Womanized

by Nikki Crescent

  I signed quickly without reading. I had no intention of returning my unit. I had the last two months to regret the massive cost of the thing, and in that time I only became more excited about getting it into my house. It was another ten minutes before I was finished with the paperwork. I was practically jumping up and down like a child at Christmas when she finally handed me the heavy box containing my simulation unit.

  Unfortunately, the cab driver really did leave the tab running. The fare was already up to ninety dollars and we still had the long drive home. Maybe I should have taken the bus. Maybe my excitement was getting the better of me. “Sorry about that,” I said to the driver. “They needed me to do some paperwork—”

  “—Where to?” he asked, cutting me off.

  “Just take me home,” I said. The final fare was $135.95—too much, considering the bus would have cost me $3.50.

  The elevator in my building was slow, and I saw that it was up on the eighth floor when I ran into my building. So I ran up the stairs of my building, up to my apartment on the sixth floor. I practically crashed through the door and went straight to my kitchen, to grab a knife to get my simulator out from its box.

  Inside the cardboard box was a fancy carbon fiber case, with a little programmable lock and a fancy Smith Gadgets logo. I opened the box carefully, exposing that silver and blue unit, with all of the little cords in little bags. Under the unit was the helmet, which was uncomfortable to put on, but once in the simulation, it didn’t matter.

  I brought everything to my bedroom. I already had the nightstand cleared for the unit—though the unit looked much bigger in my room than it did at the lab. It was hanging over all the sides of my nightstand—but it wouldn’t fall over as long as I didn’t bump it.

  I plugged everything in and got all of the tedious cables hooked up. My heart was pounding. With the flick of a switch, I would back in my realistic fantasy world—hopefully back in that green room with those Japanese twins. And if I had to play out that first part of the simulation again, that was okay too. I didn’t mind the roar of the crowd either. I liked the feeling that swirled inside of my chest when I saw the girl in the front row crying because she was so happy to see me in the flesh.

  I got onto my bed with the helmet secured tightly on my head. I reached over and set the simulator to run for one hour. I remembered Ellen telling me that one hour was equivalent to three hours of simulation. She told me to start with ten minute increments—thirty minutes of simulation time—but that wasn’t enough to get from the stage, into that green room, and into the asshole of that Japanese beauty. With three hours, I could take my time. I could fuck both girls and then maybe I could take in a few sights before it was time to pack things up.

  But before I pressed the big green button on the side of the unit, I remembered that anxiety that I felt when reality started catching up to me. I remembered how sick I felt when I started to question my own existence. Maybe ten minutes was safer. I’d read some horror stories online about guys who legitimately lose their minds in their simulations. Whenever they played the ad on TV for the simulators, they played the warning: “Please use your simulation unit responsibly.”

  So I set the unit to twenty minutes—that was one hour in my fantasyland. Sure, it was twice what Ellen recommended, but I figured she was just trying to cover all of her bases. I could handle one hour as a rock star.

  I pressed that green button and I got myself comfortable. I closed my eyes and waited for the simulation to start. I took a few deep breaths. Any second now… Why wasn’t it starting? Was my unit broken? I tried counting down the seconds. It wasn’t supposed to take more than a minute—but I counted ninety seconds, and I was still just lying there, feeling nothing. In the lab, I remembered feeling a tingling in my head. Why wasn’t I feeling that tingling now?

  Did I buy a bum unit? Did I have to send it in for repairs? Did Ellen hate my guts so much that she sabotaged my unit so that I would have to waste my time having it sent in for repairs? I vaguely remembered seeing on that form that repairs can take six to twelve weeks. I didn’t want to wait six to twelve week. I sat up, feeling frustrated I wanted to throw that helmet against the wall. I wanted to go back to that lab and bust down the door so that I could chew Ellen out. So I wasn’t a doctor or a physicist or an engineer—I was still a paying customer. I was still giving her three years of savings.

  I resisted the urge to smash the entire unit.

  CHAPTER IV

  I was at a bar having a drink when an ad for the simulator came on the television above the bartender’s head. “Get ready to live out your wildest dreams,” said the ad. And I laughed. They really were marketing the thing towards the indulgers. It’s not like the ad said, “Come and learn more about the human body by shrinking yourself down for a Magic School Bus adventure!” If they wanted doctors and physicists, they would have geared their advertisements towards them.

  I took the last sip from my drink. The bartender was in front of me a moment later. He placed a drink down. “I didn’t order this,” I said.

  “Courtesy of the man at the end of the bar,” the bartender said.

  I looked down the bar and saw a man looking at me with a smile. I looked behind me, to make sure he wasn’t looking at someone else. Then I found myself blushing.

  He didn’t look like a regular. He was tall and handsome, with a perfectly even stubble beard. He was wearing a tight t-shirt, which hugged his toned chest and his thick arms. I looked away from him quickly, feeling suddenly shy. And then I looked back at the television and realized he was there too.

  He was the star of the movie that was playing: Action Jack. He was the titular character, carrying a massive machine gun and mowing down rows of terrorists. The movie came out when I was in high school and it was number one at the box office for eight weeks in a row. I looked back over at him—the real him, sitting at the end of the bar.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I’m in town shooting a movie,” he said with his characteristic deep voice.

  “What movie?”

  “I’m not supposed to say,” he said.

  “You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. I have no one to tell.”

  “I still can’t say.” I got up and casually strolled over to me. He pulled out the seat next to me and sat down. “Clive Anderson. Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “Roxy,” I said.

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I really love your hair, Roxy.”

  I blushed again and then I looked forward. There was a mirror behind the stacks of liquor bottles behind the bar. I could see my loosely curled brunette hair, still looking perfect on my shoulders, the way I did it back in my hotel room. “You’re too kind,” I said.

  “And I hope you don’t mind me saying that I think you’re very beautiful.”

  “Well you’re not so bad yourself,” I said. I could smell his cologne: a mix of musk, sawdust, and cedar. It was a manly smell, and it made me want to reach out and feel his arms—though I resisted that urge. I didn’t want the Clive Anderson to think that I was a creep. So I played it cool, looking back up at the screen as if I wasn’t that interested in the superstar sitting next to me.

  Then I felt his hand on my thigh. “You know, my room upstairs has a private bar. There’s no bartender, but before I got my first big gig, I was working at a bar. I can fix up a mean martini—I saw that you were drinking one earlier.”

  I bit down on my lip. I wasn’t a whore, and I especially didn’t want him to think that I was a whore. But I certainly didn’t want to miss my opportunity to spend an evening with one of the biggest stars on the planet. I could feel the gazes of the other girls in the hotel lounge, staring at me, waiting for me to slip up so they could have a shot at the muscular action movie hero.

  So I stood up. “Maybe just one martini,” I said, leaving my drink at the bar behind. I don’t think that Clive cared about the drink. He made twenty million dollars on the last movie he d
id—and he did three movies in the last year. One wasted drink wasn’t going to spoil his budget.

  He took me to the elevator and swiped his card. Then he pressed the highest button, for the sixtieth floor. He looked at me with a grin and said, “They insisted I take the penthouse, but I told them I didn’t mind any old room.”

  “Is it nice?” I asked nervously. Now that I was alone with him, I could feel his big presence. He was a whole foot taller than me, and probably twice my weight, packed solidly with muscle.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve stayed in nicer.” The elevator doors suddenly opened, revealing a massive room with three separate living areas: a cluster of couches near a fireplace, a cluster near the amazing view of downtown, and a cluster in front of a massive television screen. I could spot three different decks, one with a swimming pool, one with a garden terrace, and one with a private screen hiding a hot tub. “The pool’s heated if you want to go for a dip.”

  “I didn’t bring my suit. I’m just here on business,” I said.

  He laughed. “You wear dresses like that on business?” he asked.

  And then I tried to remember what I was wearing. I looked down at saw that I was in a tiny red dress that hardly covered my panties—and I’m not sure it even completely covered my ass. And on my legs was a pair of fishnet stockings, which looked sexy paired with my tall black strappy heels. But I didn’t remember getting dolled up. Why did I have an outfit like this if I was at the hotel on business?

  And then Clive asked, “Just to get the boring money stuff out of the way, how much is it for the whole night?”

  “The whole night?” I asked. My heart was suddenly pounding. And then I remembered that I was on the clock. I was an escort and I was waiting for a usual client down in the lounge when Clive came up to me and distracted me. But how could I miss out on an opportunity to spend the night with Clive Anderson? “It’s, uh, a thousand dollars,” I said.

  He walked over to the bar, reached down, and pulled out a huge stack of money. “Let’s make it two.” He walked the money over to me, along with a drink he poured for me when I wasn’t paying attention. “It’s strong. I hope you like it that way.”

  I took a sip. He wasn’t lying. The drink was strong.

  His hands were suddenly on my sides and he was looking down into my eyes. He took the straps of my little dress and pushed them over my shoulders. I felt so weak and vulnerable in his giant presence. I took a deep breath and felt a trembling in my legs. My little dress suddenly fell to the floor. I looked down, ready to cover my exposed body, and then I saw that I was wearing black, lacy lingerie. Clive reached out and cupped my breasts. He squeezed while letting a deep groan out from his lips. “You’re so hot,” he said. He squeezed hard before bending over to suck on my neck.

  My mind was suddenly a blur. I tried to take a deep breath, but my lungs felt strangely shallow. I liked the way his big, strong hands felt on my sides. And now his pelvis was pressed up against my abdomen and I could feel the hard bulge of his erection hiding in his pants. I found myself reaching for it, slipping my fingers down the waistband of his jeans. His cock was enormous, warm, and throbbing. I wrapped my fingers around it and started to massage his length. I had a hard time believing it would all fit inside of me.

  He reached a hand down and started rubbing my pussy, over my lingerie. It felt nice. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My heart was pounding with excitement. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends that I had sex with a super star. But who would I tell? Who were my friends? I tried to think, but no faces came into my head. Did I not have any friends?

  Clive sunk down to his knees. He grabbed the bottom of my lingerie and tugged it aside, letting my cock out. He grabbed it firmly with his big hand and started to pump me. It was only a second later before my cock was in his mouth—and it was only a second after that when I started feeling even more confused. Why did I have a cock? Did I always have a cock? Was I not a really woman? Was I a tranny? Why the hell didn’t I know?

  Now my heart was pounding even harder. Something was wrong. My mind wasn’t right. Was I just dreaming? Who was I really, if not a transgender escort? And why did his blowjob feel so good? He worked his tongue around my shaft and sunk me deep down into his throat. I found myself biting down on my tongue, trying to maintain control of myself.

  He stood up and kissed me, giving me a taste of my own cock. Then he pushed me down onto the large couch. He climbed up on top of me while tugging down his pants, releasing his massive cock. With a cock like that, he should have been doing porn, not motion pictures. He held that cock to my lips until I opened wide. Then he sunk it in. I could feel him throbbing while I sucked. He gently pushed his cock down into my throat, making me gag. He started fucking my face slowly, holding my head down with his strong hands. Drool was running down both sides of my face, and my cock was still exposed and throbbing, begging to be jerked off.

  Once he was finished fucking my face, he sunk down, getting his cock pressed against mine. He used one of his hands to jerk us both off at the same time, rubbing his massive cock against my cock, which looked small in comparison. “I want you to come on my dick,” he said. Now he was only holding my cock, jerking it quickly, using his free hand to tease my tip with his fingertips. It felt good—too good. I groaned and strained but nothing could stop my orgasm from coming. He held his cock against my tip and I came all over him. He rubbed my load up and down his shaft, making his cock glisten with my sticky substance.

  Then he pushed his tip into my asshole, making me gasp. “I’m going to fuck you with your own cum,” he said with a big grin. He pushed it further, making me clench. I could feel my asshole stretching out, but it didn’t hurt.

  “Fuck me,” I said. His muscles were sweaty now. I wanted to reach out and touch them, so I did. I couldn’t believe how hard he was, as if he was made out of stone. His cock sunk deeper and deeper and deeper. I bit down hard on my tongue, letting my head fall back onto the couch cushions.

  He grabbed my tits and squeezed them. And then suddenly I had the strange image of Japanese twins in my head. I could see myself standing behind one of them, with my cock in her ass. Were they clients? Why was a pair of Japanese twins paying me to fuck me? And why couldn’t I think of any other clients that I’d ever had? Was Clive my first? What did the client look like that I was waiting for in the lounge?

  And now I had an even stranger image in my head: a computer screen with a bunch of numbers on it. Not just any numbers, but the deductions of a CO-17 corporate tax filing. What did that mean? Why did I know what that was?

  My vision was starting to blur. Was I about to die? Would they find my dead body in Clive Anderson’s hotel room? Would they think he killed me? Did he kill me? What was in that drink he gave me? Was I being raped?

  No, no—I wanted him to fuck me. I just wasn’t sure who he was… Clive Anderson? Who was that? What the hell was Action Jack? I couldn’t remember a movie called Action Jack.

  Now my vision was super blurry, but I could still feel that veiny cock sliding back and forth in my anus. It felt good, but it was going away. Where was it going? Why could I only see blackness?

  I opened my eyes and saw a blank white ceiling. I looked to the side and saw a strange silver and blue machine. The machine was connected to me by a bunch of cables. Was I in a hospital? No—I was in my bedroom. So what was the machine?

  I tried to sit up, but my body was groggy and sore. My head was pounding.

  Then I remembered Ellen’s voice. “Don’t move for one minute.” I remembered the lab and the simulation machine. So I remained still as all of my memories came back to me. It was just the simulation—just a false reality.

  After a minute, I sat up and pulled off the helmet. I took a deep breath as the pain in my head subsided. And then the events of the simulation started catching up with me. I wasn’t a rock star for the past hour—I was a woman, a transgender woman, and a prostitute. That wasn’t the simulation I paid all that
money for! I didn’t spend my life savings so that I could wear slutty dresses and get fucked by celebrities.

  I was suddenly furious. I stood up and then I felt a wetness on my chest and stomach. I looked down and saw that I was covered in my own cum. I forgot to put on a condom. I shuddered, realizing I came to the fantasy of a well-hung man fucking me in the ass—someone else’s fantasy—not mine. Maybe they gave me the wrong unit.

  I went over to my living room and looked at the side of that cardboard box. Sure enough, there was someone else’s name printed on it. “Michael Peters,” I said aloud. “You’re one fucked up dude.”

  So did that mean that someone else got my unit? Was someone else currently living out my simulated fantasy? I tried calling Smith Gadgets, but they had closed for the night. I was stuck waiting—stuck with someone else’s creepy fantasy until I could figure out how to arrange a swap.

  CHAPTER V

  I went out for breakfast in the morning. The weather was unseasonably warm and I’d decided that I would take the day off. Maybe I would spend the day at the beach, or maybe I would go check out one of those museums that I was always meaning to check out. But first, I wanted to treat myself. I ordered the restaurant’s biggest breakfast: bacon, ham, sausage, scrambled eggs, toast with avocado, and a side of three pancakes. I nearly finished the whole thing too, to the surprise of the woman at the table next to me.

  The cute waited dropped the billfold at my table and then gave me a little wink before walking away. My heart fluttered—that wasn’t something I was used to, but I liked it. She was a cute little redhead with freckles all over her face and her exposed shoulders. She was wearing a tank top and a tiny skirt. I took a quick look at her ass as she walked away. I wondered if she knew her ass was visible from a sitting position.