Chapter 9

The Last Ride

“Yvette?”

I entered the house, the sensation of treading water coming over me again.  There was no reply, which didn’t surprise me; I was the one who had broken our relationship, therefore I would have to the one to fix it.

I cautiously made my way down the hall, past the empty kitchen, feeling like an intruder in my own home.  I found her sitting at the dining room table, unmoving, staring straight ahead, not ignoring me, just simply at a loss for what to do or say, or so I thought, considering how much her powder-coated exterior made it damnably difficult to be certain.  She was still in her halter and shorts, but had removed her wig, which, combined with her unnaturally even skin tone, only served to reinforce how much like a mannequin she had become.  I looked at her for a time, also unable to think of what to say, and I found that my mind, due to the oppressive silence, had drifted to the subject of clocks.

The funny thing about our fascinating modern age is the lack of clocks in our lives.  Oh sure, we have lots of devices for telling us the time: wristwatches, cell phones, computers, and camcorders.  We have them on our ovens, in our ultra-bitchin’ car stereos, by the side of our beds, magnetically stuck to our refrigerators, even in our fucking coffeemakers, and practically every last one of these is digital.  It is said that even a broken clock is right twice a day, but that is no longer the case – a broken clock nowadays is simply a silent, darkened shell of disposable technology.

But old-fashioned, gear and cog clocks can be repaired.  They are heavy, substantial, and dependable.  They also tick, and that ticking, I realized as I looked upon the plastic figure seated at the dining room table, can cut through the densest silence, punctuating the dread, and giving those within its proximity the sense that time is indeed passing, a subtle spur in our side, to goad us onward.  On balance, though, I was glad of the silence, for a ticking clock also reminds us of how little time there is left to us.  “Yvette…?”

She swiveled her head in my direction, the lack of distortion of her pseudo-skin giving her an eerie quality.  “Roddy,” she said, her voice sounding hoarse and tired, “can you forgive me?”

I stood there, leaning against the corner of the hallway, my need for support greater than at any time in my life.  “You have done nothing wrong, ‘vette.  There is nothing to…”

“Please don’t, Roddy,” she said, raising a hand for silence.  “Please don’t be noble.  You’re right.  I am a…a junkie.  I am…”

“…what I’ve made you,” I said, cutting across her, my need for confession absolute.  “I wanted to make you into something for my pleasure, something that you already were, something that you always have been.  But you were right.  I was selfish.  I knew what was happening to you, but I never…”

“…because you love me.  Yes, you were selfish, but no less selfish than I.  It was never about you, Roddy,” she said, shaking her head slightly, tears beginning to reform in her blue eyes, “it was always about me.”

“Yvette…” I started, abandoning the support of the wall and walking over to the dining table, my hands coming to rest on the back of my chair.

“Please let me finish,” she said again, turning her head away and downward, not wishing to look me in the eye.  “I knew what was happening to me.  I think I knew even earlier than you did.”  She fell silent, her eyes on the floor, her body tense, as though awaiting divine inspiration.  I was about to speak, to say something to end the awful silence, when she brought her head back up to look at me.  “You just have no idea how good it feels, Rod.  How wonderful it feels to have your polymer covering every inch of me, inside and out.  To feel protected, and warm, to be reminded with my every movement how beautiful I look.  It is more intoxicating than liquor, better than coke.  It really is,” she said, the tears now streaming from her eyes, “the best I have ever felt.”

“Listen, Yvette…” I started gently, but she shook her head vehemently, her tears sliding quickly down her glass-smooth face, splashing wetly as they fell upon the exposed portions of her breasts.

“But the price is too high!” she blurted out amidst more tears, and I quickly sat down, taking her rubbery hand in mine, trying to give her some small element of comfort.  “Don Carlos will never allow you to make more polymer.  I think we both know that.  But even if he did, it wouldn’t matter, because your polymer will always come between us…and I can’t live like that!”  She fell silent again, but I could tell she had more to say.  She was apparently trying to gather the strength to say it, and I felt the skin of my balls contract in apprehension, fearing the next words to come from her painted on lips.

“I love you, Roddy,” she said finally, and reached down beside her chair, straining slightly as she brought up a gallon jug of vinegar and placed it upon the table.  She put her hand upon it to pop the cap, but I covered her hand with mine.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said softly.

“You don’t understand,” she said, sniffling, her eyes intently upon the jug of liquid that would quickly strip her of her protective finish.  “I want two things, and I can’t have both.  But my mom told me the day we were married, that loving someone means you sacrifice for them.  And I do love you, Roddy.”

“And I love you, ‘vette.”  I squeezed her hand lightly and took it from the top of the vinegar bottle, so that I could place both of her hands in mine.  I looked into her moist eyes, again taken by the fact that were it not for them she would not be mistaken for a flesh and blood woman.  “You don’t have to make a choice,” I said simply.  “I’ve sold Justine.”

She looked at me, her eyes fixed in disbelief.  “What are you saying, Rod?” she said, almost a whisper.

“I’m selling her to Don Carlos.  He’s giving me forty grand for her.”

“But…but why?” she asked, her voice rising.

“For the money,” I said.  “To buy you more polymer.”  I told her what Doña Clara had told me, about Don Carlos’s impending run for governor, and how I could never tell him what I’d done, or use AZ-TECH resources to create more of it.

“But you said…”

“I said I couldn’t make it.  But I know someone who can, once.  An old college buddy of mine who works for an industrial chemical plant near Flagstaff.”

Despite the stiffness of her pseudo-skin her lower lip trembled.  She shook her head slowly, side to side.  “No, Roddy, you can’t!”

“I already have,” I said.  “Don Carlos will be by on Sunday to pick her up.  It is…” I started, hearing Doña Clara’s musical voice in my head, “…a done deal.”

“But you love that car!”

“I love you.”

She got up from her chair and landed in my lap, her arms around my neck, and began sobbing heavily.  I let her cry it out, the scent of coconut oil emanating from her cleavage strong in my nostrils.  She cried for a long time, and I could tell there was more to it than just the events of the past few hours.  It was a cathartic release of emotions that had been building up since the day I’d coated her, making a shiny object of the women I loved.

After a while she pulled a hand away from my neck, and used it to wipe away her tears.  She sniffled a time or two, and said shakily, “I-I can’t let you do this, Rod.”

“Why can’t you, ‘vette?”

She put her arm around me again, her cheek nuzzling the top of my head as she contemplated my question.  After a while she began crying again, but it was a soft sort of thing, a gentle rain of sadness rather than a cloudburst of heartache.  “I’m sorry about Justine,” she said finally.

“Justine is a car, ‘vette.  You are my wife, the women I love, and hope to spend the rest of my life with.”

“But you made her.”

“I restored her.  There’s a difference.”

“But even if you use that money to buy more polymer, nothing will have changed.  We’ll still be where we are now.”

“I don’t know about that, babe.  Thirty thousand dollars can buy an awful lot of polymer.”

“Thirty…?”

“Sure,” I said.  “Thirty for polymer, and the other ten to buy you some breast implants, if you still want them, that is.”

She pulled away, hunching down a bit so that she could look me in the eyes.  “Of course I want them, Roddy!  As big and round as you want them to be!”

“Yvette, I…”

“You’re sacrificing Justine for me, my loving husband,” she said, smiling beatifically.”  The least I can do is to replace her body with one you would enjoy painting every bit as much.”  She shifted about on my lap to face me, and reached her arms behind her to unfasten her halter-top.  She pulled it up and over her head, her beautiful boobs wobbling before me.  I brought my hands up to caress them, sighing as I felt their weight and warmth.  “Oh, Roddy,” she said, kissing my forehead, “what’s going to happen to me?  I’ll still be addicted.”

“I know, ‘vette,” I sighed, drawing my thumbs over her big, rubbery nipples, “but I figure I can get about fifty or so gallons of polymer.  If we use it sparingly it could last for several years.”

“But only in private,” she said sadly, licking my ear.

“Yes, my love, only in private.  Can you live with that?”

“I suppose I’ll have to.  I’ll have to quit my job, though.”

“We’ll manage, baby.”

“Oh, we’ll do more than manage, Rod,” she said playfully.  She slid down to the floor, whereupon she knelt between my legs and efficiently removed my stiff prick from my jeans.  Her smooth lips were locked around my meat within seconds, and I reveled in the feel of them.  After less than a minute she pulled away, letting it slap back against my stomach.  A tube of moisturizer was in her right hand, retrieved from her purse, which still sat where she’d dropped it during our fight, and she squeezed the oily contents of it onto her fat boobs.  She then dropped the tube to the floor, and began massaging the cream into her cleavage.  Seconds later my dick was happily ensconced in the warmth of her juggs, as she slowly jerked me off between them.

I looked into her eyes.  Despite her seeming happiness she was crying again, and given her polymer mask I couldn’t tell if they were tears of joy, or perhaps some deeper emotion.  “Yvette,” I sighed, the pleasurable feelings caused by her boobs making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, “I…”

“Don’t say anything, Rod,” she said, her voice deep and dreamy, “just enjoy it.  I know how much you are sacrificing for me.  I only hope I’m worthy of it.”

“God, ‘vette,” I said, my toes curling upward, my orgasm close at hand, “there is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for you.”  I came violently then, my first spurt catching her just under the chin.  She quickly put her lips over the head of my prick, and caught the remainder of my jizz in her mouth, working my dick with her boobs the whole time.

Having swallowed my load she rested her head in my lap, my sucked-out johnson laying happily against her cheek.  She looked up into my eyes after a while, and shook her head slowly.  “You are giving up so much for me, my love.”

“You’re worth it, ‘vette.  Besides, I’ve got my eye on a ’63 Mini Cooper.  I can restore it between fucks.  I figure to finish it in about twenty years.”

She smiled and gave my dick a long lick with her tongue.  “More like thirty, sweetie.”

*    *    *    *    *    *

We ate high, the lavish amount of food provided by Doña Clara able to feed us for about a week.  Yvette started crying again when she examined the lump on the back of my head, but I took her in my arms and held her, assuring her that I deserved whatever lumps I got.

She made me a mojito, and had me sit in my recliner, placing the remote in my hand.  “I need to change out of this, Rod,” she said, her arms wide, indicating her completely nude, yet thoroughly coated body.  “Pop in something long and turgid.  I might be a while.”  And with that she left me sitting there, as fully sated as one can hope to be.

I popped in a movie and watched for a bit, but I wasn’t in a mood to see things explode and to hear shitty actors dropping superfluous f-bombs every couple of seconds.  It was a warm night and what was most definitely called for was a swim, so I quickly stripped to my skin and made for the pool.  I swam until the stars came out, luxuriating in the feeling of being underwater because I actually was under water.  I backstroked it for a while, doing lap after lap languidly, expending only as much energy as necessary to stay afloat, so that I might consider my future.

Yvette was happy now, and though the cost for her continued happiness would come at the loss of my Justine, I would have to pay it.  But that was thinking simply short term.  I was likely going to have to quit my job.  Even if Don Carlos realized his ambitions and became governor, there were too many people who would question the absence of my wife (for I could not count on Yvette ever being in her skin again), and suspicion would mount.  It would be far simpler to start fresh somewhere else.

There was also the worry about her family, and mine too.  They would expect to see her from time to time, but that could be dealt with by the use of long pants and long sleeves (strange behavior from my exhibitionist wife, surely) and by her eschewing the use of my polymer on her face and hands when in public.  It would be difficult for her, but perhaps by the gradual adoption of skin over periods of time, we might be able to wean her off of her addiction.

It would take time, and some amount of upheaval to our lives, but it could be done.  In the meantime, though, I would have to put up with a few mini-dramas, not to mention her nymphomania.

A shadow crept over my vision, which was Yvette coming out to the patio.  She stood before the lone lit floodlight, which had come on once the sun had gone down.  I got out of the pool, dripping wet, and walked up to her.  Her powder-coat was gone, her skin shining with a fresh application of polymer, an elaborately braided wig upon her head.

“Will you please to fuck me now, Roddy-sama?”

I pleased.

*    *    *    *    *    *

I slept late the next morning, and was fed in bed by my happy, gleaming geisha.

“Do you have any plans for today, Roddy-sama?” she asked in her breathy voice, a little out of breath actually, due to the fact that she was bouncing up and down on top of me, her overlarge breasts warm in my hands.  “Is there anything special your Yumi can do for you?”

“No, Yumi, dear,” I said, grunting with enjoyment, “at least not this afternoon.  I need to change Justine’s oil, and check her belts and fluids.  Tomorrow I’ll give her a wash and a wax.”

“Please forgive Yumi, Roddy-sama,” she said, her hands upon my shoulders, gyrating her hips so as to make sure I was being fucked good and proper, “but Missy Yvette informed me that she wants to take a drive with you tomorrow.”

“She did, did she?” I said, my hands had dropped to my sides, my fingers now on the verge of ripping up another set of sheets.

“Hai,” she said, looking intently into my eyes as she clenched her polymer-coated pussy about my much-used tool, doubling my pleasure yet again, and hastening the moment that I would spurt my load into her.  “Missy Yvette says you deserve to have your dreams fulfilled.”

It was at that point that I came, screaming like a madman, pumping her for all I was worth.  Though Yvette and Yumi were the same person, they fucked so very differently from one another, thus allowing me to cheat on my wife with my wife.  It really was the best of all possible worlds.

“Missy Yvette is the best wife a man could hope for,” I said, once my breathing had returned to something like normal.  “No man can do better than I have.”

Yumi smiled at me, and in that smile I caught a momentary glimpse of my bride, her eyes sparkling despite the dark contact lenses she was wearing.

*    *    *    *    *    *

I took care of Justine’s maintenance out on the driveway, what with the garage being packed with all that was necessary for my ‘vette’s maintenance.  It was good for her to finally see the light of day again after so much time underneath her car cover.  I was a little wistful, knowing that it would be the last time I would be under her, and I found myself talking to her every so often, telling her softly that I would miss her.  Despite what I had said to Yvette, I knew it would be a wrench giving her up.  I had spent so much time with her, in her, and under her.  She was a part of me, no doubt about that.  And Yvette had been right about one thing: I had made her.

It was three o’clock when I finished up with Justine, and went looking for whichever of my many women Yvette was being at the moment, hopeful of a blowjob.  I found her in the bedroom, but for once she wasn’t playing with herself, nor admiring her lustrous image in the mirror.

“Yvette?”

She sat in our Mission armchair in the corner of the bedroom.  I had almost missed seeing her, as she was sitting so still, completely covered in her blue burqa, as though to keep the dust off of her.  “Yvette?”

“Hello, Rod,” she said listlessly.  Her voice was hoarse, as though she’d been crying again.

I didn’t say anything for a full minute, for fear of spooking her.  Her purse was at her feet and her cell phone was clutched in one gloved hand, as though she had been preparing to go out.  “Are you going somewhere, baby?” I asked finally, my voice pitched at hospital volume.

“I…yes…” she began haltingly, apparently unable to complete a sentence.  Covered as she was, it was difficult to tell where she was looking, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t looking at me.  “I…need to get some…things…for tomorrow.  I want…” she continued, her voice growing stronger, yet decidedly more emotional, “your last ride…to be…special!”  At which point she broke down completely.

I was on my knees, kneeling before her in a heartbeat.  I took a gloved hand in mine, and began stroking it, uncaring at the lack of fleshly contact.  “Yvette, I…”

“Roddy, do you love me?” she asked amidst her tears, her voice croaky.

“Of course I love you, ‘vette.  You know that.”

“I do know it,” she said, her crying beginning to subside a bit.  “I guess I just….”  She fell silent, and jerked slightly under her covering.  I wished she would at least raise her veil and let me see her face, which was silly of me – I hadn’t truly seen her face in ever so long.  The silence stretched on for a while, no ticking clock to help measure the march of empty seconds.  “I’m not worth it, you know,” she said finally.

Again I cursed the fact that I had avoided Psych 101 altogether, for it seemed that my bride was now veering into depression.  Was this what I could expect of her addiction?  Constant cycles of highs, lows, mania, and melancholia?  Whatever it takes, the voice said again, whatever the cost.  “If this about Justine, honey…”

Her hand clenched mine tightly.  “No, it isn’t about Justine!” she said bitterly.   “It’s about me!  Always me!”  Her sadness was gone now, replaced by an irrational anger, directed mostly at herself, it seemed.  “Will you still love me…after she’s gone?”

“Of course I will, ‘vette,” I said, trying keep the exasperation I was feeling out of my voice.  “I love you more than anything.  It’s like your mom said, ‘loving someone means you sacrifice for them’, and there is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for you, baby.”

Her arms were around me in a flash, clutching at me with a strength I didn’t know she had.  She was crying again, harder than ever, and wrapped up as I was within the voluminous folds of our former bedsheets, I was unable to speak, which was just as well, considering that my professions of love didn’t seem to be making her any happier.

She released her death grip on me by degrees, and her sadness ebbed away in kind.  After several minutes she let go of me and sat back in the chair, her homemade burqa looking not unlike a furniture cover.  I got to my feet and held my hand out to her, which she took with the desperation of an injured climber being pulled up a precipitous slope.  “Yvette, I…”

“Thank you, Roddy,” she said hoarsely.  “I’m not worth this kind of sacrifice, but what’s done is done.”  I started to speak but she put a hand on my chest; a signal for silence.  “There are things I must do now…in preparation for tomorrow.”  Her voice was stronger now, but with that strength came an air of resignation, and I couldn’t help but feel a slight resentment – fulfilling my fantasy had been her idea, after all.

She raised her veil high enough to allow me to kiss her goodbye, my resentment fading as her tongue slid into my mouth.  My prick was as hard as ever, and I did so desperately want a blowjob from her at that moment, but Yvette was on an emotional rollercoaster, so for both of our sakes I kept my hips well away from her, so as not to place any undue pressure on her.

She pulled away from me, slowly, almost hesitantly, her hand still upon my chest.  She looked up at me, or at least she tilted her head up at me, and seemed to consider me for a long moment, as though trying to decide whether or not to say something.  She must have decided not, because she stepped away from me and moved toward the door.

She stopped at the doorway, one hand upon the jamb. “I would have given you a blowjob, you know,” she said quietly.  “Why do you have to be so noble, Roddy?”

I wondered how I could answer such a question, but she was down the hall and into the garage before I could think of anything to say.

*    *    *    *    *    *

I spent most of the rest of that afternoon in the pool, my unstable bride at the center of my thoughts.  Was this what the rest of my days were going to be like, playing Dr. Phil to a manic-depressive mannequin?  I tried to drift away as best I could, the feeling of the cool water rushing over my body not helping my mood in the slightest.

What right does she have to be all fucking needy now? I thought, inwardly angry with her, that anger then rebounding back upon myself as I remembered that any instability she was experiencing was the direct result of my selfish fuckheadedness.  I spun over and kicked hard against the wall of the pool, damn near twisting my ankle in my fit of self-loathing.  Quit being a prick, dude, my inner voice berated me, and just fucking be there for her.  You fucking made her, so you have to fucking restore her.

*    *    *    *    *    *

She was home by five-thirty, but I didn’t realize it until I heard the shower door open, and felt her warm, rubbery body slide in next to mine.  “Yvette?” I said stupidly.

“No, Roddy-sama,” came the soft voice of my simulated geisha, “Missy Yvette says she will not be back until tomorrow morning, and that your slave must give you what you were too noble to ask of her.”  And with that she slid to the floor of the shower, and sucked my length into her mouth.

My ears heard her words, but my dick didn’t care.  Slave?  Noble?  My mind raced as she repeatedly swallowed me whole.  Yumi was here because Yumi was stable.  A safe place for Yvette to retreat to, where she didn’t have to think about what was happening to her.  But the slave thing worried me.  I could understand it, if only academically.  Yumi was a slave, and slaves are paradoxically free, free of responsibility, their actions determined by others, whether by me, or by an unseen alter ego.

Was Yvette cracking up on me?  Actually becoming another person so as to escape feelings of guilt, worry, and depression?  I am not smart enough to know, and with my balls slamming against her chin, my brain was certainly in no fit state to come to any intellectual conclusions.  I came in her mouth, gasping and grunting, my sane and stable geisha swallowing every last drop of my jizz , but any sexual tension sucked out of me was replaced by feelings of dread and guilt, for I was enjoying the favors of an unhinged, latex-covered junkie, rather than the loving attentions of the woman I had married.

Only hours ago Yvette had accused me of being noble, but as I looked down into my bride’s oh-so Japanese face, her already shiny lips glazed with a coating of my slimy scum, I realized that whatever nobility I possessed had been sucked out of me, as well.

*    *    *    *    *    *

The rest of the evening was spent in much the same way, save for any feelings of guilt or ignominy on my part had been packed away in a trunk, padlocked, chained up, and thrown into my own personal river of self-disgust, which I would dredge up and deal with once Justine was gone.

But something had changed.  As my modified geisha and I did things that I’m sure most Christian and heathen folk alike would frown upon, it became obvious to me that Yumi no longer seemed so enamored of her reflection.  Where before it was all she could do to look me in the eye, now her eyes were on me every last second.  The same for her hands, too.  She no longer ran them over her lithe, rubber-encased body, but instead stroked and teased and caressed me constantly, and despite the fact that any negative feelings I felt were firmly locked away and disposed of, one small trickle of guilt had managed to escape, because it truly was the greatest sex I’d ever had with her.

It was at midnight that I came yet again, blasting what could only be the last possible drop of my jizz into her artificial pussy.  She sat atop me, perched like a big-breasted bird atop my sweating body.  She hadn’t cum, at least not as far as I could tell, but sat there looking at me, her face serene, and possibly a little sad.  “I love you more than anything in the world,” I said, my breathing sounding as if I’d run a marathon.  “You do know that, don’t you?”

The serene look faded, leaving only the sadness behind.  “It is not proper to love a slave, Roddy-sama.”

I wanted to respond, but I was too tired and wrung out to think of anything that might improve the situation, so I simply reached up and pulled her forward so that she could lie upon me.  We lay like that for what seemed an endless time, her artificial skin like a blanket, keeping me warm in the coolness of our air-conditioned bedroom, until sleep took us both.

*    *    *    *    *    *

I awoke alone, the morning sun streaming through the French doors of our bedroom.  Where Yumi should lay, there were only rumpled sheets, and as I looked up into the mirror over the bed, I realized that without her next to me, I looked strangely insignificant.  “Yumi?” I called out.

“Sorry, Rod,” Yvette’s voice replied from the bathroom, her words barely audible over the blow dryer, “I’m afraid Yumi has left the building.”

I found I was sorry, too, for in all truth I had come to prefer Yumi’s company to that of my wife’s.  I felt an actual stab of guilt at that point, as though an ice pick had been thrust into my chest.  Oh, you’re just a real fucking prince, aren’t you, bub?  But I told my inner voice to peddle it elsewhere, for the simple truth was not so simple.  There could be no doubt that I loved Yvette, for she was the sun, the moon, and the stars to me.  But though I loved her, I was nevertheless frightened for her, for it appeared to my armchair shrink’s eyes that Yvette was headed for a full-scale nervous breakdown.  I mean, who wouldn’t prefer the attentions of a devoted, busty geisha to that of a psychotic Barbie doll?

On balance, though, my inner voice spoke the truth.  I was being an ignoble dickhead; my problems, and Yvette’s as well, purely of my own making.  So get up, go in the bathroom, and tell her you love her.  Baby steps, pal.  One foot in front of the other.

“I’m glad you’re home, sweetie,” I said, loud enough for her to hear in the bathroom, doing my best to sound lighthearted.  “Let me fire up the cappuccino maker, and we can get our Sunday started.”

“No need, Roddy,” she said loudly.  “Coffee’s already making.  Besides, I want you to stay in bed for a minute.  I have a little surprise for you.”

I let out a long sigh: so many surprises over the last few weeks.  I was sick and tired of fucking surprises.  What I wouldn’t give to just shag my wife like normal people do.  Now wouldn’t that be something?

The blow dryer kicked off a second later, followed by the sound of Yvette’s voice.  “Okay, honey, close your eyes and prepare to have your socks knocked off!”

I closed them, silently praying her surprise wouldn’t involve her turning into my sister.  “Okay, sweetie.”

I heard the bathroom door open, heard her footsteps on the wooden floor coming nearer.

“Okay, Roddy,” she said, and I heard a distinct quaver of anxiety in her voice, “open ‘em.”

I did, and had I been wearing socks, they would have been quite blown off.  At the foot of the bed stood my Yvette, the woman I had fallen in love with, naked as Mother Eve, her beautiful body absolutely devoid of polymer, her lips pressed together, her nervousness apparent.  “Oh my God, baby!” I said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.  “It’s really you!”

“It’s really me.  Did you miss me?”

I leaped up and was kneeling on the edge of the mattress in a flash.  I took her arms in mine, running my fingers up and down her newly exposed flesh.  I felt like a man meeting his mail-order bride for the very first time.  She was so beautiful, though rather paler for her time spent cocooned within my polymer.  “Jesus God, Yvette,” unable to keep the awe from my voice, “I…”

She put a hand up to my cheek, a silent gesture telling me that words were unnecessary, and I marveled at the feeling of her cool skin.  “Roddy, I don’t want you to say anything.  Just hold me.  Can you do that?”

I could do that, and did, right up until the point at which she fell onto the bed and pulled me on top of her.

*    *    *    *    *    *

She served me coffee in bed, and once my cup was empty she maneuvered me into the shower.  She did not join me, which I very much regretted, for her skin felt so absolutely marvelous to me: the softness of it, the smoothness of it, and the very human-ness of it.  I had been without it for so long that I had forgotten just how right it felt.

But more than that was my ability to see her, to revel in her natural beauty, to know that her smile was real, and not dulled by an artificial mask of striated elastomer.  The woman I loved was back, probably not for long, but I would enjoy my organic bride every minute I had her.

I dressed in my usual: shorts, t-shirt, and sandals.  The smells of cooking told me she was in the kitchen, making my favorite breakfast, chorizo, eggs, and fried potatoes.  I found her at the table, still gloriously nude, holding my chair for me in invitation to sit.

“Yvette,” I said, blown away by her loving attention,  “you don’t need to…”

“Roddy, please,” she said, cutting gently across me, “let me make you happy today.”

Only an idiot would defy such loving attention, and though I may have my moments, I am not so much a fool that I would knowingly displease the woman of my dreams.  I sat.

We ate together, happy and carefree.  I never took my eyes from her.  Her skin glowed with good health, and I reveled in her imperfections: her moles, the dime-shaped birthmark on her upper back, and her slightly oval aureoles.  It was such a treat seeing her like this; I was truly the happiest man on earth.

“So,” she said, once the food was devoured and the coffee drunk, “I’ve already mixed the color, a perfect match for Justine’s interior.  Tell me all about it.”

I didn’t have to ask her what she meant, for the expression on her face filled in the blanks.  God, I missed being able to read her face, and hoped I would be seeing ever more of it in the future.  “Well, my love,” I said with an airy sort of sigh, “it starts with me, driving alone in the desert…”

*    *    *    *    *    *

“Wait a minute, Roddy.”

I had the airbrush pointed at her feet, her pristine body primed and ready to undergo the coating process, and though I would like her to stay polymer-free for the rest of her days, the lure of turning her teal was just too strong.  “What is it, babe?” I asked, loudly enough to be heard over the fans that were helping to keep the garage properly ventilated.  “Did we forget something?”

“No,” she said, her voice going slightly quavery, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t regretting this; perhaps she was coming to the realization that happiness did not come out of a spray gun.  “No, we’re good.  It’s just…” and here she paused, and there was no mistaking the worry in her expression, something that was now quite obvious since there was nothing to mask it, “…would you please kiss me, Roddy?  One last time, while I’m still me?”

I straightened up and put the airbrush on her antique dresser.  She trembled slightly as I took her in my arms, but when our lips touched it was like that very first time, in the parking lot of Headlights.  She put my hand upon her heavy breast and squeezed it, moaning slightly as she did so.  She finally pulled her mouth from mine and rested her forehead on my collarbone.  We stood like that for a time, neither speaking or moving, just quietly enjoying the feel of one another.  She smelled of Ivory soap, and her skin was warm and dry.  The feel of her hairless head upon my cheek felt strange, but at the same time I was glad of it, for the more of her skin I could see and touch, the happier I was.

But there was no mistaking that she felt different.  She wasn’t holding me, so much as she was clutching, as though hanging onto a lifesaver in a stormy sea.  Don’t do it, my inner voice said.  Don’t paint her.  She doesn’t need to be restored, she just needs for you to love her.  She wants to be herself again.  And for perhaps the first time in my life I actually listened to my own counsel.

“Yvette, my love,” I said quietly, “we don’t have to do this.”

She clutched at me a little harder, as though I was the lifesaver, and she was about to be ripped away from me by an especially violent surge.  “No, we have to do it, Rod,” she said finally, her voice just carrying over the noise of the blowing fans.  “I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if I…if I didn’t do this one thing for you.”  She pulled away slightly and looked at me.  “You’ve given me so much, let me give you this.  It will make me happy.”

“Very well, my love,” I said with a sigh.  I reached around for the airbrush, all the more worried for her emotional health, but at the same time I couldn’t deny the stiffness in my pants.  But after today, I told myself, with Justine gone, all of this will be a memory.  And you’ll never do another selfish thing again, capiche?  From now on you focus on her.  But when I turned back to her, airbrush in hand, I found I was unable to focus on her because she was gone.

She hadn’t gone far, though.  She had merely dropped to her knees and was now unzipping my fly.  My cock disappeared into her mouth in a trice.  I moaned softly as her tongue bathed my prick in her warm spit.  Back and forth went her head slowly.  I had perhaps received well over a thousand blowjobs from my beautiful wife over the course of our lives together, but this was turning out to be the best of them.  Long, slow strokes, no humming, or squeezing, no technique; just a simple back and forth motion delivered with a loving slowness that transcended time and space.  But even time and space must bow to well-performed oral love, and I came, violently, my hands grasping at her bald head, my cock fully down her throat, pumping my hot jizz into her belly.

She continued gently stroking me off, sucking every last drop of my scum into her mouth, until there was nothing left for her to swallow.  When she was done, she put ‘Little Rod’ away and zipped me up.

“Okay, sweetie”, she said brightly, returning to standing position.  “I just wanted your taste in me.”

“And how do I taste?” I said, stalling for a few moments so that my eyes could refocus.

“Sweet, my love, but slightly bitter.  It’s a good taste, a proper taste.”  She paused for a few seconds, apparently savoring my essence and giving me a small smile.  “That was nice.  I’m ready now, I think.  Do it, Roddy.”

I looked into her beautiful blue eyes, eyes that would soon be covered over with teal contact lenses, and as I looked into them I got the strangest feeling that I wouldn’t be seeing them again.  As if the windows to her soul would be forever shuttered away if I depressed the trigger on the airbrush.  Don’t do it, my inner voice said again, a weak plea.

Yvette reached up and put her soft hand upon my cheek.  “It’s time, Rod.”

I kissed the palm of her hand, looked into her eyes one final time, and then bent down to work.  She pressed her lips together when the spray hit the tops of her feet, and she stifled a moan as her skin took on its customary artificial look.

*    *    *    *    *    *

It was a scorcher of a day when I pulled Justine off of the main highway and onto the old, disused desert road.  It was just the two of us, and it would be our last workout together, and I aimed to make it a good one.  There’s a lot of good, flat desert east of Phoenix, where a man can drive for hours on old farm or mine roads without risk of running into rock formations or dry washes.  I pulled onto my favorite bit of dirt track, and gunned Justine’s motor, pushing her up through the gears quickly, until she was kicking sand through her tires at seventy miles per hour, and I still hadn’t opened her up.

She felt glorious, her motor positively purring, enjoying our workout, and hungry for more.  I gave her more gas, my heart pumping madly, my lips dry with anticipation as she hit eighty, sucking air through her twin hood scoops and spitting out exhaust.  She handled as beautifully as ever, eating up the desert as easily as she might lead a parade.  I loved this.  I loved being inside her.  I loved her.  I reached my hand out to rest it upon the passenger seat headrest, and that was when she came to life for me.

The sound of her motor died away slightly, as my eyes locked onto the vision in the passenger seat.  “Oh, Justine,” I said, a barely audible whisper.  She reached out an elegant, vinyl arm, and began stroking my neck as I drove.  I kept one hand locked upon the wheel, keeping us going good and straight as I took in her shining teal body.  She smiled at me, her matching eyes alight with joy.  Her big, glossy boobs bounced stiffly as we tore up the road, and her smooth thighs sparkled in the light of the sun streaming through her windshield.

“Justine…” I said again, but my words were lost for she quickly threw a vinyl leg over my lap, and lost no time shoving her tongue down my throat.  “Mmph…!” I moaned, as she heatedly pressed herself into me, her warm boobs rubbing deliciously against the thin t-shirt I was wearing.  My dick was as hard as a stick shift at that moment, and she lost no time in freeing it from my denim shorts, and inserting it into her rubbery cunt.

I gave a muffled cry as her vinyl vagina swallowed my length at a stroke.  She wrapped her arms around my seat, pinning me in place, her ethylene perfume invading my nostrils as she continued her ravenous assault on my mouth.  Except for my arms keeping us in the middle of the dirt road I was unable to move, as the frantic humping I was being given made movement all but impossible, but that was okay, for she did all the work.

I floored it, and was rewarded by the increased rumbling of her motor reverberating through my balls.  I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer, nor did I want to, but I knew that once I came my fantasy would be complete, never to be repeated, and it was with the greatest mixture of euphoria and regret that I shot my load into her.  We screamed as one, our muffled shrieks of ecstasy trapped in each other’s mouths.  I bucked and jerked wildly, slamming into her shining, polymer-coated body for all I was worth, and she giggled in satisfaction as my cries of rapture finally melted into tears of joy.

Justine’s engine was loud in my ears as we continued down the dirt track, kicking up dirt and likely scaring the shit out of roadrunners and sleeping coyotes.  She continued holding me, her warm body tightly pressed to mine, and I alternately laughed and cried, having achieved the greatest happiness ever known by any man on the face of the earth, and unlike my dream, I had done so without crashing and burning.

I moved down through the gears, until we slowed to a stop, her engine idling, powerful yet peaceful.  “Oh God, I love you so,” I said hoarsely, the tears streaming from my closed eyes, my nose buried in her soft, rubbery shoulder.  She didn’t say a word, she just continued holding onto me as I turned the car around and headed for home.  It was the single best day of my life, and it wasn’t yet sundown.  Now all that remained was for me to wash her up and deliver her to her new owner, and my day would be complete.  After that, it would be a different life.  About that there could be no doubt.

But the crash did come, and like my dream it came from out of nowhere, and was every bit as devastating.

To Be Continued…

Comments, feedback, or pictures of really big boobies always appreciated.

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