(occurs between Chapter One, Turn Six [Part Two] and Chapter One, Turn Seven)
"Aren't you ready yet?! This isn't the murfurbin Prom, y'know. We'll be finished before you know it."
I sigh. Boys – and this on in particular. Always in a rush to get right down to the meat of things and missing the joys one can find in a slow preparation. I let him wait just long enough to get irritated before answering.
"Almost. Some things just shouldn't be rushed, Luv." I give myself a final appraisal in the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of the bathroom door. Hair – check. Makeup – just a hint. Check. Shirt – his – hmmm … buttoned too far. I undo two more and do a quick pin-up girl bend. The shirt falls open a little, exposing a generous portion of cleavage without showing everything. Not like I'm not sticking out through the shirt, anyway. The cold down here always does that to me… I dab a bit of perfume on each wrist, each ankle, and between the "girls" for good measure, then snap off the light.
The carpet in the hallway muffles the sound of my feet as I move toward the living room. He's gone, tired of waiting here. I strike a pose in his doorway.
"Hello, sailor. Whaddaya say – worth the wait?"
He is suitably impressed, though he tries to hide it. "Finally," he grumbles, the look in his eyes making up for the tone in his voice. "What's with the get-up? This won't take that long."
"I know. But you said I should wear something comfortable," I say from the doorway.
"Quit dicking around and get in here," he mutters, and returns his attention to the display in front of him. "Stand over there." He waves absently over his shoulder.
I sneak up behind him, bare feet noiseless on the tile, and wrap my arms around his waist as I breathe into his ear, "But I'd much rather stand over here."
He tenses. I can tell he's teetering on the edge of irritation and downright crossness. He jabs his elbow into my ribs. "I told you to quit fucking around. Do you want to do this tonight or don't you?" He doesn't bother to look at me.
I laugh. "Actually, you told me to quit dicking around. I'm sorry. I know it's late, and I do very much want to do this tonight." I pad over to the old barber chair with an odd helmet on the seat. "Here?"
He ignores me for several moments, his attention focused on the code he's modifying. I begin to fidget. I'm nervous. What we're about to do will change me forever. Though I think it will be a good change, I can't help but think what it will be like. Will it hurt? How will I feel afterward? The cold of the tile floor is starting to make my feet hurt. Did he just say something?
"What? Shit. My mind was wandering. Sorry…"
"I said, ‘Put on the helmet.' I'm almost ready here."
Finally. I pick up the odd contraption. It looks more like a colander covered with aluminum foil with wires sticking out at odd angles. I put it on and sit down. I consider pulling a Sharon Stone, but decide the joke would be lost. He's too focused right now. Damn. These butterflies are beginning to nauseate me.
He comes over and flips me back, securing my arms and feet with padded Velcro cuffs. "Ready?" he asks. I can tell he's nervous, too. I smile at him.
"Give me a kiss," I say. "Then let's do it."
He grins, the double entendre is not lost on him this time. He kisses my forehead gently, but says nothing. More time passes as he completes his preparations. The soft tick-tick-ticking of the keyboard is oddly soothing.
My body prickles as the Glamour begins to gather. It's electric. I see little sparks dancing over my skin in warm, tingly pulses. It tickles and I giggle. The feeling intensifies and I go with it, laughing out loud. It's changing. Something is happening…. My body feels tight. Can't move – can't breathe! I'm scared now. I can feel something changing. The tickle is starting to burn. AH! BY THE BRIGHT ONES, IT HURTS! MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOPMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPMA
The nocker regards the unconscious girl cautiously for a moment, cursing softly to himself. This was not supposed to happen this way. He'd worked out the algorithms perfectly – there shouldn't have been any pain. The restraints – like to tricked out colander - were just a joke, props in homage to the old sci-fi flicks she loves to watch.
He picks her up gently, carries her to her room. He removes the sweat-soaked dress shirt and quickly gives her a sponge bath before dressing her in some soft flannel pajamas. A few strokes with a hairbrush take care of the worst of the dampness in her hair. He gently kisses her cheek, covers her with a comforter, and returns to his lab.
It's nearly 6AM before he finds the error in his code.
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