresses all the time?" Tom asked. "Of course, Tom! I love wearing dresses!" ** Ping! ** "And the stockings and lingerie are super sexy," I said, with a sly grin. ** Ping! ** "Oh, I'm so glad! You are just the most amazing person ever!" And multiple times a day I would be taken through the process of changing and getting ready. I would get ready for work in the morning, I would get ready for a date in the evening, I would get ready for a special luncheon event. And every time, my character would talk about what was coming up. "Tom says we're going out for a casual dinner with friends," my character would say. "Now what should I wear?" And I would flip through all of the outfits, wistfully skipping the slacks and jeans until I got to the dresses and then finding just the right dress to accompany Tom. A dress which would fit the situation exactly right, not too dressy or too casual. A dress that made me (I mean, my character) look good. And every correct choice was accompanied with a ** Ping! ** and a surge of satisfied pleasure that I had gotten it correct. And then I would put it on, add some accessories, and then go out to meet Tom, who was usually waiting in my character's living room to escort me to whatever event was required. And, of course, there was a lot more shopping for all sorts of things! I really started to love shopping. And that's so unlike me, I never really liked shopping before. I guess the modification program was having an effect. "Such a beautiful dress!" I would exclaim. ** Ping! ** "Now, this is gorgeous lingerie. Tom would just *love* to know I'm wearing it." ** Ping! ** The problem was, over time, things began to shift. My character started getting more into the vibe and making more and more affirmational statements. "I really love wearing dresses," I would say, as I virtually-dressed during my modification program scenarios. ** Ping! ** the program verified. "And wearing lingerie is really wonderful, too. It makes me feel so sexy and feminine. Like such a beautiful woman, inside and out." ** Ping! ** "Stockings and garters, sure, they're old fashioned, but then, aren't I really sort-of an old fashioned girl? And they make my legs look amazing!" ** Ping! ** "You know, I really can't imagine wearing anything *but* dresses anymore." ** Ping! ** "I think that, anything else would feel just so underdressed!" ** Ping! ** "After all, all it takes is just a little bit of effort, that's all. And then you feel great and everyone around you sees that you made an effort and it makes them feel special too!" ** Ping! ** "I guess that I'm just the sort of girl who loves to wear dresses!" ** Ping! ** "And sexy lingerie, stockings, and high heels. I guess that's just who I am. And why not? It looks and feels just wonderful!" ** Ping! ** ** Ping! ** ** Ping! ** All of these affirmational statements were really starting to get to me. I was starting to dream them at night. Every morning in Real-Life I would shower, wash my hair and do my skin care regime (and makeup, depending on the day and time). I would then go to the closet to get dressed and be faced with all of these ugly male clothes. Jeans, T- shirts, some dress shirts (which I wore now almost exclusively -- to present better as a receptionist), ugly cotton briefs... And I would walk home past the department store and I could almost feel a magnetic pull of the women's clothing just a few steps away. A few times I even walked inside and was almost to the lingerie section before I came to my senses and turned around and walked out. And then one day, it was a Thursday morning (I remember it so clearly!) and I just couldn't stand it anymore. I stood in front of my open closet doors and then just sank down to the floor, sobbing my heart out. "I *HATE* all these clothes!!" I cried, feeling desperate. "I want to wear dresses! And nice lingerie! I love wearing dresses!! Why can't I wear them? And these aren't even nice men's clothing! They're just **horrible**." But I had nothing else to wear, and I had to get going for work. So I dressed in a pair of khakis and a dress shirt and shlumped to work. "Why so glum, 'new Melissa'?" asked my boss, Ben, stopping by my receptionist's desk. "Oh, I just realized that I hate my entire wardrobe," I said, miserably. "Well, why don't you buy a new one?" he suggested, reasonably. "Don't we pay you enough?" "Of course you do, it's just that..." I stopped. "Just what?" "Oh, I don't know. I guess I'm just wondering what people would think of me if I suddenly started dressing differently." "This is a tech office. You'll be lucky if they notice anything at all," Ben pointed out. "I shaved off my beard last year and no one noticed for a whole week." "I guess that's true." "And besides, it wouldn't hurt for you to look more presentable. After all, you are the receptionist. Our first face to the public." "You know, you're right!" I said, suddenly brightening up. "I'm going to do it!" And my mind was suddenly full of all sorts of possibilities. Of course I still couldn't wear dresses at work like I wanted to, but at least I could wear some better slacks and shirts! Something much more fashionable. And then, maybe I could get some dresses to wear on the weekends, and at night. That would definitely work! And I have plenty of money! Since I moved to the cheap apartment and since I started walking to work and making all my own meals (thank you, modification program!), my expenses were next to nothing. I was saving almost my entire paycheck every month. I could spend tons of money on clothes!! "Thank you, Ben!" I said, suddenly feeling so much more cheerful. It was going to be a good day after all! "Happy to help," he said. "By the way, I got a call from your clinic." "M-my clinic?" I stammered, suddenly taken aback. Since when did the PMM clinic start calling my boss? "Yeah, they said that there was a last-minute opening, and they wondered if you could be excused from work for the next two weeks." "Oh!" I was shocked. Surgery?? "So, I said, 'no problem'," Ben continued. "After all, our next release is two months away, so this is the perfect time, really. We'll get a temp to fill in for you. Is it anything serious?" "No, nothing serious. Minor surgery," I said, my mind reeling. I raced home at lunch time and checked the PMM computer. There was a message scheduling my surgery for the very next day! * * * Chapter 5 It turned out to be some facial surgery and voice box surgery. The clinic explained everything. They were making some facial and vocal adjustments to bring my physical presentation more in-line to my perfect mate's desires. They explained that my perfect mate was also undergoing surgery for me. We were meeting in the middle, so to speak. So I thought, 'okay, no problem.' My surgery was the very next day in the morning, and I stayed in the hospital for two days. When I had recovered enough to be released, they had an orderly take me home. The surgery turned out to be more extensive than I expected. There was a cranioplasty, a rhinoplasty, some small cheek implants, and chin and jaw contouring. So... wow. Fortunately, the clinic was using all of the latest minimally-invasive and robot-assisted techniques, so I just had a few small incisions to deal with. When I first got home, my face was bandaged, I had on a cast over my nose, and everything was still swollen. I had no idea what I looked like, and I couldn't talk at all. Even croaking was just too painful. So I mostly just slept and ate ice cream. It's a good thing my fridge was well stocked! I certainly didn't feel like doing anything but lay in bed. When I felt up to it, I plugged into the modification computer and replayed some old scenarios, especially the clothing and hair care scenarios, which I still found to be a bit tricky. As my face recovered, I was confused by the changes. My chin was narrower, my nose smaller and more upturned. My forehead looked flatter and less bulgy, especially above the eyes. How had they done that? I mean, I looked just like I always did, I thought, just a bit softer here and there. I guess my perfect mate wants someone less neanderthal, which was fine by me. I thought I looked better, actually. More beautiful. Regardless, I was okay with it. I quickly came to like my new face. It was friendlier and brighter. I would break into smiles whenever I saw myself in the mirror. I hoped my perfect mate would like it too. I was really starting to get intrigued about what she was like. * * * Finally, I had my 13-day checkup and I was officially cleared to go back to work. Time to go shopping! I was so happy that I actually skipped to the department store, eager to try shopping in person for the first time since the I had been using the modification program. First things first, I thought to myself, new work clothes. And so I went to the men's section and started flipping through clothes. Nope, nope, no, no, no, Yuck!, horrible, UCK, no, no, NO! My god. Did I really wear this crap for all of my life? Everything was so blocky, vertical, and drab. I glanced over at the women's wear section. Maybe I could shop there first, and then come back? So, slowly, but then with increasing enthusiasm, I wandered over to the women's wear section (actually, many sections! How wonderful!) and began flipping through clothes and (*finally*! So relieved!) started finding things I liked. "It's time to bring your selections to the counter," the saleslady said. "We're closing in 20 minutes." I tried to speak, but my voice cracked in the middle of the word. "Already?" I whispered. I looked at the time on my cell phone. Shit! I had been shopping for over 6 hours! "Can I help carry your things to the cash register?" she asked. I nodded a sincere 'thank you!', looking at the multiple bundles of clothes I had gathered. I had picked out a brand new wardrobe from top to bottom. There were dresses, panties (*blush*), stockings, garters, camisoles, and shoes (!!) of all types, both flats and a variety of heels. And for work I had finally found some acceptable slacks and shirts (well, okay, they were technically 'blouses', but they seemed okay for work, I thought). And I added a couple of bracelets and a fun statement necklace just for the heck of it. "No bras?" the lady at the counter asked. I tried to speak but couldn't. "Here, let me help you," she said, nicely leading me back to the lingerie section, and quickly measuring my bust. "Looks like you're a 34A..." Wait just a freaking moment! A 34A??? I have BREASTS?? "... so any of these should work for you." She left me, stunned, to look at the rack of bras. I mean, sure, my chest has felt puffy and swollen recently, but it's not because I have breasts, right? I picked out some pairs and took them to the counter. "So, why all of the purchases?" The saleslady asked. "Oh, you know," I said, "I just decided to scrap my entire wardrobe and finally grow up and buy some nice things." ... wait a second... "That's wonderful!" she said, efficiently unclipping the hangers and folding the clothes. "Most people I know either wouldn't care to look nice, or wouldn't have the guts to reboot their entire wardrobe like this. You are one courageous woman!" "Th-thank you," I said. Shit, there it was again. "Are you okay?" "I think so..." it was me!! "I can talk!!" I said, astonished. "Of course you can talk! Why shouldn't you be able to talk?" "But... it's I mean... I'm..." I took a couple of swallows and tried again. "I'm just recovering from vocal surgery," I explained. "But..." I continued, "this voice...! I sound much too high!" * * * I put away all of my new clothes that evening, carefully arranging everything by color and style. It felt amazing to have a new wardrobe. For the first time in... well, in *forever*, I was looking forward to dressing for work the next day. But my voice?? What was wrong with my voice? "Is this really how I sound now?" I spoke the words out-loud. My voice sounded so high and pretty. It was the same as at the store. There has to be something wrong! I thought, there just has to be! It had to be a mistake, right? So I called the clinic emergency hot-line. After listening to my concern, they assured me not to worry. "There's always a period of adjustment," they explained. "It will take about two months. You could be too high right now and then it will settle down to where it's supposed to be. It will take some time." So I thanked them and hung up the phone, feeling relieved. "Thank goodness," I said to myself, still hearing that same girlish, musical, trilling sound coming out of me. "I guess I just need to give it some time." * * * "Hey Ben!" "Hi there! Who are you?" I look at him, astonished. What the heck? "I know it's been a couple of weeks, Ben," I said, miffed, "but it's Paul. I'm back from my surgery." "Paul???" Ben looked at me, eyes wide with shock and realization. "Oh my god, it *is* you." "Of course it is, silly!" 'Boy, he is acting strange,' I thought to myself. "Should I... should I call you just 'Melissa' now?" "Sure," I said, with a shrug. "If you want. Why not? After all, I am the new Melissa, right?" "You certainly are! Don't worry about a thing. I'll let everyone know." "Okaaay," I agreed, now completely confused as to exactly what he would be telling everyone. "Whatever you think is best." "Cool. It won't be a problem. I promise." * * * After that, people dropped the "new" when referring to me and just started calling me "Melissa" all the time. I didn't mind. It was fun. I went out of my way to beam at everyone every time they said it to make sure everyone understood that I was okay with their playful teasing. However, I thought it was a bit much when the IT Operations guy, Jake, changed my login account from "Paul.Kelly" to "Melissa.Kelly". I mean, a joke is a joke, but that's just a bit ridiculous! "But I thought you were Melissa now," Jake said. "Well, of course I am," I said, "I mean, yes, I'm working as Melissa now..." "Then, what's the problem? Is it because I gave you a new account? The new account has different access rights. It was easier to create a new one than to change the old one." "New access rights?" I asked. "Yeah, talk to Ben." When I went to Ben, he explained. "Oh, sorry! I forgot to tell you. I asked Jake to create you a new account because I have some new tasks for you." "New tasks?" "Yeah. Since you were out, we had to reassign your dev tickets, unfortunately. And so, since you're not otherwise assigned, I was hoping you'd help out with some office management things which really need doing." "Of course! I'd be happy to do anything you need," I said, just wanting to be helpful in any way. "Wonderful!" And so, when I wasn't doing my receptionist duties, Ben had me doing other office management functions, like tracking expenses and the petty cash, checking that everyone had filled out their time cards, and doing travel reservations and whatnot. It was nice because I got to walk around the office and talk with people all the time, and I found that to be a real pleasure. How had I been able to work, alone, at my computer all those years? I thought back to those days now and realized how confining, lonely, and cooped up I was! I felt so much better being a people person. And so, I had to switch to the "Melissa.Kelly" account full time because it gave me access to the financial systems necessary for managing the office expenses. I was going to make a bigger deal about it, but I figured it was just easier to leave it as-is until the real Melissa finally got back and then things could get back to normal. * * * Chapter 6 And so I settled into my new role at the office and got into a nice, comfortable routine. I would wake up in the morning, get my shower and wash my hair, then do my morning skin care routine and then get dressed in lingerie, usually panties, stockings, a garter belt, and a bra. Thank goodness I had let the sales lady from the department store talk me into purchasing some bras! My breasts were really starting to get sore and puffy, and I noticed that wearing a bra gave them some support so they didn't hurt as much as I walked to work. Then I would spend some time on the modification computer running through my scenarios, repeating the words and sentences required by computer and learning more and more about my perfect mate by watching how she interacted with her virtual partner, Tom. During this time, I would be wearing this luscious silk and lace robe which I found at a specialty lingerie store, with some nice "around the house" satin slippers. The slippers only had about a 1-inch heel, so they are super comfortable. Practically like wearing flats. After that, I would get a quick bite for breakfast (the most important meal of the day!) and then I would put on some light makeup and then I would dress for the day. Usually a nice pair of slacks and a woman's dress shirt. One day I was out of the dress shirts (which is so unlike me, to be behind on my laundry like that), so I put on an actual blouse. It was a cream satin blouse with puffy sleeves, tight cuffs (with small pearl buttons), and a long, crepe ascot collar which hung down from my neck to past my belt. I thought (for certain!) that I was going to get a lot flak from everyone for wearing a lady's blouse. In fact, I almost stopped by the department store on the way to work to buy something else, but then I would be late (and the receptionist must never be late!) so I just resigned myself to a day of teasing and kidding from the staff. But it never happened! Everyone was just so amazingly cool about it. They just acted like it was nothing at all. They said "Hey Melissa!" just like they always did as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. Here I had come into the office dressed in a woman's blouse, and no one seemed to care. Or even notice, really. Wasn't it wonderful how my work colleagues are so amazing? They must have realized that it would make my uncomfortable to mention my new blouse, so they made a point of *not* talking about it. Later that morning I realized something even more amazing. I had fetched myself a cup of coffee and then when I put down the cup I glanced over at it. It took me almost 60 seconds before I realized what was wrong. My coffee cup had a lipstick print on it. Oh god! I had left my makeup on! I quickly reached for my satchel and rooted around inside it looking for my powder compact. Snapping it open I looked at myself in the mirror, and it was absolutely true. I was fully made up with foundation, lip liner, lipstick, eye liner, eye shadow and blush. I had been so worried about wearing a blouse when I dressed this morning, that I had just completely forgotten to take off my morning makeup before going to work! And so here I was, at work, wearing makeup and a blouse. Of course, it was my "ready for work" look, so it was all tastefully done. Maybe that's why no one had commented on it? Maybe it just looked so natural that they just assumed that it was just me? Maybe, but it seemed so *obvious* to me. I mean, my look with makeup up is just *completely* different. More vibrant and bright... more defined. But no one had said a thing, or even acted as if it was in any way out of the ordinary. Strange. The upshot of that whole fiasco was that I could relax about what I wore to work. After all, if no one seemed to care that I wore blouses to work, then why not wear blouses? In fact, I stopped at the department store on the way home and bought a few more in various bright colors and fabrics. And if no one noticed that I was wearing makeup, then why not wear makeup? And so I did. After all, all that extra washing of my face wasn't doing my skin any favors. And it saved time which meant I could spend more time on the modification computer in the morning, which was wonderful. Besides, I just felt better - more "put together" - when I was wearing makeup. And you know, since I was wearing makeup at work, I switched from my satchel to a purse. This way I could choose something which went better with my outfit. I didn't need the satchel anymore anyway because I was no longer carrying my laptop back and forth to work (I was using the desktop at the receptionist's station). The purse was so much easier to carry and more fashionable when I was out in public. And I could fill it with all of the makeup I needed, and check my makeup and touch it up throughout the day. I did wonder what would happen when I finally met my perfect match. I would have to go back to no makeup and wearing clothes from the men's department, I was sure. But I just decided, "don't borrow trouble from tomorrow". My Mom always said that, and now I understood why. After all, the clinic was turning me into her perfect mate, and so I would just have to trust that they understood what they were doing. I expected that, at some point, the program would change and I would be back to wearing men's clothes again. * * * "You know, you can use the woman's bathroom," said Ben. "Why would I do that?" I asked, confused. "I just mention it, because, you know, there's been so much in the news about who uses what bathroom." "Tell me about it," I rolled my eyes. "It's all just so ridiculous." "I know, right? So, I just wanted to say, I know we're in North Carolina and all, but I think it's perfectly okay for you to use the woman's restroom. Probably better, actually." This was such an odd conversation, I thought to myself. Ben seemed to *want* me to use the woman's restroom. "Thanks, Ben, but you know, since I live so close and walk home for lunch, I haven't needed to use the bathroom in a long time." "Well, if you ever do, then go ahead and use the woman's room." "Okay, if you say so." This was clearly an uncomfortable topic for Ben, so I made sure to give him my best, friendly smile. * * * In the evenings I would often stop and linger in the department store, sometimes shopping but just as often just browsing and talking to the sales ladies. It was relaxing for me, just being in the store and looking through outfits, even if I didn't purchase anything. I started branching out to other stores as well, there were a few boutiques and women's clothing stores within walking distance. All of the ladies were so nice and gave me such wonderful service. Of course, it probably helped that I was always on the prowl for the perfect item to complete an outfit. They all knew I was a serious shopper. When I got home in the evening, I would usually shower, to 'wash off the work day'. I always felt so fresh and alert once I had my early evening shower. After my shower (with a shower cap to protect my hair, of course) I would then re-apply my makeup for an evening look and then I would (finally!) get to wear a dress. Just putting on my dress for the evening - oh, it was such a pleasure. It was like I could finally be myself, it just *felt* right. It completed me, somehow. I would look in the mirror and everything would just work - the makeup, the hair, the shoes, the accessories, and the dress. And I would smile and twirl and just take a deep breath. I would then usually spend some time on the modification computer going through more scenarios, then take a break for dinner and some cleaning, and then go back for a longer session. Around ten PM I would be done for the evening and I would wash off my makeup, do my evening skin-care regime, and then snuggle into a nightgown and go to bed. Nightgowns. Did I mention about nightgowns? Yes, I was wearing them to bed. My character in the computer was always wearing nightgowns to bed, and I really wanted to try it, so I bought some from the department store and started wearing them to bed. I had a couple of baby-dolls, a sumptuous long satin gown, and a comfy flannel gown. And so I would snuggle in bed and then drift off to sleep, usually dreaming of my character and how she was going to be going out with Tom for the evening, or how they were spending the evening at home, or how she was eagerly learning a new dish to cook for him. * * * My character was getting ready for a nice night out with Tom. After showering, doing her hair, putting on lingerie (including a slip, this time) and doing her makeup, she unzipped and stepped into her dress. "Tom?" she called out. "Yes?" Tom said, appearing the door. "Could you zip me up?" "My pleasure," he said. Tom walked behind my character and I could hear the zipper closing. "Oh, I wish I had a man to do that for me," I whispered to myself. I could almost feel Tom, pulling the zipper up the back of my own dress, closing the bodice of the dress snug around my body and then fastening the hook at the back of the collar. What a pleasure that would be! Later in that scenario, we were walking home from the restaurant. My character was wearing a light sweater, but you could tell she was feeling chilled in the cool night air. "Here, let me," Tom said, taking off his jacket and draping around her shoulders. "Thank you Tom," I said, gratefully, as my character looked him in the eyes. "My pleasure," Tom said, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me close. * * * By now my face was fully healed and I could finally see what it looked like, what my perfect mate wanted. And I had to admit it was a beautiful face. Bright and friendly with wide, interested eyes and a cute, good- natured smile. It still looked like me, but a softer, narrower, more cheerful and more wholesome version of me. And with makeup, I mean, WOW, I looked amazing. Like, magazine-cover beautiful. Makeup really brought out the feminine aspects of my face. With it on, I certainly looked like a 'Melissa', much more than a 'Paul'. But that didn't bother me. After all, I wouldn't be wearing makeup once my program was over. I would be back to being Paul, albeit with a softer, more buoyant face for my perfect mate. My voice was still a problem, though. It had settled into a light mezzo- soprano and absolutely refused to get any lower or more masculine. When I tried to speak lower and more gruff it came out sounding ridiculous, so I just gave up. Whatever. I was sure that, once the program was over and I was ready to meet my perfect mate, the clinic would fix it. * * * Chapter 7 Sometime, about a week after I returned to work from my surgery, a new type of movie scenario was introduced to my modification program. It started with just intimate situations. Tom and my character standing outside her door, kissing. Or Tom and my character on the sofa together, sitting close and making out. These were nice, and I watched as my character and Tom would snuggle together and kiss, sometime