“Oh it’s you. Where’s your mother?” Crispin remarked dismissively, embarrassed at his romantic doorway pose and retracting the fresh bouquet of Casa Blanca lilies. His aristocratic accent had a way of making him sound rather condescending despite his polite smile.
“She’s still getting ready,” Mark mumbled, not making eye contact. “She said to tell you she’s sorry for running late, but she got a little tied up.”
Crispin allowed Mark to offer him a seat and accepted a glass of a Sauvignon Blanc. The boy was nice enough, but it’d never made sense to him how a scrawny, plain boy—drab oversized t-shirt and baggy sweatpants not helping—could be the progeny of a woman as lovely as Naomi Delacroix. Not that it ultimately mattered.
Back upstairs, Mark locked the door to his mother’s bedroom and collapsed in a skittish sigh. After a few moments, Mark arose with a powerful, mature confidence that was strangely incongruous from his character.
“Just like a man to come to early and ruin all the fun,” Mark remarked casually as he resumed preparations. His mother Naomi laid bound and gagged on her own bed. The muscle relaxant he had injected her with was probably overkill, but better safe than sorry. Though her mouth could not respond, Naomi’s eyes still conveyed her abashed confusion.
“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” Mark explained as his hands resumed peeling the dress off of his mother’s limp limbs. “Perhaps if you hadn’t always been too busy with a new boy toy every other week, you’d have realized I was always jealous of you: your luxurious wardrobe, your sensual femininity, your bewitching face and figure that made it oh so easy to get whatever you wanted…”
Mark’s lips spread into a devious grin, “I knew I always wanted to be like you, but then I realized: why not just be you? So I watched and I learned: the sashay of your hips, the nuances of your charm, the sweetness of your laugh.”
The practiced ease of feminine grace glistened as Mark lovingly laid aside his mother’s necklace, earrings, and dress. Mark fluently folded the latter in precisely the same way she would have; he had learned how long ago.
“This I practiced too,” Mark smiled, suddenly shifting to a pleasant, female pattern of speech that seemed strangely at odds with his wicked intentions. His well-trained voice effortlessly matched his mother’s sultry inflection, though not quite her soprano timbre. “You know, no one would even bat an eye if I told them my voice was a tad huskier than usual because I took one a little too deep, but…”
The mist that sprayed out of the innocuous-looking inhaler lifted Mark’s pitch into an angelic lilt. “There, much better. Now I sound more like ‘myself’, don’t I?” Mark laughed at seeing his mother’s eyes go wide; hearing her own voice come out of his mouth was just the beginning.
The reason for Mark’s loose-fitting clothes was immediately apparent as he tossed them aside. His waist was even narrower than his skinny appearance would’ve suggested, and at the top of his shapely, skyscraper-long legs were hips and a derriere that swelled far too luxuriously for any boy, or any girl his age! And unlike the other boys, his body was supple and lithe with creamy curves, except for his tummy, which was taut and flat.
A small moan escaped Mark’s lips as he removed the strong, compression bandage around his chest, freeing two perfectly hemispherical, succulent breasts. “Extra strength estrogen cream, every night before bed. Wondrous aren’t they?”
Mark’s hands looked dainty as he cupped his breasts. They were plush, pert, and ripe. “Oh don’t look so surprised! You of all people should know the women in our family are very well endowed! They were actually even bigger before I had them surgically reduced to exactly your size!”
“Oh yes, this body is all natural, hormone injections still depend on Mother Nature!” Mark giggled, twirling to showoff his unmistakably feminine figure. “Well mostly, I had to have a little adjustment work done to become your identical twin, but now I’m a 36D-22-36, same as you. I’m also exactly 5’7” and three quarters as listed on your Ashley Madison profile, and a size eight women’s shoe, just like all the heels in your closet. Perfectly identical in every way, except this…”
Mark pouted as he pulled down his briefs, letting his unshaved semi-erect cock and balls dangle unseemingly, a strange juxtaposition to his womanly silhouette. “I realized fairly early on that as much as I could act like you, sound like you, and even look like you, I could still never fully be you, not as long as I still had this between my legs, which is why...”
Prying at the base of his cock, Mark shocked his mother as his male genitalia, with dark merkin attached, suddenly popped free and was discarded by the bed.
“Surprise! I’ve been sitting like a lady in the bathroom for a few months now,” Mark announced proudly. The now exposed familiar pink lips of a woman’s pussy lay embellished by a neatly groomed blonde strip, identical to his mother’s. Each individual hair had been painstakingly bleached. His mother was a natural blonde; he was not.
“I’m so glad you enjoy sending nudes. It wasn’t hard to procure the photos to show the plastic surgeons exactly what I wanted ‘my pussy’ to look like,” Mark explained.
To prove her female sex was real and fully functional, Mark smugly guided the tip of her old male prosthetic to the edge and gasped slightly as the entire shaft slipped easily deep inside. “Oh yes, fuck that feels so good. I can’t wait for real thing.”
Mark grinned wickedly as she mimicked a few of her mother’s passionate moans, whimpers, and squeals, building up to an Oscar worthy orgasm that would’ve convinced any man that he had the sexual prowess of a demigod.
Mark shivered her hand grazed her swollen, sensitive clit. “The doctors in Beverly Hills really are phenomenal—the best money can buy. That’s where I actually was that summer I spent ‘abroad in Europe’, putting the trust fund father left me towards getting my M.R.S. instead. Did you know they were even able to transplant a womb inside me? And remember those eggs you had frozen? I had them put those inside me too. You know what that means? I’m just as fertile as you were when you had your eggs collected at eighteen; I could get pregnant just thinking about sex!”
Between her full breasts and ass, Mark cradled an imaginary swollen belly. “And with the right man, I could bear him your—excuse me, my children, nurse them at my own breasts, and raise them as my own.”
Mark’s lashes fluttered innocently, a sweet maternal smile across her face. “Crispin and I could make beautiful children together, don’t you think? Imagine, little bundles of joy with my nose, my chin, my eyes. I could be you in every way, and nobody would ever know.” The horrified expression on her Naomi’s face was all the approval Mark needed.
“Speaking of my nose, chin, and eyes, I dare say I’ve saved the best for last, ” Mark declared gleefully. Using a large makeup sponge, Mark deftly smeared her face and front of the neck with a clear thin liquid. Within seconds, the outlines of several prosthetic pieces appeared.
“Everyone always said I took after you, so the doctors didn’t have to do much, just subtle enhancements here and there.” Mark’s Adam’s apple peeled off like a sticker. The large nosepiece was the next to go, followed by the protuberant brow bone, square chin pieces, and light patches of facial hair. With his boyish costume removed, all that was left behind were striking high cheekbones, voluminous lips, and a petite chin and nose. “You wouldn’t believe what a hassle it was to wear this everyday to keep everyone from finding out. But now, this pretty face is all mine.”
Seeing her own face on another body sent a numbing terror pervading through Naomi’s body. Her son even had her striking, olive-green eyes now, thanks to colored contacts. Not to mention his well-practiced facial expressions and coy, mature demeanor, which were an uncannily impeccable mimicry of her own.
Mark’s short brown hair also came off with a slight tug. Soft shoulder-length blonde hair tumbled free, dyed blonde to the root, just like her bush down below. “It’s taken a bit longer than I expected to grow my own hair out, but until then…”
The long, glistening, blonde wig Mark gingerly unpackaged from its box was already perfectly styled to match her mother’s golden mane. “I had it specially made with real human hair, your hair.” Mark ran her immaculately manicured nails lovingly through the silky tresses. “Remember how I convinced you to start donating your hair to a good cause? Well this is it.”
Satisfied that the extra strength adhesive had set, Mark gave the monofilament wig a strong tug, and let the long blonde waves cascade gently over her slender shoulders. Even without additional touch ups, her hair already looked so gorgeous and alive.
Sitting down at her mother’s vanity, Mark skillfully went to work with her familiar tools—foundation, blush, mascara, eyeliner, lip gloss—applying each in the exact order and manner which her mother had done just this morning. Every brush, pat, and stroke, just like she’d obsessively watched and religiously practiced. Her face complete, Mark finished preening with two dabs behind the ears of her mother’s signature Estee Lauder perfume.
“For a thirty-five year old woman, you still have exquisite taste,” Mark admired, as she slid Naomi’s lacy, silk thong down her mother’s smooth legs and up her own. The delicate fabric nestled flat and snug against her crotch. Mark deftly removed Naomi’s matching demi-bra next, and easily re-hooked the clasp behind her back like she’d been doing it all her life. The extravagant, custom-tailored, chiffon gown was still warm as Mark zipped up the back. It certainly hugged every inch of her bodacious figure and flattered all of her best assets. And like Cinderella’s glass slipper, her mother’s strappy heels were also a perfect fit.
Despite herself, Naomi couldn’t help but marvel at the way her son floated gracefully across the room in her heels, leading naturally with pendulant hips, and causing his other assets to jiggle ever so slightly in just the most feminine manner. It was almost like an out of body experience, watching herself—the same display of artistry in getting dolled up, the same graceful sensuality in every touch, the same carnal excitement of a woman in heat. She knew that look on Mark’s face—her own face; it was one she had worn many times before a date as she primped in the mirror, entertaining lascivious, perverse thoughts.
“Hello, I’m Naomi Delacroix,” ‘Naomi’ purred in her mother’s most alluring voice as she struck a pose that managed to be both provocative and elegant.
“So dear—I can call you that now can’t I? Mother just seems no longer appropriate. I mean, we’re essentially sisters, identical twin sisters, now after all.” From her good looks, to her bitchy personality, to her ability to perform and function as a woman, there was nothing Naomi could do that her former son couldn’t.
“I’m afraid there can only be one me. We wouldn’t want Crispin to mistake you for the woman he loves, now would we?” ‘Naomi’ purred cattily. Gathering her old clothes, bandages, and prosthetics, ‘Naomi’ prepared to perform the unveiling process in reverse. Only this time the glue wouldn’t be temporary. ‘Naomi’ snickered impishly, “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt…much.”
It took only a few minutes to finish her work. The limp, lanky boy that lay on ‘her’ mother’s bed would not attract any unwanted attention.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be good to Crispin tonight—dare I say…even better than you? I’ve been reading your private diary, including all that steamy adult stuff. I know exactly what Crispin likes in bed,” ‘Naomi’ whispered into ‘Mark’s’ ear. “I’m flexible enough for all his favorite positions, and then some—I didn’t go to all those yoga classes for nothing.”
“And this ass,” ‘Naomi’ gave it a little shake, “so plump, so luscious, so juicy, and you never let him use it. How many Louboutins do you think I can milk him for if I say yes? I’ll ask him to be gentle, and whimper that it’s my first time, but between you and me, I’m a fucking pro. How else do you think I stole the head cheerleader’s boyfriend senior year of high school?”
‘Naomi’ smiled as she tucked ‘her son’ into bed and sauntered towards the door. “Though once Crispin has been inside my pussy, he won’t ever want anything else. I’m creamy as dream, and I am and always will be tighter than a virgin. Don’t bother feeling like you have to get back to ‘your room’ before the end of the night. I’m sure I won’t be home for a while. Tata!”
‘Naomi’ glanced at her makeup in the mirror on her way out though she knew it was still perfect; she just enjoyed seeing her pretty face. It was no wonder why she had strong, handsome men fawning over her like lovesick schoolboys.
Downstairs, Crispin was checking at his watch for the hundredth time. They were going to be late. And suddenly that was perfectly fine with him as he saw ‘Naomi’ descending gracefully down the steps.
“You’re staring,” ‘Naomi’ said softly, as she shyly tucked an errant strand of hair back in place.
“You look absolutely stunning,” Crispin said after a moment, suddenly snapping back to reality. His hands slid down her back and over her luscious derriere as he brought her in close for a hug and a kiss. “Tonight especially.”
“Aww, thanks babe. You’re not so bad yourself!” ‘Naomi’ replied, giving him another kiss, though she was mostly referring to the gargantuan erection that was growing larger by the minute rubbing up against her. ‘Naomi’ was definitely not disappointed.
A few minutes later, the slam of the car door and buzz of the engine faded to silence. It had certainly took them long enough to get out the door. Mark’s mother hummed casually as she gingerly peeled off her son’s disguise, dissolving the adhesive with a special spray. She was going to really need a long bath after this; thank goodness she would have the house to herself for long while. Her son wasn’t the only talented actress in the family; she had replaced the illegally acquired syringes with harmless copies of isotonic saline months ago. The hypnotic tapes Naomi had played in Mark’s room at night and subliminal messages she had embedded into his iPod had worked like a dream. Not even she could’ve imagined these kinds of results. Oh, her son had always been somewhat effeminate—she couldn’t take credit for that—but turning him into her double? That was all part of the plan.
From a locked compartment within her jewelry box, Naomi pulled out a simple disposable phone and dialed a number she had memorized long ago. It ran exactly eight times before the other side answered.
“It’s time,” Naomi stated nonchalantly. “You know what to do.”