A Certain Perception

"As it happens, you came to the right girl. You want to get inside a slut's head? I know alittle something about that lifestyle, Baby. You like the way I get insideyour head, don't you? It would be no problem to helpyou get insideher head, experience her thoughts, desires... herlife. Before I say anything else, I have to ask: Do you really love me?"

"I love you more than my life."

"Do youtrust me?"

"Implicitly."

She kissed me tenderly and smiled her Cheshire smile.

"Then hear me out. I... have always thought thewhole idea of a man becoming a gorgeous, sexy woman was a real turn-on. I met a lot of T-girls in my time on the streets. They were among my closest friends. I mean, really close - catch my drift? Some of those girls were really into the 'extreme' look, like you and I are so crazy about. In fact, I had a 'drag mother' who taught me most of what I know about makeup, hair, and just being the kind of slut that drives men wild. Through her and the rest of my friends, I made contacts, met people, and learned the tricks and techniques used to transform them into the sexy sirens they became.

"Soon, I washelping them whenever I could. It was such a rush to help change a cute little man into a soft, shapely, sexy, beautiful woman - and from there into the cheap, trashy slut she wanted to be. I hate to admit it, but I got a little...possessive. I didn't mind sharing the girl with dates. Dates are dates; they show up, pay you, get off, and leave. What really ate at me was, as soon as the girl was 'done', she would dash off and find herself a 'husband'.

"Michael, do you want to know what I thought the first time I saw your picture? 'Wow, with a little work, he would lookgreat in a tight little dress and sky-high heels!' Now you tell me you have always dreamed of being a girl just like the ones I lust for? Oh, my dear, sweetJesus.... The idea of transforming you into a girl like that for me makes mewet. This time, dear 'husband', I'm going to keep you all to myself!

"Naturally, it helps that we enjoy... shall we say,unlimited financial resources? Why not play with this a little, explore your ultimate fantasy - forboth of us? I love you so much - and this is just so wicked, we have to at least give it a try. This would be my way of sharing myself, my life with you on a level of intimacy few couples ever experience. It would also be a really kinky way of saying 'Thank you - foreverything.

"There are a couple of conditions, though. First, we can't tell a soul; at least, not the people fromyour life. That includes family, friends, neighbors, anyone who really knows you. They aren't like us; they would not understand our desires or what we share. Theycertainly wouldn't approve of the 'nasty girl' you are going to portray. I don't knowwhat I am going to tell your dear, sweet parents, but I will think of some reason why they can't see you. Maybe I will tell them you contracted Berri-berri or something. I can be pretty convincing when I want to be.

"Second, I will be in charge ofeverything. After all, who knows more about girls like that than me? You must trust me enough to put yourself completely in my hands, without reservation. I crave 'reality' as much as you do. If I think there is something we need to do to make the experience more authentic, more pleasurable for us, then we do it. Baby, I can get you so deeply into a slut's head, you will think you wereborn there. Does that thought appeal to you?"

How could it not?

The pills, diet and exercise came first. I wasn't overweight by any means, but Kyra promised she would have me down to her own sleek one hundred fifteen pounds in no time. I missed my burgers and pizza, but the salads weren't that bad and I wasn't really starving or anything. She said the pills saw to that. She also began "figure-training" me. If I wasn't hungry before she started lacing me into that corset every day, I sure wasn't after. The crushing sensation was really uncomfortable, too. She said I would get used to that after a while.

To take my mind off my physical discomfort, she took me 'back to school' to focus my attention on something else. I began learning what she called "Street Speak", that odd patois of slang, euphemisms, malapropisms and bad grammar that she claimed was the common currency of the life she had known so well. The vocabulary was simplistic, to say the least. The words tended to be slurred, run on, and had a kind of sing-song cadence to them. There seemed to be code words and buzz phrases foreverything. Everyone is "Baby", "Honey", or "Sugar". She drilled me incessantly, chiding me good-naturedly whenever I slipped up, using a big word or phrase that would have been just as confusing for a street girl as all of this was to me. I was perplexed. It was all so...alien to me.

"Honey, I don'treally have to talk like this, do I?"

Kyra put it succinctly:

"Baby, do youknow how girls like that talk?"

"No."

"Believe me, Ido; I lived it for six years. We agreed we want this experience to be authentic. Before you can experience a slut's life and desires, a slut'sworld, you first have to understand what that worldis. Baby, the street scene she inhabits is, for want of a better term, a 'Black Thing', and this is the way everyone talks - even the White girls."

"But we've seen African-Americans, both singles and couples, whenever we went out. They don't talk that way."

Kyra smiled sadly and shook her head.

"Michael, 'African-American' is a politically-correct term for a politically-correct segment of the population. The 'African-Americans' you have seen do not represent the world your slut lives in, nor do they want to be associated with it. Remember what I said about Perception?They speak the way their peers speak; that is, the people whom theyperceive as their peers - and wish to be perceived aspeers of.They are on their wayup.You, on the other hand..."

She kissed me lightly on the cheek.

"...are on your waydown. Your kind of girl is aghetto ho', not some suburban ingénue. The 'hood is still about flash, pretense, and spin-control - perhaps even more so than the world you know. But itisn't about country clubs, trust funds, and social niceties. It reallyis a different world, with its own rhythms, values, and customs. The people are different, too. Do you imagine the girls turning tricks on the streets are college graduates? Of course not; most of them are dropouts. I was. They know the streets, their own bodies, and that they can make money by making themselves attractive to men. They look cheap, think cheap, and talk cheap - and the men they date like them that way. In short, they are just like I used to be - like youwill be when I am finished with you. The first step is to teach you how a slut talks."

"Butyou don't talk that way."

She looked down - and far, far away. When she spoke, her voice was very quiet.

"No, but I used to. If we had met even a year ago, you would have met a very different girl. I decided I wanted more from life, wanted to make something of myself. One thing Idid learn in my time on the streets is, a certain perception can make or break you, regardless of what kind of person you are. I realized if I were going to have any chance of escaping all that, I would have to change how othersperceived me - and how I perceived myself. I worked very, very hard to unlearn the streets and re-learn this. Television and Internet chat rooms were my 'classroom' and you..."

She kissed me again, this time on the mouth.

"...and others like you were my teachers and role models. First I learnedwho to emulate; then I learnedhow. You were the prize at the finish line. Now, we're going to have a little fun 'deconstructing' you and re-shaping you into 'a girl likethat'. Who knows? If I can show you what a slut's life is really like, you might have a better appreciation forthis one. I know I do.

"Now, try again. I want you tothink in this language, just as any other ghetto ho' does. Lose yourself in the role. In fact, maybe we should work more onthat right now. Perhaps we need to create a whole new identity for you. That might make it easier for you to get into the right frame of mind. Let's see, what shall we call you? I know! How about... 'Gigi'? Do you like it? I think it sounds scrumptious."

"Gigi? Yeaaah, I like it a lot!"

She smiled at me bemusedly, a twinkle in her eyes.

"OK,girlfrien', from now on, you are 'Gigi'. 'Michael' doesn't exist anymore. You are that street-smart slut from Uptown you have always seen in your fantasies. To a girl like you, this house, this world, this life might as well be on another planet. You are gorgeous, sexy, overdone, and not too bright. In fact, about the only thing you think about is Sex. You down wit' it, Sugar?"

"Absolument."

Kyra sighed heavily and rolled her eyes upward.

"I never thought I would say this to any man, but you are too damn smart. Whether or not you are willing, your subconscious mind is fighting it. I'm gonna have to haul out theheavy artillery."

She came home a few days later with a coy smile on her face. She had arranged with a local professional hypnotherapist to commission a series of subliminal learning CD's that would aid me in my language study. Sheila Crane was willing enough and had extensive experience with subliminal learning, but knew nothing about this particular subject matter. In the end, a substantial sum of money had persuaded her to embark upon a collaborative effort - and a somewhat unorthodox method of delivery.

The initial 'induction' therapy was to be performed in person by Ms. Crane herself. She would implant certain 'trigger phrases' in my subconscious that would allow me to be 'converted' - returned to the induction (trance) state - easily. She recorded the introductions to the disks, speaking the triggers that converted me, then passed control to Kyra's voice.She narrated the training portions of the therapy, owing to her extensive knowledge of the subject matter. Kyra promised they would not be harmful in any way. They would simply break down the subconscious barriers that prevented me from embracing this simplistic form of communication. We were both excited about the prospects of me learning to speak 'properly' and couldn't wait to begin the therapy.

Ms. Crane came to our home consecutive evenings for a week. Each visit lasted a couple of hours, but seemed like mere minutes. I really don't even remember being hypnotized on any of those occasions, but upon her final visit, she assured me my mind had been thoroughly 'conditioned' and was completely receptive to my new training. That night, after we made love, Kyra gave me a pill to help me relax. She popped the first CD into my Discman, placed it on my bedside table, then slipped the headset over my head. "Miss Thing, you'll have this rap down cold in no time," she cooed in a sing-song voice.

It was a month or two later when I realized there was something wrong with my cock. I just couldn't get it up anymore. I was so bummed! This isn't supposed to happen to someone my age. Kyra was quick to reassure me.

"Baby, it's nothing to worry about. You are going through some serious chemical and hormonal changes to make you feel more like the woman you have always dreamed of being. This is just an inevitable side effect of those changes. I won't love you any less. In fact, I will love youmore - because you are willing to put yourself through all this forus. It's not like we won't continue to have greatoral sex, you know? After we've had our fun with this and decide to change you back, your full function will return, as good as it ever was. In the meantime, we'll cope. Don't dwell on it. Just enjoy the changes in you as they happen. I sure am."

Did I say I wasn't getting erections? Silly me! Oh, I was getting erect all right. My nipples were standing out firm and proud! My breasts were developing, too; AA-cup, A-Cup, B-Cup. My hips and tush were filling out just as prominently. Part of me was thrilled. There was still just enough masculinity within me to cause me to question if perhaps we were wrong to take this fantasy as far as we were. Kyra smiled and giggled.

"Wrong? Baby, from where I'm standing, everything is going wonderfullyright! In fact, I think it's time weaccelerate your hormone therapy. When I first agreed to do this with you, I wasn't sure whether or not it would be as good with you as it was with the T-girls back in the 'hood. You know what? It'sbetter -because you aremine! I've really gotten into it. Don't stop now, Baby; not when you are just beginning to lookreally good. Let's just go with it for a little while longer. You're having fun, aren't you? I'm having a ball with this! If not for yourself, do it for me - please?"

Well, when she put it that way.... I could tell she was pleased with my decision. She already had my first booster shot of 'mones ready and waiting. I put my hands on my hips and glared at her in mock disgust. Kyra smiled impishly. She didn't make me wait for it another second.

"Thank you, Baby. I can't tell you how much this means to me - buuuuut... I can show you. I think this is the perfect time to take your fantasy to the next level. There is a whole new world of sexual experience and response just waiting for you to explore...."

She introduced me to her strap-on.

"It's time for you to experience sex the way girls like you do. Relax. Let go of your hang-ups. Enjoy the sensations. Let me help you get in touch with your 'inner slut'."

She taught me the right way to pay oral homage to a cock, showing me all the little tricks she had learned to make a man gush buckets of cum. She also introduced me to the pleasures of being thoroughly, gloriously, exquisitelyfucked. The first few days, I wasso sore! While she had fucked my ass, she had stroked and massaged my limp, but sensitive cock ('clit', as she called it now). I came big time, more so than I had ever experienced as a 'Michael'. She just smiled contentedly, knowingly.

When we weren't having sex, she made me wear a butt plug 24/7 to make sure my 'pussy' was properly stretched out - and that I became accustomed to having cock in me all the time. "After all, Sugar," she chided, "that's what sluts like you are for." I guess I shouldn't have been surprised the dildos she fucked me with got successively larger, as did the butt plugs.

I don't know why I continued to put up with shaving. I hated the daily ritual, not to mention the constant nicks and cuts. She thought it was pointless, too - and set up a series of appointments to have my beard removed by laser. OK, it wasn't a really heavy beard to begin with, but I was delighted it was gone forever, nonetheless. While she was at it, she had the clinic depilate the rest of my body - including the baby-fine, thinning hair on my head. I might not have gonethat far of my own choosing, but Kyra reminded me of my pledge to put myself completely in her hands. She had a ready answer to calm my misgivings.

"Don't even TRY to tell me you're going to miss that yucky body hair, Baby. I know you too well. I can tell you for a fact, I won't miss it at all. I like you soft, smooth...feminine. As far as the head goes, it's not like you had a full head of thick, attractive hair to begin with. This will actually give usmore options, not less."

We ordered custom-made wigs with adhesive tabs that hugged my baby-smooth scalp securely. Blonde was the natural choice for my fair complexion and Baby Blue eyes. I soon became accustomed to managing my fuller, longer, thicker, more luxuriant hair. My lover spent hours teaching me how to wash, set, curl, tease, fluff, and shape my new tresses, then fix the 'do in place with lots of sweet-smelling, sticky hairspray. "You have an advantage most of us girls don't, Sweetie," Kyra observed. "You can take your hair off and really see it from all sides. You can work with both hands, too, instead of holding a mirror in one and brush in the other." My new hairstyle was not trendy in the sleek, straight, contemporary fashion that was currently en vogue. Kyra had dictated a slut like me looks best with a big, blowsy mane of teased and lacquered curls. She purred how much she adored that style on me, that it made me look deliciouslycheap.

Kyra made an appointment for us to consult with Dr. Bruce Jensen, the plastic surgeon who had worked his magic on her. He revealed from the outset my girlfriend had confided in him about my desires. I was embarrassed she had 'outed' me to a complete stranger. She smiled breezily and squeezed my hand.

"Don't be silly, Sweetie. First, he isnot a stranger. We have known him for months. You like what he did forme, don't you? Besides, he has to know what we want in order to give you the best results - and only the best will do formy baby. Dr. Jensen is the consummate professional. He is here to help you, not pass judgment. Please, hear him out."

Dr. Jensen went on to say he was fascinated with my case. Although he had made many women beautiful beyond compare, he had not yet had the opportunity to work with a 'girl' like me. He relished the personal and professional challenge of such an "extreme makeover". Like Kyra, he could already see intriguing 'possibilities' in my attractive features. The handsome surgeon hoped I would trust him enough to put myself in his hands and promised I would not be disappointed. I acquiesced.

"Ain't no thang, Sugar. Do what ya gotta do. I'm down wit' it."

Kyra beamed radiantly.

Surgery is surgery, in spite of what you see on television. If you don't believe it, go in for even a minor cosmetic procedure - and sift through the mountain of authorizations, disclaimers, releases and waivers you have to read, interpret and sign. I dutifully went over each one with Kyra and Dr. Jensen's office manager. It seemed like they would never end! Kyra had mentioned she had found a business school she was interested in attending. Ifshe wanted to spend the rest of her professional life doing this, more power to her!

Dr. Jensen and my lover coaxed me into having a brow lift and nose bob, plus implants to make my lips and cheekbones stunningly prominent. The fat pads in my cheeks were suctioned out, giving me that hollowed-out 'Supermodel' look and making the cheekbones even more striking. Shaved brow bones and a 'tuck' at each temple reshaped my eyes, opening them more and pulling them up and out at the corners for an exotic, doe-like appearance. After the incisions had healed, photo-facial treatments with bursts of high-intensity light rendered my hairless complexion soft, smooth, and flawless.

Dr. Jensen referred me to an associate who practiced cosmetic dentistry. My already-straight teeth were bleached and capped, rendering my smile as dazzling as a thousand stars. In the end, my face was an exotic mix of the best features of both White and Black women. I was stunning - in a supernaturally, almost obscenely full-lipped, prominent-cheekboned, doe-eyed way. Extreme? Fo' sho'.No one from the world I grew up in ever dreams of looking like this - onlysluts like me. Girrrl, when the time came, how would Dr. Jensenever put it back the way it was? I wasn't even thinking about that right now. I was thrilled with my new face. So was my honey.

Kyra began teaching me to apply makeup. At first, it was just a little eye shadow, some mascara, a little lipstick. The little, light touches became more and more pronounced, provocative. My lover taught me how to achieve the right combinations of light and shadow, to make a feature boldly prominent or subtly recessive. More and more, she removed "subtlety" from the equation. My newly-altered features took well to the heavily made-up look Kyra desired me to affect on a daily basis. With my Big Hair, my appearance was not even close to the understated, minimalist style that was en vogue. It wasdefinitely the right look to set me apart, mark me as "different" from polite society - and enflame a man's lust. I knew. When I looked into the mirror, I was turningme on! Kyra agreed.