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                         THE GUINEA PIG
                               by
                           RUTH WHITE

                             CHAPTER
                               16

Joe wondered why he hadn't drawn any attention in the cafeteria.
"Surely, I must have been a sight," he thought.

Joe didn't know that there were two good reasons for his not
causing a commotion; Dr. van Damme's staff was well trained not to
display interest in anything out of the ordinary, and they had all
seen more outlandish creatures than Joe Watson result from the
Doctor's experiments.

Monica hadn't allowed Joe his customary huge breakfast,
instead limiting him to cereal, skim milk, and fresh fruit.

Patting his taffeta wrapped behind Joe thought. "That's O.K.
I certainly don't need to put any more weight on."

Joe worried about how he would get it off, once he was
liberated from the island.

Back in his new room, Joe sat in a chaise lounge. He tried to
adjust his position so as to relieve the pressure on his testicles.
He felt very vulnerable with them exposed and constricted the way
they were. The strain on them did not abate and any movement merely
caused further discomfort. He found out that sitting still caused
him the least suffering.

The room was equipped with a television. Turning it on, Joe
observed nothing but soap operas. There were some magazines in a
holder by his chair. He looked through them. They were all fashion
and women's magazines; Cosmopolitan and the like. Joe had a sinking
spell when he saw the dates on them; he'd been here quite awhile.

Bored, he picked up an issue of Vogue and started thumbing
through it. Before long his transvestite inclinations had taken
over. Looking at a particularly charming evening gown, Joe thought
to himself. "I wonder how I would look in that?"

Just then Monica entered his room. "Get up Joe, you've got an
appointment."

"For what?"

"Don't you worry about that. Just get moving."

Joe tapped down the hall in his heels, attempting to keep up
with Monica in his restrictive apparel. Joe followed Monica into
what looked like a lecture hall. There was a chair in front
surrounded by machinery.

"Sit in the chair Joe."

Joe obeyed,and his aching balls were squeezed even more as he
settled his plump behind into the chair. Monica tightened straps
around his ankles, lap, waist, wrists, arms, and above his breasts.
A strap around his neck pulled him hard against the back of the
chair, but there was no headrest or support. Monica rubbed some
lotion all over his bald head.

"What's this? The electric chair?" he joked.

Monica didn't answer. Instead, she produced a ball gag, forced
it between his lips, and tied it in place. The lotion was then
applied to his forehead and eyelids.

People came in, seated themselves throughout the room, and
talked quietly among themselves. The room was almost full when Dr.
van Damme entered with a man. Joe recognized him as the Doctor who
had given him his fingernails. The group hushed as Dr. van Damme
introduced Dr. Brenner then sat down.

"Has the desensitizing agent been applied to the subject?" The
Doctor asked Monica.

"Yes sir."

"Good."

He pulled a piece of the equipment out, turned it on, and
swung it out on an extension over Joe's head.

"This is a further refinement of my work with the acrylics
that produced the subject's fingernails. First I turn on the laser
and outline the area to be covered."

As he talked he rotated the machine completely around Joe,
keeping it focused on his head.

"The outline is stored in the computer's memory. Then I just
turn it on like this."

There was a humming noise, not unlike a sewing machine, and
Joe could feel a vibration in his head.

"The color is selected, the machine mixes it, and then extrudes it as
a fiber which is randomly varied in cross-section and color for a
natural appearance.  Select the length carefully because, like the
fingernails, once it's formed it's forever. The strands won't burn,
fade, can't be cut or dyed, but at least you don't have to worry about
split ends. Otherwise, the fibers are indistinguishable from organic
hair. They need to be washed, regular shampoo will do, and sprays and
gels will control the strands allowing them to be styled in any
manner. I think what I have here is the ultimate in hair replacement."

Joe worked at his gag. "What are they doing to me now?"

"The newly formed fiber, before it solidifies, is connected to
a needle and inserted into the skull where, once it sets, it is
anchored permanently and can't be pulled out."

The machine hummed on.

After awhile it stopped. The Doctor moved another unit to the
front of Joe's face.

"To replace hair not on the scalp, this device allows the
fibers to be secured in the skin, much like a hair root. Also, like
natural hair, these strands can be pulled out, but I understand
that it's quite painful."

The Doctor aimed the light at Joe's forehead twice then turned
it on. Joe felt a sensation of pressure on his forehead over each
eye and then it was done.

"As you can see the length, color, and thickness are totally
variable."

The machine stopped. The Doctor examined Joe's face. Joe saw
the Doctor peek down at his cleavage, and felt a twinge of shame.
There was more than a professional interest in the Doctor's eyes.

Was it desire?

The Doctor grabbed Joe's right eyelid and pulled it out. Using
tweezers to grasp it, he moved the unit over to engage and clamp
down on it.

"The machine even allows for individual detail work."

The machine buzzed slowly and Joe felt a tugging on his eyelid. The
process was repeated on his bottom lid and then the left eye.

The small machine was pulled away.

Joe blinked. His eyelids were heavy and he felt lashes brush
on his cheek.

"What have they done to my eyes?" he thought.

The Doctor spoke. "Now that the main unit is finished we can
open the accumulator."

There was a click and Joe felt a weight on his head. He couldn't see
it, but he experienced the odd sensation of mass pulling on his scalp.

The Doctor was congratulated by his fellows and they all departed,
leaving Joe and Monica alone.

Monica came up and released his bonds. "See I told you you'd have hair
soon enough. Now you have to worry about taking care of it."

Joe's gag was removed and the restraints released. Standing
up, he felt the unfamiliar sensation of hair brushing against his
neck and shoulder blades. Joe reached up and touched an enormous
mass of hair. He pulled a handful forward over his shoulder. It was
the color of gold.

He was a blonde.

PERMANENTLY!

Joe ran his long red fingernails through his long blonde hair.
The transvestite in him loved it. He pulled more over. Hair covered
the tops of his breasts and Joe could feel his new tresses hanging
down his back, almost to his waist.

Incredulous, Joe followed Monica back to his room. She left him
sitting on the chaise, still gazing at handfuls of his magnificent
blonde hair. After awhile, Joe recovered from this blow only to get
another; a full-length mirror had been positioned on the wall on the
other side of the room. Joe just looked at it, afraid to go over and
see his reflection. Finally his curiosity overcame his misgivings and
the trembling man shut his eyes and walked over in front of the
mirror.

Opening his eyes, Joe saw the most desirable woman he had ever
laid eyes on.  Completely astounded, he stared at her.  The girl in
the mirror appeared to be about twenty or twenty-one.  Long blonde
hair framed a oval face.  Her eyebrows were narrow semi-circles,
arching highly above provocative green eyes.  Long lashes, thick
with mascara, curved out from lids lined heavily in black.  The blue
shadow on the eyelids darkened to purple in the eye crease, then
softened, as it rose, to become silver under the eyebrows.

The pert nose and high cheekbones added refinement to her
face. Her skin was soft and ivory colored, except for rosy red
cheeks. Opulent red lips smiled sweetly at him and begged to be
kissed. In back of them, perfect white teeth sparkled. "That's me."
Joe cried.

The only familiar reference was his green eyes, but even they
were different; more open and wider as if he viewed the world in
perpetual wonder. And those lips!

"But I'm not smiling," thought Joe.

The cosmetic surgery which had made his lips full and protruding had
somehow formed his mouth into a permanent smile. Joe noticed that the
bright red lip color matched his nails, and that his make-up was a
trifle on the heavy side. "Wait a minute," he thought. "I don't have
any make-up on."

"That's tattooed on my skin!"

Joe's panic was short lived as he stood there and stared at himself.
He loved this babe whose image the mirror reflected and he lusted for
her. Meanwhile the transvestite in his mind relished how sensual he
looked. Joe became more and more aroused the longer he studied his
reflection in the mirror. He had been reconstructed to look like a
girl from one of his sexual fantasies. He couldn't
believe it.

Joe's tiny feet were perched on black patent high heels.
Shapely legs, encased in sheer black nylons, disappeared into the
tight skirt which defined the contours of his broad hips which were
further emphasized by the wide belt wrapped around his
infinitesimal waist.

Joe's massive breasts strained against his silken blouse revealing an
expanse of cleavage guaranteed to arouse the interest of any man who
hadn't been dead for over an hour. A beautiful face, long blonde hair,
slim arms, and graceful hands with their long red fingernails
completed a vision of loveliness; Joe was every inch a stunning and
desirable young woman.

Except for those inches outlined under his tight skirt!

Joe gazed at his reflection. His arousal grew until finally,
without a touch, he ejaculated into his tight taffeta skirt.

Released from his enchantment, Joe removed his belt then tried
to get his tight skirt off. It was tough going; getting the zipper
down over his rounded ass, what with the long nails and all.
Eventually he got it down, peeled the skirt off, stepped out of it,
and threw it in the hamper.

Joe saw the advantage now of the bikini he wore. Since the
head of his cock was not covered, he had come into the skirt, and
his panties were unsoiled. There was some gooey residue on his
abdomen however, and Joe went to the bathroom to get a tissue and
wipe it off.

Once there though, Joe could only stare at the cum on his
belly. He found himself filled with an overpowering need to taste
it. Joe placed the tip of his right index finger in the sticky goo,
then brought it to his red lips. His tongue snaked out and licked
it. "Hmm." It tasted salty and somehow familiar.

Joe rubbed the fingers of his other hand in the sticky mess
and brought it to his mouth. Hungrily he lapped his cum of off his
fingers loving every drop of it.

"What's going on?" Joe wondered. Why did he find eating his cum so
satisfying?

Joe decided that his body craved salt because of the lack of
it in his diet. His chagrin alleviated by this bogus rationalization,
Joe repeated his actions, alternating hands and sucking on each finger
until it was clean. Somehow still compelled by his mysterious hunger,
Joe returned to his bedroom.

Joe walked to the hamper. He didn't want to do this but was
powerless to resist. Slowly, he reached into the hamper and
withdrew his soiled skirt. Turning it inside out, he raised it to
his lips, and hesitantly licked at the damp lining. Joe could taste
his cum. He drew the material into his mouth and sucked at it
vigorously. "What's happening to me," he wondered. He didn't really
want to be doing this but something inside his mind forced him on.

"Is all this dressing and looking like a woman making me act
like one?" Joe asked himself.

Joe sat on the chaise lounge feeling silly. He'd tried to
remove his blouse but couldn't reach the buttons in back, so he
remained as he was; half dressed.

Monica entered. She knew what had transpired, having watched
the interlude from Dr. van Damme's office. "Let's get you undressed
Joe."

"What should I wear to dinner?"

Monica wanted to say: "You've just had your dinner. Do you
really want some more," but instead said "it's too late for dinner,
but I'll get you a snack when your ready for bed."

Joe removed his jewelry. Monica unbuttoned the blouse and Joe
shucked it off and put it in the hamper. Joe removed his shoes and
placed them in the closet, removed his bikini, undid the garters,
unhooked the garter belt and took it off. Joe removed his bra and
stockings and went to the hamper with his lingerie.

"Wait a minute Joe. You have to wash your undies out by hand
every night."

Handing him a short nightie, Monica said, "Clean them like you
did your panties and hose this morning."

Joe put on the nightie to cover his breasts.

When he was done and had hung his underwear up to dry, he
returned to the bedroom where Monica was waiting for him. Holding
out a sandwich and glass of milk she said, "here eat this then get
in bed."

After eating, and when Monica had left, Joe lay in bed,
enjoying the luxuriousness of the satin sheets. He decided he liked
the way his head nestled in the bulk of his blonde hair.

Joe didn't get dressed the next day. Monica brought him his
breakfast, then Betsy arrived. Joe spent the day with her learning
to care for his new hair. Betsy showed him how to wash, dry, and
style it, trying to make Joe feel good about what had been done to
his appearance. "Just think Joe, you'll never have to get a
haircut." Or, "Think of the time you'll save not having to spend
hours putting on or removing cosmetics."

"But why would I ever want to wear make-up in the first
place?" thought Joe.

By the end of the day Joe could arrange his hair in any number
of fashions;  from a tight bun to adorable little ringlets.

Joe woke up groggy the next morning. He stumbled into the
bathroom and splashed water on his face. There was now a mirror
over the sink. It shocked him to see his face, first thing in the
morning, all made up as if he had just left a beauty salon.

"I guess I'll have to live with it for awhile," he thought. "I
know tattoos can be removed or covered up. I'll get rid of this
face once I'm home."

Joe opened the closet and looked at the vast array of dresses
there wondering which one he might be dressed in today. He got
turned on thinking about the clothing.  Going to the bathroom he sat
on the toilet and massaged his breasts until his cock was hard. Now
when he masturbated he used his right hand and beat off into his
left.

After he had come, he consumed the semen in his hand, savoring
every drop.

"Surprise Joe!" said Monica. "You get to go to the beach
today. You need some color."

Instead of a dress Monica put Joe in a swimsuit. It was a very
revealing one-piece made of spandex. The strapless suit was black,
except for the elasticized top which was white with a big bow over
his bust. Naturally, everything was revealed, including his male
organs.

Joe was given a white cotton cover-up, some sandals, and a
gold chain was locked around his neck. "Sorry about the sandals
Joe, but they're all I can find for the beach. Don't try to remove
that chain, it's a locating device in case you get lost. Don't even
think about trying to run away. Dr. van Damme owns the whole
island, there's nothing else close, and no way off it . Parts of
the island can be very dangerous, and you can't go very far or very
fast with your feet."

Joe was turned over to Betsy who took him to a lovely secluded
beach, put lotion and sunscreen on him, and saw to it that he
tanned properly.

After several days of this, Joe looked like a bronze goddess.

Joe considered his dressing as a woman. It didn't seem to
bother him at all any more. In fact, as he would admit only to
himself, he got a kick out of it. While his physical development
had been, for the most part, gradual allowing him to acclimate
himself to the changes in his body, he had been abruptly thrown
into the world of women's fashion which was totally alien to him.

Some of it took some getting used to, especially bras and
hosiery. If he wasn't at the beach or sleeping, Joe was wearing a
bra and either stockings or panty-hose. Joe hadn't as yet been able
to accept as normal, the wearing of stockings. He was mesmerized by
the appearance of his shapely legs in shimmering nylon. Not only
that, but whenever he wore hose, which was most of the time, the
feeling of his hairless legs in their delightful embrace drove him
to distraction. Added to which, were the exquisite sensations he
received as the delicate fabrics of his apparel massaged his legs
through his ultra-sheer hosiery.

Joe had always thought that a bra was a bra, not knowing of
the vast assortment available to women for different purposes;
bandeaus, underwires, long-lines, front-hook, back-hook, natural
cup, strapless, and more. Joe was learning quickly though; he wore
them all. The one bra that Joe just couldn't get comfortable in was
the demi-bra, this infernal design just held his jugs out but
didn't cover the nipples at all. Five minutes in a demi-bra under
a slip, blouse, or dress and Joe's nipples would be rock hard and
his cock ready to pop.

Joe had gone through a hard enough time getting accustomed to
having tits, but now he was kept constantly aware of their presence
on his chest by the firm pressure of the well-stuffed brassieres he
wore. It had become unnerving to go without one, as he did now.

One of Joe's questions had been answered for him as, piece by piece,
he was dressed through the contents of his new wardrobe.  Yes,
everything they gave him to wear fit just like his first outfits did.
Every single bit of clothing was tight, sheer, revealing, and
sensuous; designed to put on display the feminine qualities which Joe
now possessed in abundance.

There wasn't anything that could even be considered normal day
wear. Not only that, but lately Monica and Betsy had been treating
him like a mannequin, entertaining themselves by dressing him in
whatever fashions caught their fancy.

Take this morning for instance; Joe was very self-conscious,
knowing he was dressed inappropriately for breakfast, let alone
cafeteria dining, but this was how Monica had bedecked him this
morning. He had been poured into a strapless, long, black velvet,
evening gown. Having been given no bra, his enormous breasts
jiggled with every step, seeming as if they would leap out of the
gown's embrace at any moment. Black satin pumps, along with shapely
legs and thighs clad in filmy black panty-hose, revealed
themselves, snaking out through excessively high slits in his
skirt. Joe's hair had been brushed out straight and styled so that
it fanned out over his back, covering his shoulders like a yellow
cape. Long elaborate rhinestone earrings dangled from his ears
matching the sparkling necklace and bracelets that he wore. As Joe
ate his low-fat cottage cheese, he thought, "I should be in a
whisky advertisement."

Joe found this funny for some reason. Giggling, he spilled
some cottage cheese onto the bare top of his breast. He tried to
wipe it up discreetly, but every male eye in the room was glued to
him, Dr. van Damme's instructions notwithstanding.

*************
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