Life Imitates Art - The Body Suit: Part 1 free porn video

Life Imitates Art: The Body Suit Diana Kimberly Heche +++++++ Chapter 1: Opportunity Knocks "Monica, I'm glad you're here. Sit over there please. Gentlemen, show her what we have." Monica Paulson's surprise to find the office filled with R&D Lab Coats scribbling on white boards, punching numbers into iPads, stopped her mid- stride. Despite her best efforts the suddenness of her halt caused her carefully piled blonde locks to loosen and fall onto her face. She swept them aside with a quick stroke of her hand as she took in the scene. Ten steps into CEO Kelly Latham's office she still found herself standing in the middle of the room far from Kelly's overlarge desk, adorned with life size statues of Napoleon and Alexander the Great on either side of the steel and glass monstrosity she sat behind. In fact, the entire room down to the animal rugs and paintings of Roman gladiators screamed hopelessly overdone. Monica wondered, not for the first, how someone dubbed "America's leading tastemaker" could have such shockingly poor taste herself. No, that's not exactly right, she thought to herself. Kelly Latham did not spearhead the wildly successful Counter Punch brand clothing, shoe and make ups lines by having horrible taste. No, Latham understood and anticipated current trends better than arguably anyone. Genius was a word oft used about her, and having worked with her for years, Monica was not inclined to disagree. She corrected herself: it is the presentation of Kelly's power and wealth - intentionally masculine, overbearing and meant to cow dismissive male counterparts - not her taste, that lacked any subtlety or grace. Monica took a chair against the western wall of the room. "Ms. Latham. What in the world is happening here? You don't usually ..." Monica searched for a diplomatic turn of phrase somewhat better than 'rub elbows with the lab rats' ... "interest yourself in the research aspect of the company." "No, I don't," Kelly confirmed. She stood from behind her desk. Her graceful feminine form just emphasized how much she was at odds with the aggressively masculine d?cor that she chose. Her leather brown bobbed hair framed her immaculately made up face. She was petite in frame and stature, slightly disguised by her ever-present six-inch heels and partialness to the Counter Punch brand's - her clothing line - tight tops and form fitting skirts. All the women in the company were. As it was constantly emphasized around here: "You're an advert. If Kelly makes the clothes, you wear the clothes," and Kelly Latham did not make conservative clothes. Approaching Monica, the CEO held two pictures of a woman in her hands. "Monica, these are untouched pictures. Carefully, how old is this woman?" Monica studied the pictures for a moment. It didn't take long for her to formulate a guess, her preternatural attention to detail is one of the reasons she held such a high position in the company. "She's athletic. This woman takes exceptional care of her skin, that is clear. And she has had numerous procedures by what could only be one of the top cosmetic surgeons around. Flawless. Everything about her face would say late thirties - " Kelly frowned and was about to speak before Monica cut in to continue, "I'm not done. But ... but ... if you look at what we call the 'trouble spots', those that plastic surgery has yet to learn to disguise - the hands and the inner neck - and you will see the tell-tale signs of a woman older. I say even two decades older." The clothing magnate smiled. "Exactly. Exactly right." The way Kelly Latham emphasized "exactly" told Monica she was onto more than she knew. The CEO called over to one of the R&D men, "I'm sorry, what was your name again?" "Lars, ma'am. Lars Otterweil." "Yes, of course, 'Lars'. Lars. Bring the glove and sleeve over here if you would. Thank you." The bearded man brought over, what to Monica's eyes, look like a paper- thin tubular sleeve and an equally paper-thin glove, both the color of translucent skin. Upon closer inspection, Monica noted the glove was equipped with French tipped nails. So, these were body covers of some kind. "Put them on please." "Ma'am?" Kelly's voice held with a steady patience, but to Monica's more familiar ear it was the sound of someone unused to having her requests questioned. "I would like to demonstrate this great work your team has done. Now put on the glove and neck sleeve please." "I. Uh ... But this will ..." Giving up and understanding his place on the food chain, he pulled the surprisingly elastic sleeve over his head adjusting it for a few moments on his neck before it was in place. He slid his hand into equally flesh like female glove. Although both fit snugly, there were bits that hung loosely. Equally unimpressive the color of Lars' tanned skin looked odd through the false skin giving the whole effect a weird plastic sheen, like a mannequin wrapped in cellophane. Kelly held up one finger to Monica indicating to hold her comments. "Now the sealer please." Standing before the owner of Counter Punch or not, Lars let out a low unpleasant groan. Holding small handled device housing a blue light emitting lamp, Lars slowly moved the heated light up and down across his neck, before doing the same on his female gloved hand. Each swing of the lamp tightened the translucent material until they fit like second skin taking on Lars' natural skin tone but hiding the blotches and imperfection seen earlier. It was a truly odd sight, like a Frankenstein monster with flawlessly added patches of female skin. "Mr. Otterweil. Could you explain to Ms. Paulson why you were so hesitant to apply these appendages?" Despite his obvious discomfort, or perhaps as a way of keeping his mind off it, Lars voice took on a tone of excitement and pride as he explained, "It will stay attached, virtually unremovable for up to twenty days. The beauty of this material is it bonds on a near cellular level with the upper epidermal layer in a manner that makes much more than a second skin. It allows the skin to breathe by bypassing pore blockage also allowing the continuance of the process of shedding the .003 skin flakes per hour. So, there is no undue build up -" "Thanks Lars," Kelly interrupted, "we want to keep it simple. What Lars is getting at is this material is as good as skin. No smell, full sensation and it breathes while it clings to you unnoticeably. It is an artificial new layer of skin, basically. One that hides imperfections such a blemishes or age. And because of the manner of adherence, you are wearing it for near a month, hence his groaning. Lars will have one perfectly manicured female hand for a few weeks." Monica involuntarily made a sharp intake of breath. "That's ... that's ..." Kelly finished the sentence for her, "The most important cosmetic advancement of our lifetime? Piles of money in our coffers? An incredible advancement in science? Yes, yes, it is." She turned to the room of lab workers. "If you'll excuse us gentlemen, Monica and I need to discuss the commercial applications." ++++++++++ With the science team gone the formality loosened a bit. Monica removed her pumps rubbing her feet. "Never figured out how you walk in these sky- high stilts ten hours a day. I need a break every few." Kelly smiled. "You've been one of my most trusted execs for years now. But the difference between us is you wear the clothes. I make them. I live them. They are a direct extension of me." "Fair enough." She slid back into work mode "So, this neck and glove thing is quite fantastic. Are there associated products? Has marketing seen this? Can this be applied at home or are rolling this out to cosmetic medical professionals? And what price point are we talking about?" "All good questions, to be answered in time," Kelly was leaning with her arm on the shoulder of the life size Bonaparte statue as if it were an old friend rather than a gaudy office piece. "but the glove and neck are small potatoes. Starter items. I'm thinking big: full body suit. Something from the neck all the way down to the toes." "Okay. So, we're putting sixty-year-old women in skin suits and their bikini bodies look like their twenty or thirty again. There's unlimited money in that. But cutting-edge epidermal adhesive second skin tech, I don't know the science, but that's got to be pricey. I imagine that's the sticking point." "It is. Fine luxury car expensive over the course of a year as each suit is only good for less than a month." The Counter Punch's leader paused for a long moment. "I have a work around, though. It's a bit unorthodox and it skirts the boundaries of ethics, but we can play that by ear. To enter the testing phase all I need is an out work actor. Preferably a bad actor." Monica scrunched her face in puzzlement. "I'm sorry. I thought you said, 'an out of work bad actor'?" "I did. But that's not perfectly correct. What I meant to say is I need 'an out of work male bad actor.'" ++++++++++ Seated behind a small folding table, the casting director looked up from her call sheet to the man standing before her. "Coleman Conner Cook?" "That's me. Yes." "Interesting name. Alliterative. Given or stage?" "Well, I legally changed it so a little of both? Felix Korgenmeister didn't have the same ... shall we say ... pop." "Same 'pop'. Ok. Great. Listen. Read just what's on the page. Single line. It's a commercial read, regular man off the street. So, we're not looking for your acting chops. Just your ability to be relatable. Almost non- acting acting. Got it? Ok. When you're ready." Closing his eyes, in what was an almost delicate motion, Coleman pushed some disobedient red strands of hair out of his face and straightened his posture. He knows what they said but he was the actor not them and he knew what he needed, and that was to be in the space, the zone, to feel what this character feels, to not just mimic the character but to know the internal life of the man who stood before these casting directors, to inhabit the character's very essence. After a long moment he opened his eyes again and began, "When you eat like I do, heartburn is part of the game." "Coleman?" "Yes?" "Could you not do that thing with your hands? The waiving around. It's a little Shakespeare in the Park for our needs. You've already got a good look. We just need you to read what you see. Normal. No flourishes.' Ok. Again." So. He couldn't use his hands. No problem. But he could still make them feel he was a man whose battle with heartburn defined him, a lifelong battle with no real relief in sight, the heartburn was ... Coleman smiled at his own cleverness ... also heartache. He began again, "When you eat like I do, heartburn - dare I say it! - is part of the game." "Yeah. Um. That was ... that was really ... we ...um, we have your information, right? If it works out, we'll get in contact. Tell the next one to come in on your way out please." +++++++++ Coleman opened his apartment door halfway, careful not to swing it too hard or the things lining his tiny apartment hallway would come crashing to the floor again. He turned himself at an angle to wedge past and step over the massive volume of items that made his home not quite a hoarder's paradise, but not far away either. Ducking and weaving through - not looking dissimilar to someone engaged in dodge ball - he crossed the few feet to the living room. Upon his entry Laurie, his girlfriend - long suffering girlfriend she would jokingly tell you - looked up expectantly, her large brown eyes searching his face for clues. Unable to read his expression, she just came out and asked, "How it go? You got it right?" "Well, honestly, they looked at me like I shit on the floor right in front of them. I think I went too deep for what they wanted. So ... I think I'll say, 'not so much'. But they did like my look. And that's something right?" "That's something," Laurie repeated distractedly before her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. Coleman knew this look, it was when she was deciding whether to tell him something. She unceremoniously shoved some old Entertainment Weekly's off the couch making a patting motion for him to sit. She reached over and swung her laptop onto her crossed legs. "I know you say a job is a problem because it takes time away from your acting classes and auditions. But things are starting to get tight around here. We'll get by, we always do, but look at this," Laurie pointed to the website and began reciting the crucial bullet points. Coleman realized at that moment that he may not having been looking for work, but Laurie was certainly looking for him. Things must be worse than he thought. "Look. Look at this. It's an opening at the designer Sucker Punch - " "'Counter Punch' ..." Coleman marveled at how someone with even a passing knowledge of popular culture could not know about the Counter Punch clothing line, but that was his Laurie. "Counter Punch is looking for fledgling actors to do various TV and movie stand ins as well as some non-acting jobs while wearing their clothes. As much product placement as acting, really, but it gets your foot in the door." "That's great Laurie, but last I checked Counter Punch clothes were for women. It's the whole brand, counter punching against 'the man' or whatever." "No, no. It says here they are looking for a male actor. 20 to 30 years of age, available for a long-term commitment. Product placement? Long term commitment. Coleman was an actor, not a clothes horse. He wasn't willing to compromise his craft in the face of fashion or money. He was about to dismiss the idea, but the look on Laurie's face - barely disguised disappointment undoubtedly brought about by their financial situation - gave him pause. "Let me see that." Laurie swung her arms around him hugging him tightly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Coleman cautioned, "if my auditions have taught us anything ..." ++++++++++ Monica Paulson looked across the table at the latest applicant. Her irritation was well tamped down, never to reveal itself, but her demeanor didn't disguise she thought this job was better suited for human resources, not an executive of her stature. But a project this sensitive, and yes, nominally unethical in concept, was best suited for a more delicate, knowing hand. And the fewer people in on the core motivation driving this potential hiring, the better. With an imperceptible shake of the head, she returned to the task at hand. His physical profile fit: slight of build, not too tall, small of hands and feet, not unusually hairy, although that could always be worked around. But would he fit the mental profile? That, even with the criteria carefully laid out by Kelly, would prove difficult to discern. Interviewees are too much fa?ade and hidden motivation. She would just have to go with her gut. "Coleman Connor Cook. That's - " "- alliterative with a certain pop? Yes, I've been told." Monica had been interviewing struggling bad actors for two days now, and to a man they were special creatures. But she could tell already this one was going to be the most interesting piece of work yet. But that may just work in her favor. "I was going to say, 'your name', since you printed it on the first address line and left the name space blank." "I was nervous. Sorry. I've not much experience with applications ... or interviews. Now auditions on the other hand ..." Coming into the interview Monica knew Coleman Connor Cook, the man with the proudly alliterative name that 'popped', wasn't getting work as an actor. Some quick phone calls told her why: he wasn't very good. It was, along with financial need, one of the reasons he was picked as an interviewee. "No need to be nervous. Just tell me about yourself." Coleman began a bit unsteadily building momentum as he went through his biography. Monica half listened for clues as to who this man was, but it was fair to say, this was an unremarkable tale of an unremarkable man. Perfect. He will surely find the allure of working so closely to the "business" to be irresistible. "Two questions Coleman. Can you type? While much of the work will put you briefly on screen, there is a heavy clerical component. Dual roles, if you will. And two: will being around industry power people make you nervous?" This line was inserted as part of the hook. Every new actor thinks they are one day away from being discovered if they can just get close enough to the people who make the call. "we need you to keep your cool when you represent us on set, no gaping mouths or selfie requests." "Yes and no ... no, cool as cucumber." He earnestly said the words, "cool as cucumber," Monica noted with detached amusement. It was time to reel him in. "We have an opening. The hours are long, a lot of clerical and, frankly, grunt work - chasing down dry cleaning for executives, grabbing takeout, etc. - but I promise you, no one will ever demean you. And long hours or not, as promised, we will still give you time to," she paused to keep herself from choking on the phrase, "hone your craft." She slid a piece of paper across the desk. It felt theatrical, but it was important he had something concrete. Something he could show to loved ones and friends. The numbers were absurdly high, and Monica argued with Kelly over the wisdom of such an outlay. "It's an experiment yes, but it is an experiment built around a trap, remember," the Counter Punch exec had told her at the time, "and no trap is any good without enough honey." "Is this ... is this for real?" Coleman could not believe what he was seeing. "It is real. In fact, I like you Coleman. You seem like a smart go getter. I'm willing to forgo the rest of the candidates offer you the job now, if you are willing." "Y...y...yes, yes of course. Thank you. Thank you. You won't regret this." Monica stood up and shook his hand. "Okay, talk to the woman sitting outside my office, she'll get you to human resources to get your information on file. And we'll start you in two, two and a half weeks." As Coleman left the room the company motto flashed through her mind once again: "You're an advert. If Kelly makes the clothes, you wear the clothes." She wondered somewhat darkly how Coleman would take to his CP brand style clothes. A little less naturally than she did, she suspected. Monica picked up the phone and hit the speed dial for Kelly. "Time will tell but I think we've found our man." +++++++ Coleman stood in the lobby waiting. He was too nervous to sit and the receptionist watchful eye, undoubtedly due to his incessant pacing, was making him more so. Finally, a tall black-haired woman with warm brown skin wearing what had to be the most revealing outfit to ever grace a work place, came striding toward him with purpose. She extended her hand. "Coleman Cook? I am Bethesda Harris. I'll be walking you through the first day here." "I prefer Coleman Conner Cook, to be honest. It has a certain pop to it." "Well, that's a mouthful. Are you comfortable with just 'Coleman'?" He nodded. He would have to be. She placed her hand between his shoulder blades for just a moment to guide him through the lobby's swinging doors into the heart of the company. "Coleman. I see you signed the nondisclosure agreement we sent to you, but did anyone bother to go over the terms?" "I did mostly read it. But no one has talked to me about it, no." Conner walked briskly, occasionally guided to turn this way and that, marveling at the size of the labyrinth that was the Counter Punch California headquarters. "The terms of our nondisclosures are stringent, so I want you to understand clearly. Discussion of anything you see, hear, smell, taste, learn or intuit in any fashion, does not leave these walls. You see a coworker wearing a sweater that hasn't gone to market, and you discuss it with your wife, husband, girlfriend, boyfriend, dog, ferret, gerbil, best friend or worse enemy and we sue you so badly your great grandchildren belong to us. Not to sound threatening, but it is important you know we're talking a lifetime of crushing debt. And no one wants that." Coleman could barely hide his chill. "I understand." He wondered what kind of clothing styles would require this level of security. Turning a few more hallway corners he was about to find out. They left the office complex portion of the structure and after a long walk down cinderblock corridors found themselves in what was clearly the testing or lab section. Bethesda pushed through two swinging doors into what uncannily resembled a medical theater. Three women in lab coats stood waiting expectantly. Coleman felt a free-floating anxiety that he couldn't put his finger on. "This is not at all what I expected, to be honest." Coleman said. "Don't worry, we're preparing you for your first commercial later today," Bethesda assured, nodding to the women who set off in motion. "But first we size your costume. It's a simple premise. Way before your time, when most women wore pantyhose, there was a very specific pantyhose commercial: a camera slowly scanned up a pair of shapely legs and - lo and behold - it's the legs of Superbowl III winner quarterback Joe Namath. His tagline was, and I paraphrase, 'If these pantyhose can make my legs look this good, imagine what they can do for yours'." She continued, "We have a high-tech bodysuit ... skin suit ... that can make most anyone's skin looks near feminine and flawless. And in this scenario, you're Joe Namath," adding, as specifically instructed by CEO Kelly Latham to appeal to the outsized artistic ego, "that is why we chose an actor of your quality. Lesser actors would not be able to pull this off." One of the lab coated women approached Coleman holding what was undoubtedly the skin suit. "This process may be a little embarrassing even intrusive, but we're all physicians and it is nothing we haven't seen or done before. Just relax and we'll have you fitted in no time. Now please, step behind the partition there and get completely undressed." Doing as bid Coleman stepped out of sight wondering what kind of place marches a man into a lab to strip down naked before even showing him where the coffee room was. He concentrated on the money ... on the look of pride and relief his girlfriend Laurie gave him knowing their debt was being lifted. And, brief appearance or not, this was going to be an actual filmed commercial to add to his resume. His first real acting job. "Step out please," Bethesda's voice was utterly professional talking him through the process. "The substance they are wiping you down with is to remove excess hair. It is important that you are smooth to model the product as closely as it will be to the buying audience." The women slowly wiped the gel from his body, running their hands in an almost sensual manner over his entire body to make sure nothing was missed. Their fingers against the silkiness of his newly sleek body felt good to the touch. He moved his mind quickly away onto other things. It would not due to become aroused in this situation. After what seemed an eternity of checking, they seemed satisfied. The women carefully slid Coleman's freshly shaven legs into legs of the suit. Again, he notedly distractedly how good it felt against his skin. One of the women started to reach for his penis, then thinking better of it, pointed first. "May I?" "M-m-may you?" Coleman stuttered. "May you what exactly?" Bethesda stepped in again. "Your specific suit is tailored made for you, differing from the women's version in a few significant ways. We will need to insert your penis in a sheath, so you can do use the bathroom while wearing it. You'll find the nether regions very closely mimic that of the vaginal region, so it will be advisable you urinate while sitting." "Spread your legs please," taking Bethesda's explanation as permission the technician inserted his penis into a small tube pulling it tightly between his legs before the other two slid the suit over his butt just above the belly button before stopping. He made a mental note there was slight padding in his rear. One of the women spoke up, "I'm not going to sugar coat this. This next part is a tad intrusive. Just do the best you can to touch your toes." Now simply stunned and following orders, Coleman reached all the way down to his toes. Even in this semi-shocked state he took an abstracted pride in his flexibility. The woman continued, "in order for you to defecate properly, and the suit to remain completely seamless, we need to insert another sheath and anchor it into the rectal passage way," as she was speaking, she was slowly working a lubed gloved finger in and out of Coleman's hole. She worked in and out, in an almost sexual manner before inserting a second finger widening it further and pushing that deeper and deeper as well. Was this a part of it, or were these women getting a stealthy thrill as Coleman was being purposely finger fucked? In any case, he had never felt anything go up his canal before. The rhythmic motion combined with the filling pressure of her fingers going deeper and deeper - was that a third? - felt embarrassingly good. He was glad now that his tingling penis was wedged so firmly between his legs keeping it from growing in the manner it strained to do now. He could only hope he didn't explode. After many long moments - was she caressing his cheek with her opposite hand as well? - she finished, and to his red-faced dismay he could have sworn he caught her smiling. The third physician slid a band, about the size and shape of a tube top bra, around his mid-section, covering his entire torso just below what on a woman would be her bra line. It was made up of the same seamless material as the body suit. "This ingenious device is a bit different. It works half like a corset and half like a child's Chinese finger trap toy. Just move your upper body back and forth until we tell you to stop. It will start significantly tightening. Don't mind it though, you'll get used to it over time." "Like this?" Coleman inquired rotating his torso. "Perfect." With each half rotation Coleman felt his middle become squeezed until he was highly uncomfortable. Even moving at this point was leaving him short of breath and slightly light headed. "Almost there. Keep going. Keep going. Keep going. Good done." The woman ran a hand held blue light device over the back of the corset sleeve, it tightened a touch more, but none after that. Looking down, still breathing in an uncomfortable manner, he saw that his middle had been drawn in tight. Combined with the padded hips and false vagina built into the lower section of the suit and he had a decidedly feminine, highly concave, lower form. "Okay," Bethesda announced, "that was the hard part. Now we just slip you into the rest of the suit, seal it, and we're done." The lab coated women worked quickly and efficiently at this point sliding the remainder of the suit up to his neckline, taking special care that the placement of the suit's breast pads (another special addition to his version) were seated evenly and at the correct height, before running the blue light over the entirety of the encasement sealing it seamlessly. Wheeling out a full-size mirror one of the lab's women told him to "Take a look. Amazing science, right?" Amazing was spectacularly understating the aesthetics of this suit. Still adjusting to his squeezed internal organs, Coleman looked at himself in the mirror. His head and face were as much Coleman's as ever, but his body ... his body was that of an almost exaggerated hourglass shaped, flawlessly skinned woman without a touch of hair on her body. This womanly body in the mirror, with her immaculate red polished sheened toes and her French tipped nailed hands and full bouncing breasts and wide hips, were so perfectly situated it was impossible for Coleman to know where he began and the suit ended. Bethesda had been watching him intently as he watched himself. "We'll get you dressed, and then head to hair and makeup. Take these. Woman's body, woman's clothes. You can go behind the screen again. If you need any help, and you may, just holler." Bethesda handed him a folded pile of clothes. Sitting down behind the partition, Coleman separated the clothes and dressed. The skin suit, as strange as it and its application was, didn't feel like something covering his body. He had expected it to deaden his sense of touch, but if anything, it enhanced it. He pulled out the pantyhose and boy cut laced panties pausing for a moment. Did the panties go on before the pantyhose, or did the panties go on after? He tried to think of the girls he'd undressed over his life and came up blank. Women in this warm weather part of the county didn't wear hose much, and if they did, he must have been too anxious to get between their legs to notice the order. Panties first then. Sliding the hose up his legs felt surprisingly good, a pleasurable sensation that he had not known before. The red lycra skirt was a bit tight but sat flatteringly against his newly formed hips and slightly enhanced behind. There. Bottom section done. Now to move on to the top. He placed his arms into the bra straps moving the cups over his mounds, before struggling to buckle the tiny clasps. He hesitated to ask for help, realizing how silly it was to become modest now after having his penis handled and - there was no other term for - his bottom sensually finger banged. "A little help please." Bethesda slipped behind the medical privacy screen. "I figured it would be the bra," she stood behind Coleman standing motionless for a moment. "Can I test something?" it was more of an announcement of intent than an asking of permission. Pushing firmly against Coleman and taking both his breasts in her hands, she asked just above a whisper "Can you feel that?" Once again his penis ... vagina ..? began to tingle. As quickly as this inappropriate moment began, it ceased, and Bethesda stepped away quickly fastening his bra. "I ... oddly I can. My bottom, despite being padded fully. And in my chest ... in my breasts I guess they are, a good bit but not all the way. Strange I can feel anything at all." Bethesda, "Science my friend. Okay good start. Things seem to be working and that sensation will increase," she held two pair of heels in either hands, "four-inch wedges or five-inch heels? Both may be a bit too high, but we need to get you worked up to six at least. Any experience in heels?" Coleman shook his head. He was vaguely amused that Bethesda made no assumptions that he may not. "The wedges then. They're a bit lower and will provide more stability. Be careful still." Coleman put on the black scoop blouse he was provided noting offhandedly that the bra must be quite the push up, because his breasts were lifted and pushed together dramatically, all but spilling from his top. He slid his feet one at a time into the wedge heels admitting to himself that the curve of his arch and the exposed ruby red polish was pleasing to the eye. With the long nails he now sported he found the small buckles a bit hard to manage, but eventually triumphed. He stood tentatively taking a step. There was a bit of a wobble, and he swayed a touch as he balanced, but Bethesda was right the shoes were proving stable. Walking from behind the divider taking much smaller steps than a woman practiced in the art of heels would, he approached them. "I guess I'm ready for the next part?" "I guess you are." ++++++++ Monica could hear the pouring rain from her side of the phone. It must have been a torrential near hurricane storm that hit southern Florida more often these days. Looking out of her office window at a near perfect day on the outskirts of Los Angeles, Monica strained to remember the last time it rained here. "All the way to Florida and I guess golf is off then?" Monica said. "I didn't know you even liked golf." "I don't," her boss explained, "hate it in fact. But I've become good at it. Too many deals are cut on the golf course for me to push it aside." Kelly Latham switched to the burning topic at hand. "So, our body suit. Tell me about our man's ... as much as he remains one ..." Kelly chucked, "tell me about his first day." "Not much to report so far. He arrived this morning and by all accounts is moving through the process with minimal friction. Amazing considering what we're putting him through. We'll know more later in the day when he finds out about the suit's more ... let's say ... lasting properties." Monica allowed herself a moment to imagine what chaos the end of Coleman's day would bring, before pressing Kelly on the information she had been holding back since the suit reveal meeting. "Kelly. You told me there were some ethical concerns about this second skin. It is one of the reasons you had me go through the unorthodox method of placing a male in one? Do you want to tell me more about it now? It's probably time." "Sure. You're right. I guess it is time to let you in on it. Plus, I've nothing but time on hands right now. Drinking away your tee time in the club house with a bunch of other braggadocio CEOs is not as glamorous as it sounds." Latham launched into her explanation, "There more to the skin suit than just the suit, itself. Although it becomes micro thin and bonds to the person's skin, and all but becomes the skin, it is still a thin membrane covering the body. Hence the drastic cosmetic improvement The issue with that is - " "Sensitivity." Monica inserted. "Sensitivity," Kelly confirmed, "the solution was adding a chemical - patent pending - into the suit's mixture which heightens nerve reception in the areas it comes in contact. So instead of blocking feeling, it actually increases it." "And ...?" "And while it is not chemically addictive in the short term - we clearly haven't had it long enough to do any long-range studies - there is some speculation that it could be psychologically so. If you feel pleasure more deeply, it may prove difficult to go back to normal." She was silent with her thoughts for a moment before continuing, "It can be argued that this is a feature as opposed to a side effect, we can let Legal lawyer than one out. Even so, unlike many chemical additions, psychological ones vary wildly from person to person and we still need to know what we're dealing with." Monica understood so far, but still had one question. "Why test it on a man then? And if you were going to the trouble of modifying the suit, why not just make a male version?" "Call it a perverted control of sorts. Make a fifty-year-old woman look thirty something, give her flawless skin and you will never be able to separate the allure of looking young again against the pull of the nerve enhancement chemical. Same with men looking like young men, to be honest. Hell, even with young women the suit would make them look like they applied perfect body make up from head to toe. Too many powerful variables, and vanity is the most powerful of them all. But if a man in a female second skin wants to forfeit his way of life to put it on again after the month is up, well, you know there's something strong at work." "That's - " "Unethical mad scientist stuff? Maybe. But we must know. There's too much money to be had to leave anything to chance. In fact, in a few more weeks, we'll start new male trials. We'll want to get a bigger sample and rule out any tendencies specific to this Coleman guy. I mean, what if it turns out he secretly wants to be a woman or hates his old life or, or, or? We need to control for that as well," in the background there was a booming voice. Kelly, clearly covering the phone receiver, said a few unintelligible things before returning to the conversation. "Monica. Have to go. They're in there telling war stories in there. I must show them what a successful CEO really sounds like. I'll catch up when I'm back in town." Monica placed her phone on her desk throwing her nylon encased legs up with it. She reflected on the conversation. Coleman Connor Cook's hip pads, breasts, anal tube and false vagina were a thickened version of the second skin material. Parts he never had before were going to be more sensitive potentially than even their female biological counterpart. I wonder what kind of man we'll find at the end of these twenty-something days? But first things first. We must tell him it's twenty-something days. +++++++++++ Monica caught up with Conner in the make up chair outside of the stage set up for the commercial. Except there was no commercial, it was all part of the ruse set up to keep their lab rat on the hook. "What do you think?" The makeup artist asked, spinning the chair so Conner now faced Monica. "Stand up Conner." Monica was without words. It was one thing to know about the suit, she had, after all, seen its dramatic effect on the R&D worker Lars' arm in Kelly's office, but it was another to see someone completely transformed so dramatically from man to woman - and a stunning woman at that. The lean, shapely nylon clad legs, perfectly arched pedicured feet stretched up to meet a round pleasing butt hidden in no way by a tight red lycra skirt. Conner's hips flared out before swooping in strikingly accenting a tiny waistline and a taut firm stomach. That tapering made the breasts, a C cup pushed up and padded verging on a D, stand out in a scooped neck clingy blouse, that much more. The facial skin was a flawless as the skin of the bodysuit, with a hint of blush on the cheeks. The long eyelashes were certainly fake, and unknowing to Conner, undoubtedly fastened to last for weeks, with a light brown shimmering eyeshadow accented by black eyeliner that brought out the green color in the eyes. His brows were shaped into high arches, clearly plucked - I wonder how they got him to agree to that? - and his lips were glossed deep red. His red hair, which was just below shoulder length before, was now woven and dyed into a long thick ruby mane. He was truly something to behold. And as if reading her mind, he spun surprisingly well on his heels, and did a little twirl. Always the actor. "Well? How do I look?" The makeup girl smiled behind her hand. "You look great Coleman. We'll do the shoot in a moment." Leaning against the far wall taking in the entire scene - Monica had a hard time reading exactly what her expression said - was Bethesda Harris, head of marketing research. "Bethesda?" Monica inquired, indirectly talking around the subject. There were people in the room not privy to information of this pay grade," Coleman seems ... um ... pleasantly... enthusiastic ... considering how difficult the process must have been." Bethesda was an exceptionally sharp woman, picking up on the subtext right away. "Oh. You've talked to Kelly about how 'special' the suit is. Good. Yes, our newest employee feels more deep satisfaction," Bethesda subtly emphasized 'deep satisfaction', "than our suit test indicated people would. I suspect in his case it's the concentration of material around certain parts." Monica's earlier speculation was right. The thickened breast and hip pads were dosing Conner with increased sensitivity. Sensitivity to the point of near euphoria. "Okay, yeah, let's start the 'shoot'." Monica pulled a choker from her purse. "Conner, put his on." He jangled the bracelets on his wrists. "To go with these, I guess." "Yes and no. Wear this where your Adam's apple would be if it showed. It's nifty little device. A choker doubling as a pitch modulator. It will take that voice of your up fair bit. Before we film, do some vocal exercises or something, so that you sound more feminine and less Chipmunk." Monica Paulson stood with Bethesda Harris out of earshot while the elaborate charade of the commercial spot took place. Coleman was reliably poor in his delivery as an actor, but to their great surprise, he made a very convincing woman. Monica speculated looking perfectly female meant the brain accepted him as perfectly female. Humans being visual creatures, the brain locked onto the physical characteristics ignoring more subtle clues to the contrary. It helped that Coleman was unexpectedly comfortable in the clothes. He wobbled a bit in his wedge heels, but no more say than your average college girl, and he had already taken to natural acts of behavior, like pulling his skirt down a tad when it tried to ride up his leg. In low tones Monica spoke to Bethesda, "Kelly Latham being Kelly Latham, means each of only got a piece of the puzzle. She likes to play it close to the vest. But we're getting close to the end of the day. Did you get any instruction on how this is going to play out?" "Play out?" "Yes, play out," Monica explained. "At some point we're going to have to tell him this is his life for the next twenty odd days." Bethesda pondered for a moment. "Yeah. No. I've been rolling it around in my mind, as I'm sure you have. I say we just act like he knew from the start - or at least he was supposed to know from the start." "That's good, that's good," Monica liked that approach. "We can appeal to that actor ego once again. He does seem quite full of himself." "Right? I mean look at him. He's not very good. Settled, then. We tell him. We rename him. And we put him to work as a clerical assistant." "An assistant with clerical duties. I'm probably splitting hairs, but one sits behind a desk all day, and the other's job will put him out into the world from time to time. Will be interesting to see how that goes." "Okay." The stage light dimmed and the filmless camera's light shut off. "Showtime." Bethesda waived Coleman over. "That was great Coleman, really great. Keep in mind that there are many more shoots to come." Nice hook thought Monica. She stepped in, "Now on to the general basics of what the rest of the job is made up of. You will be a floating assistant to various execs in the company. Bethesda and I will likely make up the bulk of your work at first." "And care for the second skin is pretty simple," Bethesda assured," Treat it just like normal skin, so you can shower and bathe as usual, although I would avoid seriously abrasive soaps or loofas just to be safe. Obviously, the hair removal means you won't need to shave for some time - and the eyelashes are heavily glued. So, no worry there either." "What?" Coleman injected. Monica plowed on, "Some things, I imagine, will take time to get used to. I would suggest, for example, sleeping on your side or back if your breasts cause some discomfort at night." "What?" Coleman asked again with increasing panic. "Oh. What is it?" Monica asked disingenuously. "You want us to repeat something or do you need us to go over the suit maintenance in more detail? I realize the inability to remove it for three weeks will be odd at first, but keep in mind - " The shoe dropped. "Wait right there!" Coleman spit out, now clearly panicked. "What do you mean 'inability to remove'? Are you saying that I am stuck like this? I've got a girlfriend. Neighbors. Parents. Siblings. How in the world is that supposed to work? I can't just hide in my apartment for three weeks. I have acting classes for god's sake." Monica raised her eyebrow. "Well on top of the second skin's requirements being in the contract you signed - I mean why do you think you're being paid so well - why would you even consider taking off the suit this month? I thought serious actors of your caliber all did Method? Did Bobby De Niro cease living as Jake LaMotta during the 'Raging Bull' filming just because the cameras stopped? Did Meryl Streep not inhabit Miranda Priestly night and day through the entire shoot of 'The Devil Wears Prada'? Sure, these commercial shoots will look good on your resume. Very good. But you will have lived the most challenging role - night and day - anyone possibly could. Any casting director after this will realize there is nothing in the world that you can't handle with skill." Even built on its absurd premise, it was a rousing speech. Bethesda didn't know whether to applaud or laugh out loud. "Live the role? Yes ... of course ... live the role. Be the character. It, it makes a kind of sense." So, it made sense to him. Or the chemicals in the suit made it seem that way. Monica didn't care which. They were going to pull this off. For now, at least. She added the final touch: "I dub thee 'Kayla Cameron Cook', your only name from here out." "Kayla Cameron Cook," Cameron now Kayla said almost to himself. Then louder: "It does have a certain pop, doesn't it?" Bethesda smiled. "It certainly does Kayla, it certainly does."