Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“But how are other males going to respect me?” I demanded. Even as a man, I wasn’t tall or muscular or imposing, like a Brute Enforcer. I looked too thin and too weak—an easy target.
“You can start by not crying around them,” the dealer said grimly. “And remember—this is a visual Synth only. If someone grabs your chest, they’ll feel your breasts. If they get close enough to your back, they’ll feel that long hair of yours, girly.”
“They will?” I put a hand to my head reflexively and the boy in the viewer did the same. I touched what looked like empty air in the viewer…and felt the long, thick waterfall of my real hair cascading down my back.
“They will,” the Synth dealer affirmed. “If I were you, I’d cut the hair and use a compression tank-top to flatten your breasts. I have one in your size you can have for another fifty credits,” he added.
“Cut my hair?” I repeated, still stroking my fingers through the long strands. Since I’ve never thought of myself as really pretty, I consider my hair to be my one true beauty. The idea of cutting it hurt—almost as badly as the Synth gun had.
Speaking of the Synth gun, I looked at my upper arm. There was no bulge there to show the implant, but there was a pretty nasty bruise already forming. I automatically started to rub my arm but winced and pulled my fingers away the minute they made contact—the flesh was still too tender.
“I’ll cut it for you—no extra charge,” the dealer offered. “But I get to keep it—I’ll sell it to a high-end wig-maker in the Beauty district.”
I didn’t want to let him do it…but who else could I ask? I couldn’t go to a barber or a stylist now. What would I say—“please cut off my invisible hair?” So I had to reluctantly agree.
“All right,” I said. “But you’ve seen my hair—it’s worth a lot. I’ll trade you the hair for the compression tank.”
He considered a moment and then nodded.
“Deal.”
He got up and came to stand beside me, holding a pair of heavy silver sheers. Grabbing my hair in one fist, he lifted the sheers and started chopping it off, right below my ears. As he cut, he talked.
“Remember if you have to get naked, you’ve got the appearance of a shaft but it’s just a hologram projected by the Synth implant. If anyone tries to grab it or touch it, they’re going to know there’s nothing there. So it’s better to avoid getting naked in front of anyone you don’t trust.”
“Don’t worry—I won’t!” I said with feeling. I had no plans to strip in front of strangers, so my Synth-projection penis was going to remain unseen by anyone but me.
“Good.” He finished cutting and pulled the thick handful of hair away from my head. As the hair left my body and the thin holo-field being projected by the implant, it reappeared, trailing from his fist in a long, black, silky wave.
I couldn’t help thinking it looked like he had scalped me—it felt like it too. My neck felt rubbery and my head was suddenly too light without the heavy masses of wavy hair I’d had all my life.
I wanted to cry again when I saw the dealer fold my hair carefully and put it in a bag, but I reminded myself that I looked like a man now and I had to act like one. That meant no showing emotions, no matter how deeply I felt them.
“I’ll get you that compression tank,” he said and rummaged in another bag at his booth for a moment before pulling out a skinny black tank-top that didn’t look big enough to fit a little girl—let alone a grown woman. He handed it to me and nodded at the viewer again. “Go on—put it on.”
I wanted to protest his idea that I should take off my top in front of him…but then I realized he wouldn’t be able to see my breasts. The holo-field generated by the Synth implant would hide them.
So I slipped off my top and my bra—it was useless now since its main function was to lift my medium sized breasts and make them more prominent. I felt naked and strange, standing there in the grimy ally, nude from the waist up, but the young man in the viewer didn’t seem to mind. He had a flat, unremarkable chest and tiny, dark brown disks for nipples instead of my own prominent points which had always been extremely sensitive.
I pulled on the compression top, gasping a little as it pinched me, and finally got it into place. I had to admit, it did a great job of flattening my breasts. I doubted anyone brushing against me would feel anything.
Since the dealer was sitting at his booth again and doing something—probably counting his money, I thought sourly—I dared to open my trousers and take a peek. Sure enough, there was a penis down there—or at least a holo-projection of one—curled against my inner thighs. When I shifted my legs, it shifted too—moving just like an actual shaft would.