The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)

A Shedding and an Unshedding

Previously: "Masked Masks" 

You sit on the edge of the tub and look down at Yumi Saito. Long minutes pass during which your heart beats very hard, and your breath comes in quick gasps. What am I about to do? you think.

You know the answer to that question, of course. You're about to engineer a kind of "body swap" with her. In half an hour or so, you'll be looking down at yourself, and you'll be wearing her clothes, and you'll have her legs and feet and arms and hands and hips and face and ... and boobs and ... and ...

Your mouth is very dry and your palms are very sweaty and your cock keeps ticking up and down as though it can't make up its mind whether to be excited or horrified.

Yumi is wearing white, hip-hugging shorts and ankle socks, so when you reflect that those will be your legs in a bit, you can see exactly what they will look like. Chelsea's crack about them being "rice packed" notwithstanding, they aren't chunky, but they are well-shaped and obviously strong, and you know that Yumi did a lot of gymnastics before she got onto the cheerleader squad. Her calves are curved and very strong as well.

From the waist up there is less to see, for she's wearing a fuzzy, zebra-striped pullover sweater. Her nose and mouth and chin are small, and her eyes are very large. Not anime large, but she's got the kind of face that you think could inspire the "cute anime girl" look that you see on TV.

After a minute of rubbing your palms together, you remember that you should probably get her undressed. You'll need to put your mask on her before she wakes up, and if she's still in those clothes, the change will probably rip them.

Wait. What if you wake her up while pulling her clothes off her, like what happened with Chen?

Well, that's just a risk you'll have to take. With trembling limbs you kneel next to her. You start with her feet.

Carefully you pull off the bright white tennis shoes she's wearing, and peel off the ankle socks. There's no movement on Yumi's face.

You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. The shorts ...

No, you move up to the sweater, first. With exploratory fingers you find a narrow zipper running up the side, and after sliding this down you're able to peel the sweater back to expose her torso. You can't get it all the way off her without rough handling, but at least this way it won't get torn.

Yumi's stomach, now exposed, shows an inward curve but no obvious musculature, but you don't press it with your fingertips to test for firmness. Instead, you look at her breasts, which are large enough to fill an ample bra. Briefly you give consideration to taking the bra off, then reflect sweatily that there's no risk of Hulk-like tearing there, only of severe deflation.

And the shorts ...? You wipe your face with the hem of your t-shirt.

You unbutton and unzip them, then tug them down past her knees, then all the way off. Your eyes steam behind the corneas at the sight of the trim lavender panties she's wearing beneath them. Their edges bite into her flesh ...

Oh boy. You almost give up at that point, but then think of what will happen down there when the change comes: your cock will come popping out from inside her panties. Your wince is like a full-body spasm.

You compromise in a pervy kind of way by draping a towel over her midriff, then reaching under to hook your fingers into her panties and pull them down. They hang onto your fingers after you've got them off from around her feet, and you have to shake them off.

You wash your face off in the sink and avoid looking yourself in the eye after drying it.

* * * * *

It takes an agonizingly long time for the mask to come out from inside her, and you lift it off like it's a plate hot from the oven and lay it aside. Yumi remains asleep. You pick up the other mask, which is balanced atop your book bag, and drop it onto her face. It sinks instantly into her, and something kicks you in the shin. You look down. It was one of your feet.

One of your bare feet. One of your four bare feet.

The owner of that particular foot sits up with wide, staring eyes. "The fuck?" he gasps, and passes a hand over his forehead.

You feel yourself turning green from the chest up.

God, it looks just like you. Only wrong somehow. Everything is off, crooked. Malignant. It's the face that an evil twin would show. But he also looks very scared. "What?" he says, and he licks his lips nervously.

"What's your name?" you ask, and lick your own lips in turn.

"Will Prescott," he says doubtfully.

"You know Yumi Saito?"

"Sure." Now he looks very alarmed.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"I dunno." He is turning very white. "A couple of days ago at school?"

"Where are you now?"

"Beats the fuck out of me," he squeals.

You relax and let out a deep breath.

It's going the way you'd hoped, except for the fact that his face is wrong. One reason you were late getting to Chelsea was that you'd prepped some more of that goop that makes slaves. The last batch you'd made—which, as far as you know, is still up in the fuck room—used Chelsea's hair. This new batch used yours. You'd put some of it inside that mask you got from Caleb's before coming out to Chelsea, and you've got the rest of it in a plastic tub inside your book bag. That means that this thing here should be your slave. But for now it's enough that he not know that he's really Yumi-in-a-Will-Prescott-disguise.

"Okay. What's the last thing you remember?" you ask him

"I don't know!" He looks around, and pulls at the bra that droops off his chest. "Being at school, I guess. Wait!" he gasps. "Gordon! I was ... I don't know what I was doing, but Gordon caught me and hauled me off and he took some stuff from me."

Oh, great. Your doppelganger is a couple of weeks out of date. Hurriedly you think of what do about it.

Finally, you can do no better than this: "Okay, get into these things," you tell him as you pull off your shirt. "You're in Chelsea Cooper's bathroom—" His eyes pop. "She's outside. Tell her I told you to go home, but meet me at the Starbucks on Orlando. Wait!" You grimace: it's going to be tough explaining things to him. "Go out to the Starbucks and wait. I'll be along. Or someone will be. Just keep to a table by yourself, okay?"

"Is someone going to explain to me what's going on?" he whines as he pulls off the rest of Yumi's clothes. "Like, who the fuck you are?"

That's going to be the hardest one to answer, particularly when you're looking like Yumi Saito.

Chelsea peers through the crack when you open the bathroom door wide enough for your replacement to sidle through. She smiles expectantly, but you make a face and mutter that it'll be a little while before you're ready. Then you shut it on her.

With a deep, gulping breath you squat onto your haunches in front of your book bag. You take out the sealant and apply it to the inside of Yumi's mask. Then you clean up and pack everything away, and even fold up Yumi's clothes and tuck them into a neat pile with her shoes on top.

At last, you run out of ways to temporize. There's no going back, so why are you putting off going forward? Everything has worked out so far ...

You sit on the bathmat, then lay out flat on your back. You grope for Yumi's mask and hold it over your face. It is a deep, glowing blue, and exotic letters—Japanese script, it looks like—floats above the inner surface. You close your eyes, take in a deep breath, and lower it onto your face.

You feel it sinking into you, and it drags you down with it, the last thing you feel, it's like you're being turned inside out ...

* * * * *

You feel your own mind first, and then your skin, and then the weight of yourself. You are very cold.

You sit up so fast you give yourself a head rush, and look around. You're in a bathroom.

Chelsea's bathroom. You remember that much, even though your head throbs.

You also remember talking to a guy who looked like Will Prescott, and you remember undressing a girl who looked like Yumi Saito. You remember putting a mask together before driving out to Chelsea's, and you remember getting coffee with Cindy and Eva and Jessica before driving out to Chelsea's. You remember eating lunch in front of the school, and you remember chasing Yumi and being chased by Will afterward. You remember helping Chelsea and Gordon in the fuck room second period, and you remember the funny, creepy way Chelsea was being nice to you during cheerleader practice.

You remember being Will Prescott, and you remember being Yumi Saito.

You scramble to your feet and stare at yourself in the mirror. A very sober girl stares back at you. There's something wrong with her face—like she's your evil twin—but there's something very right about it, too.

You know who you are, though. You are Will Prescott. But you're also Yumi Saito. You clasp your arms around yourself, and shiver.

It worked. It fucking worked.

When you go home tonight, it will be to Yumi Saito's house, and Yumi Saito's bed, and when you get up tomorrow you will put on Yumi Saito's clothes and attend Yumi Saito's classes and talk and gossip with Yumi Saito's friends.

Your expression tightens, but there's a gleam in your eye.

And you're goddamned sure no one will be able to tell the difference. Not if you don't want them to.

* To continue: "Yumi Explains Things to a Lot of People" 

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 3)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 3)"