I wanted to try a role reversal without magic, domination, unwilling participants, too willing participants, hypnosis, or technology not based in current capability. Guys are guys but the rules change around them. It took more words than planned.

 

Chapter 1: Welcome to Fantasy Island

We got off the plane and were greeted by a bright sunny day. The island was lush but not tropical. A few of the guys argued about where we were. My guess was the South Atlantic, but I have been known to be wrong. A plane full of strangers, fifty guys in their late twenties climbed down the steps from the 757 and walked towards the two women who were holding one of those greeting signs emblazoned with “Group D”.

Amazing, I thought, how people move like a herd of sheep. Tell them a name, once , maybe twice and a year later, when they are in a strange place and a little disoriented, show them the name and they follow.

As we approached the women with the signs, a murmuring started among the group. I could clearly see they were older women, maybe late thirties, early forties but their bodies were outstanding. They were wearing light blue leotards or body stockings or whatever you call them, from neck to ankle and every asset they had was on display. Their ponytails were blonde and their faces were good too, but most of us scanned those details way down on the priority list. I doubt half of the group even got to their faces. The usual mumbled , half under-the breath comments and noises were made, enough guts were sucked in to create a localized tropical depression and we all felt reinforced in our group’s acumen in spying appropriate prey. I’m sure guys did the same thing on the plains of east Africa a long time ago, before language, civilization or cable television was readily available, and felt the same way.

After one of the women did a roll call, it was determined we were indeed, all here, or more precisely that someone had shouted “Yo” when each name was called. Group D’s first achievement as a team, the utterance of fifty “yo”s now completed, the roll call gods were obviously pleased with our offering and we were allowed to proceed. We also accomplished our next difficult assigned task, boarding three open air electric jitney busses without someone telling us how to distribute the group and sit. Group D Rules! We were on our way.

Greed is good, said Gordon Gekko in the movie “Wall Street’. Well, we all bought into that one. Greed was why we were there.. It all started a year prior to our arrival on the island, in a session where a hundred strangers, all male, all roughly the same age and all good but not very famous software development professionals had met Bob Franzone, the front man for one of the richest billionaires in the media business, Blaine Winston. We had all been offered $10,000 dollars for a half day’s consulting on a Sunday afternoon, paid out the end of the session. Some of us came just to see if a consulting client would actually pay for work that fast, it being considered a sign of the Apocalypse by our select group. No one knew each other well, although we all had had some contact at trade shows and various projects in the past.

We had all signed a non-disclosure form, which had become a ritual in the industry. We knew all clients could not have a family picnic without having their kids sign one of these. Some of us had signed so many we assumed the only way to stay fully in compliance was to become a Trappist monk and take a vow of silence. It was rumored that violating a nondisclosure agreement was punishable by being taken and locked in a room with the lawyer who wrote it and being forced to listen to him read it to you. Frightening. We also signed a standard consulting agreement, which we actually read and seemed fine. A flunky logged us all into a database as contract workers for Winston Enterprises, LLC, Chartered in the Republic of Branji, which we assumed was a captive corporate haven consisting of a formerly poor family, six palm trees, a fax machine, with a very palatial office in some financial capital, like Zurich, or New York.

The first thirty minutes was a format we all were used to. Mill around, drink coffee, bottled water and those pastries you can only get at hotel or convention catered large group meetings which look good but after the first bite have no taste whatsoever. I always assumed they were clever recycling of packing material with just a drop of artificial sweetener. Then get called in to sit on chairs which are specifically designed for maximum back distress after ten minutes to see a guy in a suit on stage with a big screen behind him. The walking in music was the usual “This Corporation Is Cool, Groovy, Bad, Down, or whatever clueless outdated word you want” which this time was some watered down Hip Hop as done by white guys from a Pennsylvania barbershop quartet.
Bob Franzone was slick but good. He held the stage and had us laugh at his jokes. Thanks us for coming, blah blah blah. Then he stood back and had us watch the big screen to learn about Winston Enterprises. We saw the usual incredibly well done video that held your attention for five minutes despite the soundtrack of Booker T. and the MG’s “Green Onions” being sacrificed at the altar of a mixer board driven by a deaf techno fan trying to go commercial by using synthesized garbage can lids and plastic toy bats.

The video met its objective, filling time while impressing you with the fact that the organization you were talking to had at least enough money to make it. Information content, a perfect zero except that someone at Winston could hire some very fine looking women.

Bob told us there was a set of projects for which we were being considered.
He also told us we were not to mention what happened here today, knowing full and well that it would be in every blog and chat we participated in within minutes. His secret was safe for a while though. Nobody’s wireless was working. It seemed this particular auditorium was the world’s deadest dead spot. I could see some of the Blackberry junkies start the shakes, not having email for nearly an hour.

Next we were all handed out a two page document, which was individually serial numbered. We had to sign for it. We were then told to answer the questions at the end and email our responses to the address listed. Again, do not share the document. They told us if they got any email at those addresses (each of us got a different one) other than from us (and we had to use their own net based email to send), we would be disqualified from further work. Do not share, do not disclose, do not pass Go and pray that some spammer doesn’t ask them if they want to enlarge their sexual experience. We each got ten thousand dollars in cash along with a 1099 IRS form, telling the feds we had received it.

I read the document back at my condo which was obvious to the handful of women who had graced it with their presence that a single guy lived here. Alone. I travel a lot and I am basically a good person, so I have not bonded with a dog or cat or even a girlfriend for any length of time, not wanting to inflict the pain of my long absences on a loved one. At least that was my story. I did not date well, like a lot of guys in my business, but I did date. I mean it about the dog and cat, though. They do need you to be there more than I am.

It seemed to be written by a marketing professional, which mean it was what I call “post-literate”. Words without communication. Grunts and gestures were better. The project was to build the finest office complex security system for protection against any kind of attack, disaster or plague of locusts. That much I got, but it went on to say the same thing in as many creative ways as you could imagine, complete with bullet lists and illustrations to give the appearance of detail. The questions were straightforward, mostly my recommendations in fifty words or less for each on things like design process, quality choke points, and so forth. I banged it out and sent it in.

Within twenty four hours I was contacted, offered $20000 for a full day of interviews and a detailed medical exam. Assuming I passed, I was on the short list. I got to keep the $20000 if I just showed up and acted in good faith.

Chapter 2: Too Good to Pass Up

The interviews were typical, more oriented to a security clearance. A lot about my personal life history. I had done similar things before and had had clearances on previous projects. Nothing to hide here.

The medicals gave new meaning to the word thorough. I doubted there was a part of me that was accessible that had not been touched, including some parts I did not realize were accessible. MRI, PET, every scanner there was recorded my body still and in motion.

Two parts I considered weird, or maybe not so weird. The psychiatric stuff. One tracked my eye movement as images were projected on my retina by a freaky technology from military aviation display research. A lot of the images were provocative women and men and a few children. I did not notice any barnyard animals and I hope I’m not hiding anything from myself.

The second weird thing was asking to place myself on several gay-straight scales, and then aggressively questioning my choices. I came across as either straight or really, really in denial, I’m not sure which. Apparently I passed because they handed me $20000 in cash, another 1099 and I was told to report to an office suite downtown the next day.

So far, I thought this was some kind of weird joke, but I had just made $30000 for doing almost nothing, and I knew the money was not counterfeit, the bank had welcomed the bills with open arms like long lost children. The serial numbers on the bills weren’t even on any list of stolen currency.

Now it started to get really weird.

We were down to sixty people as an anonymous corporate official talked to us in a small lecture hall. The office was newly rented and the name on the door was nothing any of us had ever heard of before.
Here was the deal:

One year minimum commitment out of the country and incommunicado, renewable at the consent of both parties for another year and then one more.
You could cancel at any time and would be returned at their expense within seven days, collecting only 50% of annual contract

If you returned early you were sworn to silence for $200000 per year for the next ten years. If you talked you lost all rights to the cash and agreed to pay the other party fifty percent of your declared taxable income for the next ten years. Oh, and by the way, subject to Federal prosecution for revealing classified information.

Required to follow all reasonable requests and regulations by project and location personnel (if you don’t like it, leave).

You agreed to monitoring, all times, everywhere.

Discussion of your work other than through established channels could be grounds for immediate dismissal. Typical government security.

No access to outside information sources, hacking of systems was subject to dismissal. This one drew some gasps and snorts.

Limited communication with pre-specified family members through censored and monitored channels. Monthly email, with someone reading and filtering both sides.

Those same pre-selected family members would be financially and medically taken care of in the event of any problem in their current health or financial condition.

No drugs, alcohol; or tobacco unless offered by project personnel.

Willing participation in long term product and health lifestyle testing. We all had questions about this one.

Agreement to one year preparing for starting work, during which time we would study material, adhere to specific health requirements and meet individual weight and other body targets. If we met these, we were eligible to begin.

We would get $200000 for doing this and keeping our mouths shut for a year. We could even work on jobs for other clients as long as we had no commitments at the end of the year.

The company guaranteed that we would have access to excellent medical care, all meals, clothing and living quarters would be provided. All medical procedures would be under our control except in case of life threatening emergency.

All meals and supplements would be of undoctored healthy components (A long list of what was in and not was detailed in an appendix. Basically an organic, hormone and chemical free free range ecologically sound and so many other health food store buzzwords I just wanted to see “Greasy Cheeseburger” on the list as a glaring exception. Was not there, but beef was , cheese was, bread was, just very trendy and Birkenstock crowd acceptable.

Nothing would be introduced into us unless we agreed. Failure to do this and the company agreed to pay us $100,000,000 amount on deposit in such and such bank, account number so and so.. No contest. We were stunned.

We were required to do specific project work no more than 3 hours a day, 5 days a week, less if instructed. No more. More crowd noise.

We were subject to immediate dismissal if we did not adhere to the exercise regimen, the diet regimen, the health programs and product testing. Oh yes, we had to keep our appearance, living and work areas neat, clean and presentable.

Now for the payoff.

First year contract. $1,000,000 on contract end.
Second year contract. $5,000,000.
Third year contract. $20,000,000

We were trading one, three or five years of our lives for the ability to be financially comfortable, very well off or independently wealthy, respectively. There were also chances at increasing our payout with bonuses.

Believe it or not, we lost five guys.

Chapter 3: Beware of Geeks Baring Midriffs

Back to that jitney bus. Group D was down to fifty guys. I guess five did not make their weight , body fat and other goals. All of the rest of us were at our target weights and looked pretty pudgy. I had been 175 and was now 203. My weight range was to stay between 200 and 225.

None of us had had a haircut. I know from my research that some of the vitamin supplements in our required plan would help hair growth,(but there barely anything I wasn’t already taking in one form or another. No weird voodoo roots or odd Chinese herbs, just basic B vitamins and a few minerals) and I had added 12 inches in a year.

Some of the guys had had to lose quite a bit of weight just to look only overweight instead of obese, and some had started with shoulder length hair, now somewhat longer. Some of them smelled better than used to. We had no facial hair and we had been told not to bulk up. They wanted our muscles just the way they were.

It was late summer and basically shirtsleeve weather. We drove through the village, which looked quaint but interesting. There were little shops and stores, open air restaurants and lots of condos. No McDonalds, No Pep Boys, No Sears, No Circuit City. Most incredibly no Starbucks or 7-11s. Unheard of. We truly had left civilization as we knew it.

Some guy leaned over to me and said “I hope they don’t call me Number Six.” Almost everyone got the joke.

Through a security fence. We pulled up to a series of buildings about three stories tall, connected by enclosed corridors. There were a lot of them along with some bigger special purpose structures. It looked like once inside, you could stay inside and get to anywhere in the complex.

The women ushered us into a medical facility. The guys were still in awe of the contents outlined by the pink bodystockings. One of the nice things was traveling with no luggage. All of our needs were to be taken care of by the company. That made me very nervous, but I had suspended disbelief.

$130,000 sitting in my account back home suspends a lot of disbelief and the promised payout was veritable anti-gravity.

We were again stripped measured, poked, prodded and generally annoyed in that truly annoying medical profession way. They also made sure we weren’t smuggling in anything in any possible orifice. The people that do that always seem to really enjoy their job, way too much. We had no poison gas capsules in our teeth, no monofilament wire in our hair and no secret radio transmitters hidden in our large intestine.
Just when I thought they were about to perform a precautionary frontal lobotomy, we were sent naked into the next room and did what all naked, powerless individuals do at the mercy of an overbearing , crushing bureaucracy. Resist!

Actually, no, we stood in a line, trying not to bump into the guy in front of us, hoping the guy behind was being just as concerned about it as we were. Don’t want any new best friends right now! Fifty naked fat guys all in a row.

Our anxiety was not helped by the fact that everybody, the med techs, the doctors, the orderlies, the orifice examiners were all women. Good looking women. Some great looking women. All in those really great bodystockings. With ponytails in every natural shade.

When it was my turn, I went into the room where all of the others ahead of me in line had vanished from sight. No one had come out.

Waiting for me was a pleasant woman, about forty to forty five who had kept in very good shape. She was in a light purple bodystocking.

”Greetings Robert. “ (Actually my name) “I see you have met your contract requirements. I will answer what I can but let’s get you into your clothes and into your room. One thing I need you to do which constitutes a ‘reasonable request’ under your contract. I need for you to use a tested and safe commercially available cream to remove your body hair, except on your scalp. The sensors on your suit require it. I hope this won’t be a problem.”

She was so nice I did not want to disappoint her. She was also clever. If you want a guy to do something unnatural, surround it in technobabble and he will likely go “Of course, everybody knows that!”.

Into a shower stall, the cream took it all off, from the top of my sideburns to the top of my feet. She handed me some shampoo and I washed my hair, which took a lot more work than had a year ago, and then my newly smooth body was installed into a black, full bodystocking. It was unbelievably comfortable, sheer for the arms and legs and solid from crotch to neck. I strapped on a thick soled pair of sandals and the woman ran a finger over the side seam. It sealed like a fully healed wound, not a trace.

The woman wrapped my wet hair in a towel, grabbed my hand and led me down several corridors to a room.

Chapter 4: Meet The New Mom, Same As The Old Mom
The room was actually a large two level condo. Dining room, kitchen, two bedrooms, one with huge bed, two bathrooms, one of which was immense with shower, hot tub and bath, table with mirror, chairs, sofa and every fixture I had every fixture I had ever seen except a urinal. Sinks, bidets, shampoo station.

A closet of small appliances - dryers, foot saunas, magnifying mirrors, as if the whole men’s and women’s personal care section of the Sharper Image catalogue were there, and more.

A similar closet of lotions, potions and stuff, a whole health and beauty care segment, with only slightly less selection than your average chain drugstore.

A large and empty walk in closet with about thirty bodystockings on hangars, sealed in plastic, all black, in about three variations I could detect. No other clothes.

A large kitchen. A living room with a view of the Ocean. Large screen TV and smaller ones in the other rooms.

The woman spoke to me. “I have a half an hour to get you ready for the first briefing. Please sit and let me dry your hair. Then we head over to the ballroom.”

“That’s ok, I think I can do that. You know my name. What’s yours?” I asked.

“I’ll do it now, if you don’t mind. I want you to look just right for your first day. And call me Mom, or Mother. That’s what we call our jobs.”

According to her, each of the Group D boys was assigned a “Mom” to get us oriented, help us with getting set up to work and in general telling us the rules, and basically keeping us from getting fired over trivial stuff. She was compensated by how well I did, especially in the bonus system which had not yet been revealed.

I actually liked her and wanted her to do well. She would get no grief from me. Plus, I had not seen my real Mom for a while.

A half and hour later, we were all sitting in the ballroom, drinking coffee and eating those damn pastries. Our new Moms were all in the back, watching us. We were all there, in the same bodystockings, which are not flattering to guys with spare tires. The hair was much improved, clean, combed and blown dry with a fuller look.

Chapter 5: More Is Revealed

A woman in a blue bodystocking and a kind of cross between a lab coat and a cheerleader dress is up front. She shows us the reason we were served coffee. A PowerPoint presentation. My God is there no escape? The Horror!

Surprisingly, information is actually transferred. Despite the presentation on the screen, the woman, Dr. Michaels is very warm and knows how to talk to an audience.

Highlights:

-Our work starts in a week, and will be done from our rooms between 10 am and 1pm , local time over the secured network. All project direction will come over the net, no one here knows anything about it except Security who will be monitoring for us breaking secrecy rules. Don’t ask her anymore, that’s all she knows about that.

-The island is a pharmaceutical/biometric subsidiary of Winston Enterprises and is unrelated to our project other than providing living quarters for us. They are our hosts, somewhat reluctantly.

-Blaine Winston never misses a trick and part of our project is getting funding by taking advantage of our isolation. Because we are cut off from the world and have nothing else to do, we are going to participate in three long term studies, which are related to Dr. Michaels work.

-First one is easy. A straight product test. A new blend of shampoos and conditioners , all of which have been in use separately. We are to follow the regimen and appear in the local lab/salon about twice a week for examination and more treatment. The target is to study the effect on hair growth, body, shine, luster and all of the typical marketing words you see in a hair care ad.

-Second. An exercise/ diet regimen. We are one of several groups testing weight loss/gain or maintenance based on a specific balance of protein, carbs and fats, combined with a regular and specific exercise program. We are not to perform or freelance on any other workout routine or engage in strenuous activity outside the morning sessions (7am. I hate early mornings. But again, the payout overwhelms any issues I can generate). The sessions were beginning in a week.

-Third. The bodystockings. We are now told that they are laced with OREDs, organic radio emitting diodes, coupled with wafer thin nanosensors. They read everything going on in our bodies and we are to wear them at all times except to get clean. Our personal greatest hits, recorded for science. Every burp, grunt and stomach rumble, heartbeat and sweat droplet. They also allow us access to our rooms and parts of the facility; allowing us to operate stuff as we are cleared for it. They are unique to us. We cannot swap as they will not function for anyone else. Our Moms will help us.

Dr. Michaels grinned and said. “A small apology is in order. The suits you are wearing now are our calibration units, which you must wear almost constantly for the first week, so we can get a baseline on all of your readings. In order to control the process, you cannot get the suits off without help. So ask your Mom. After a week, we hope you will be able to get dressed and undressed by yourselves. See you around, boys.”

Every eye among Group D watched as she walked away from us. Our Moms came up and hustled us back to our rooms.

The coffee I had was asking to leave. I realized I had an issue.

“Mom, this is embarrassing, but I have to go. Can you show me how to open this suit?” I said, bordering on pleading.

“Sorry, Robert, but your suit is keyed to my touch. I have to open the seams and then secure the sensors in place while part of you is out of the suit. So let Mom help.”

My bladder told me I did not have time to get into a lengthy discussion, so Mom and I went into the bathroom, where she ran her pink polished finger down my crotch, from top to bottom. A seam opened up. She said to wait just one minute and placed a small patch on my penis. Then I could relieve myself.

When all of the coffee was freed from the oppression of my urinary tract, she removed the patch, adjusted me and closed the seam. I felt like I was about three years old. Mom smiled sweetly.

I wondered about the other process. Later I found out it was even less dignified.

That night Mom stayed in the spare bedroom. For the first week, all of us were accompanied everywhere by the Moms and actually adjusted to asking for permission to use the bathroom.

It had ceased being embarrassing. Calibration, Sensors. Data Integrity. Of course, it has to be like this!
Food was delivered to my place, and Mom and I ate together. The meals were fine, but not all that interesting.

One rule variation we were taught. We cannot have our hair loose from when we go to sleep until mid to late afternoon. At nights we were given a sleep cap, a satiny thing which actually kept your hair looking decent.

In the morning, Mom instructed us on how to either make a decent ponytail which kept it off our neck or to pin it up on our heads. By the end of the week, we had that down. For science. Sensors, Signal Interference. Of Course, It Has To Be That Way!

Mom somehow cleaned my suit when I took it off to shower, now wearing a shower cap every other day. I could not access the computer yet but Mom was slowly clearing me for the other condo appliances, making sure I knew how to use them. With no internet, Group D wandered the place, talked, making sure we discussed nothing we had read or done on the project to each other.

We played cards at one table while the Moms were at another, in case a bathroom emergency arose.

We watched TV, which was weird. More on that later.

We all were beginning to repeat our favorite stories. We made lots of jokes about how we looked. We were a bit embarrassed to talk about the great looking women with each other as our Moms were right there.

We were all going crazy by the end of the week. Fifty fat guys in bodystockings and ponytails, with their Moms. All bored as hell. We were all ready for any change in the routine.

Chapter 6: Farmer’s Daughter Joke Number 115, Mother Variation.

The last day of the week, I was having breakfast with Mom. She was in the same outfit as she was every morning, nightgown , rollers and bunny slippers. I was in the sleep cap and bodystocking, as usual. She loved to gossip and shared some with me she got from the other Moms. I knew more about the living habits of Group D than I ever wanted to know. One tidbit was that two of us were gone. They just could not deal with the bathroom stuff and had been pretty obnoxious with their Mom and other company personnel. So their Moms had pulled the trigger After some banter back and forth, she said.

”Robert, you have done very well. I didn’t doubt for a minute that you would have it all figured out, but it hasn’t been easy for you. You put up with some embarrassment and took it like a trouper.

“So I want you to have some fun. Every one of us Moms has a Daughter, and she will be here to spend some time with you. Please wash up and I’ll have your new suit keyed to you. And look nice. Fix your hair like I showed you. Wait. Better idea. Wash it and let me help you. I’ll be in my room while she’s here, catching up on some paperwork.”

Later, when the suit was off, and I was showered, shampooed and conditioned, I was sitting naked at the table in the master bathroom. Mom is there, fussing with a blow dryer and then saying to hold still.

“Robert, I want to give it a little more body, so I’m going to put just a few rollers in it, Do you mind?” Mom asked.

“I’m not crazy about it. How long will it take? I thought you wanted me to impress your “Daughter”, not look like a drag queen.” I said.

“Oh Robert. I know her and she will like it. Go with me on this one, please?”

Damn, I really liked her and she had put up with the bathroom routine. I had no secrets from this woman, or much resistance.

“Oh go ahead. Why not. It’s not like the rest of the look is normal, anyway.” I said.

So, before I knew it , a couple of rollers , more like ten or so, filled my head and I was under a large dryer, still naked. I was assured they were very large rollers and it would just look full.

I think I understood what my old girlfriends used to say about the sinking feeling they got when their hairdresser said something like that.

Why, do you wonder, did I take this assault on my manhood without at least a complaint?

Because I was bored. Because she was very nice about how she asked. Because it was no big deal. And mostly, because two guys from Group D could not deal with the situation here and their Moms had had them discharged. No chance at really big bucks. Over some minor and temporary bathroom indignities. Stupid and Obviously Not With The Program.

Mom didn’t lie to me. It did look full. And wavy. But she kept it subdued. I still felt silly, but I got used to it.

My new bodystocking was keyed to my touch. I could open the seams, once Mom showed me where they were. I still had to wear the thing as often as possible. My other option was to lounge around naked. And get chills.

I also had a new bodystocking for sleeping. Same fabric, no arms or legs and looser fitting instead of skin tight. No high neck, just a regular tee shirt type opening. And a full suit for workouts. Heavier material, reinforcements on all joints, and it came with sneakers and leggings. We would be outside for the workouts and it was getting too cold for the regular suits.

Here I was, in a black bodystocking from neck to toe, hair fluffed out, teeth brushed, and my new love handles ready for grabbing.

I felt distinctly exposed. We all had mentioned feeling exposed, especially when the women walked by us. It was not a comfortable feeling.

Then Daughter shows up and I go from exposed to worried she’ll look down and see how happy I am to see her. Mom introduced her as Daughter, but I could call her Sis. Mom was going into her room to work, so why don’t we get to know each other.

Sis should have been named Bambi, or something like that. She was right out of a centerfold. I know she had on a minidress but my mind filled in the missing data.

Before we get back to the action with Bambi, or rather Sis, a few words about erections. The bodystocking actually made them look worse if that was possible. And a lot of us had embarrassing incidents when one of the staff walked by. None of the women mentioned them , but you just knew we were the source of some amusement. And there is no way to look cool when you are frantically trying to cover your crotch. The staff was very polite, which actually made it worse, especially since they were so good looking. The combination of body self consciousness and concern about controlling our lower selves coming to attention at a passing pink or blue bodystocking made us keep to ourselves the first week, that and having to ask Mom to go to the bathroom.

Now back to the action. Sis was just pleased to meet me. Pleased. She mentioned it had been so long since there were any real men on the island. Did I tell you she was pleased? She loved my hair! Did I do it myself? I gave Mom some of the credit. She tickled my pudgy belly.

Then she noticed the part that was not soft (not since she had entered the room) and giggled. By this time she had maneuvered me onto the sofa and had her dress off. She asked for help with her bra and said her titties needed a man’s touch. I obliged.

Somehow, she opened the crotch seam on my bodystocking and the next thing I knew I was in the presence of greatness. Olympic Gold Medal Blowjob Greatness. Cue the Sports Film Music, alert the Replay Crew. Let’s see that again. John Madden, map it out on the telestrator.

After that, I was drained, but she assumed that I had had my fun, now it was her turn. So, panties dispatched across the room, I began to use my tongue where it seemed to get the best reaction. She clearly was a fan of flavored douches.

What came next was a bit different for me. As I had just gotten worked up again, and she seemed to be ready to receive me, she hands me a large vibrator.

“Use this, Bobby, it’s the way I like it.”

How could I say no?

So some time later, I had passed my apprentice test in vibrator operation. Sis was pleased. So pleased she lay me down, put a condom on me and brought me to climax using her hands.

From the way she moved then, I got the clue we were done. I could hear Mom call out from her room upstairs.

“Sissy, come up here for a minute when you are done talking to Bobby.” Mom said from inside her room.

There was no way she could not have known something was going on. Schools of plankton in the Antarctic knew what we were doing.

Sissy went upstairs after retrieving her panties from the lamp. As she walked upstairs, carrying her dress and shoes (yes, high heels) she was busily attaching her bra, which was a major civil engineering project. Things of that stature needed to be supported just right or God knows what will happen.

After conferring with Mom, she came back a few minutes later, dressed, kissed me on the cheek and said I was a great Brother and left.

I was stunned.

Mom came down next.

Chapter 7: All News Is Gossip

“Robert dear, please zip that seam. It’s not considered polite in mixed company. And you might want to fix your hair, too. Are you going to play cards tonight with the other boys?” Mom was either a great actress or she really radiated unconditional love, just like a real Mom.

Of course I was going to play cards. Did I mention I was bored? Aside from Sis, clearly the highlight of my week, I had eaten bland food, played every kind of card game, chess, checkers with the guys, and heard their stories until they were tired of telling them.

And snacked. And watched TV. And snacked. We played videogames but they seemed to have nothing but Sims. Sim City, Sim Family, Sim Convenience Store. All about building and keeping things running smoothly.

Nights with the boys were all I had. We could go outside as long as we stayed on the complex grounds, but nobody lasted that long. The bodystockings were just not enough for the fifty degree Fahrenheit weather.

I told Mom I was going to the game room after dinner. New freedom. I could go out all by myself without a bathroom helper. No sensors needed while removing bodily waste after the first four days.

Mom beamed at her charge going out on his own. She had a surprise for dinner and wanted me to get cleaned up. She was going to cover next week’s activities.

She also recommended since I was just going down to see the boys that I should change out of the bodystocking (which was very sticky inside) and use the clean one set up for tonight. So I went upstairs to my bathroom, took off the suit myself (that felt really empowering), remembered to put on a shower cap and showered again.
Mom had laid out the clean bodystocking which was the evening or sleep model. I put on the sleeveless, legless shiny black garment and noticed it was comfortable yet loose, and for the first time my extra flab was not completely noticeable. I didn’t look slim like I used to but it did not display every roll and jiggle.

Some of the guys were starting to get little breasts from the weight gain, which the regular suits emphasized, like the pink, lavender and blue ones did for the women. Apparently they would serve as a brassiere if you needed it .

Mom had also laid out a pair of black woolen knee socks with a note- “So your legs and feet stay warm in that drafty game room” . I had not realized how used I had gotten to having my legs covered by hosiery. They felt strange, and I felt chilly. Knee socks were great, Thanks Mom.

My eyes went wide when Mom covered the coming weeks activities, and the mysterious bonus plan. We were going to work! But the news was somewhat submerged by the meal Mom had prepared in my kitchen, which had not been used other than to make coffee or to put snacks in bowls. Sautéed shrimp, roasted squash, rice pilaf. My taste buds had reacted to the delivered food I had been eating by going on strike. They returned to work with renewed enthusiasm.

At the poker game the conversation was lively. We had new stuff to build wild theories about. You have never seen a more satisfied and smug group of guys. All of us, sitting in our sleepstockings as we called them.

I had on a large sleep cap to cover the style Mom had created (and Sis just loved). At first I started to object , but I remembered the “reasonable request” clause and decided arguing with Mom and losing ten million dollars had better be over something a bit more important, so she handed me the cap, labeled “Bouffant Curl Keeper” with a Classic 1950’s red lipped Woman on the label. I put it on.

I was not the only one wearing one. Some of the guys wore the usual ponytails and a few were in rollers covered with a net. Apparently the Moms all worked to the same script, as did everyone’s “Sister”.

We had all had roughly the same experience and decided Group D was a bunch of studs! Lots of high fives. Studs! I tell you. Plus, we had all had the same Mom briefing. We had sex, sort of, and then there was money.

Let me recount the news- PowerPoint , please!

Basic stuff-Monday to Friday

-Exercise every day at 7am- in the courtyard- exercise bodystocking, leggings, sneakers and hair securely up. Over by 8am. No independent programs

-8-10am —Personal- remove exercise bodystocking, eat in room, any café in the complex or at a friends place. Shower, follow hair routine. Put hair up again if necessary. Bodystocking must be worn, style your choice except exercise suits.

-10am-1pm log onto room computer, follow instructions. Work.

1pm-3pm Personal- lunch.

3pm —rest of day- Personal time except requested appointments. Must visit Personal Products lab once or twice a week on their schedule, perform all reasonable requests, Medical and bodystocking biometrics once a week, you will be notified, again, perform all reasonable requests. Body Image Consultant, you will be notified, again, perform all reasonable requests.

Other meetings as necessary. Hair option- open.

-Saturday/Sunday- Personal time. Nothing required except body hair removal must be done once during this time.

-Iron rule- we cannot leave the grounds of the complex.

-Iron rule — Stay in our weight parameters

-Unspoken rule-do whatever Mom says or you are gone

-Good news. If we did well, our ‘Sister’ or one of her good friends would drop by at least once a week.

Now for the money part. Given we needed a diversion when we were off our project work, we were all entered in a competition. In partnership with our Mom, we had to meet and successfully date the women on the island. There were restrictions. No one from the complex would count towards our ‘score’. (lots of jokes on that phrase). The women would come here to meet us since we weren’t allowed to go to them.

There were three achievement levels.

Level One- receive oral genital stimulation sufficient to climax. First to achieve this- $1,000, 000 to the lucky Group D guy and the same amount to his Mom. Second gets $975,000. Third $950,000. And so on to the last, You can do the math.

Level Two- $5,000,000 for the first to have actual coitus, no artificial devices except a condom. Same award to the Mom. And then reduce it by $100,000 for each successive winner.

Level Three- $20,000,000 for the first to be invited to live off complex with her, and do so for thirty days. $10,000,000 for the Mom. She also had to publicly ask you to stay for at least another thirty days. There were no descending prizes, it was winner take all.

Last catch. The woman had to stay on the island for a year after you left for a payout at any level.

The clever ones among us noticed that nowhere did it say you had to achieve Levels 1 or 2 to win Level 3. There was also no payout until you returned, so it would be hard to bribe any of the women unless they really trusted you.
A minor incentive, you would get Complex credits each week just for playing, from a minimum guaranteed amount to triple that. Amount determined by a committee of Moms, and usable at most Complex shops, including the grocery. We could make our own food! (as long at we stayed on the food plan we were given).

Now, can you imagine the conversation over poker? Forty eight fat guys in bodystockings who had already shown they would do something extreme for money?

Chapter 8: Half-Vast Wasteland

Lets talk about TV. You know, the box with the moving pictures selling things with an occasional break for some lame attempt at entertainment as filler? Well we had it, at least thirty channels, which wasn’t bad for an isolated small private island.

After several days of occasional watching the tube, some of the more perceptive among us had noticed something. All women. All the time. 24x7.
Also, this was a company town, or fiefdom or island refuge or whatever you want. Everybody worked for Winston Enterprises. All of the channels were devoted to company news, or news on research areas interesting to the folks in the lab. All of the announcers were women. All were good looking in that TV reporter or host kind of way. If a research paper was discussed and a man wrote it, they used his name but never showed his picture. Men existed but not here. All other news was about Department X or Task Force Z. A lot was social, after work activities.

There were extensive intramural sports coverage- volleyball, softball, basketball and also a lot of gymnastics, skating, ballroom dancing. A rare boxing match or martial arts exhibition. All women.

There did not seem to be any children, except for some daughters over the age of twelve or thereabouts.

There were talk shows. Like Oprah but a little more woman focused , which I did not think possible.

Soap operas, with women talking to other women, about other women, and once in a while talking about some man in the past, but no men in the present or in the future.

There were game shows. There were the education channels. Sports (one for each sport listed above), Cooking. Sewing, Decorating. Hair. Makeup. Nails, Skin Care, Medical Advice, Entertaining.

Relationship advice (all girl on girl- those were great.) There were work related channels, like biomed, genetics, and so forth, but they required clearance we didn’t have.

The fiction shows were all done with women, with some clever rewrites on some classics, like Casablanca, some original material.

There was one porn channel. We found the men on TV. I was corrected by one of the guys who seemed to be a porn expert, that it was really soft porn or erotica. Whatever.

What it was was guys, naked except their crotch was only glimpsed and artfully made obscure by good camera work. They weren’t slim, except compared to us. Slightly chubby, smooth hairless skin and long hair, very expertly done. They spent their entire time on screen stimulating one or sometimes two or three women, who were usually beautiful, wearing expensive lingerie and clearly enjoying his work. They were all masters with the vibrator.

The local intranet was the same, with sites covering interest areas. We were not given access to the online chat rooms or message boards. We found we had our own site, and it became popular with Group D. Those of us who wanted to send emails to their families did, which were screened. They got replies, with all of the outside news filtered out.

One note: After two weeks, we were on the TV. A documentary had been put together, explaining our presence, and actually showing us walking around, from a distance. The product testing was explained with no mention of our real work. None of us was interviewed.

It was innocuous but we took exception to two points. One, was a cheap shot at our weight, commenting on how we were cute and pudgy, not explaining that we were required to be fat, by contract. The second zoomed in on one of us with an erection, really close up, and commented on how we obviously appreciated our hostesses, and then tried to calm everybody that we would be confined to the Complex.

Chapter 9: When They Begin The Routine

Group D settled in. Exercise was very light, a combination of yoga and tai chi, with basic stretching exercises. A month later we jogged or power walked over increasing distances, but at first we focused on flexibility. Our leader was one of the Moms, and she was the opposite of a drill sergeant. We were coaxed, hugged and kissed into submission. She was such a sweetheart, no one could bear to disappoint her.

The hair stuff became second nature. Hell, ponytails are not that challenging. Your average guy can figure them out in fifty, maybe sixty tries. Your average five year old girl does it from genetic imprint.

Several of us became breakfast regulars in a nearby café.

Work was work. Get sent a spec, review and improve. Send back with questions. Review overall documents, integrate changes. I know my work was good but there was no feedback, just more specs.

Mom had moved out after the first week. She told me she was proud and we were going to win the competition. She expected the place neat and clean and me to be presentable. Also, she would stop by after my work each day for coffee, gossip and strategy to win the bonuses.

She kissed me full on the lips and gave my tongue a workout. She smiled, squeezed my butt and left.

Sister showed up at random intervals but averaged once a week. She must have known my appointments because she never interfered. Each time was a repeat of the first.

Two guys were gone because they tried to demonstrate sex without batteries to their Sisters, a little too enthusiastically. I hope their bones heal correctly. We all had tried, but No means I’ll Really Hurt You If You Try That. We could ask, just don’t try force.

My Body Image Consultant, Debbie, was cute, a real girl next door type, if you lived next to a Vegas casino. She explained that they were establishing a baseline over the next four weeks. We were all supposed to gain to the top of our allowed ranges. At that point, they would take a control point and we would begin to slim down. How fast? She smiled and said we’ll see.

The diet was controlled protein and carb intake with snacks as the variable. If we cooked our own food, which she encouraged me to do, we had to record the ingredients. Our kitchen counters would do that from the id tags on the food. Our suits measured what we took in. If we got too far off the guidelines, we would hear from Mom, or them.

Our exercise suits were mostly sensors with some occasional suit material holding them together and she already had terabytes of data on me trying to raise my leg up straight in the air while I was sitting on the ground. She looked at that, giggled and proceeded to demonstrate just how limber she was and I wasn’t.

With her blue bodystockinged leg going straight up, effortlessly, I found something very arousing. She took pity on me and sent me on my way.

My Personal Product Technician had one of those jobs which required a hard to find blend of skills, like a quantum physicist who is also a prize fighter.
She had two doctorates and her duties ran from lab analysis to hairdresser to shampoo girl.

Nancy was good at all of them. It was explained to me that I was part of the first thorough testing on known ingredients in a new mix to test their effect on hair growth rate and health. It was targeted to cancer patients and others but the commercial potential was enormous. So far they had managed to double the average growth rate and in some cases triple it.

The test was how it stood up to everyday conditions both on men and women. Somewhere there was a group of women who were doing their normal everyday hair stuff and we were the group to determine difference in response and effect. So we would have to duplicate everyday usage.

Normally, a group of men would be hard to find who would even do it, and those who wanted to would probably skew the results. So we were custom made for this study. Alone, isolated, well compensated outside the study and surrounded by women. No men other than ourselves to worry about.

Also, monitored in a way which was hard to duplicate. I had to hand it to whoever thought this one up, every part of our total effort synergized with every other part.

All this while she did my hair which by now hung about fourteen inches to the middle of my back. Just washing and drying it was a significant undertaking. When one of the guys excused himself from a card game saying he had to wash his hair, no one laughed, we just all nodded in sympathy.

After samples, measurement and so forth, she washed my hair, did some minor trimming and showed me a stylebook. I had to pick one of about thirty styles which she would then inflict on my hair.. She gave me a weblink which had instructions if I wanted to do it myself. I laughed at this one. Debbie laughed with me and said I might learn to enjoy it.

Rollers, dryer, comb out later and my hair matched the style picture, combed back from the face and wavy , with a curl on the ends. It was the least complicated choice. A lot of advice on conditioning and general care.

Nancy then closed the door and kissed me. I was invited to her condo in the complex for some ‘special help and practice with keeping the style”.
Practice was good.

Chapter 10: Team Robert in the Pre Season

Mom loved my hair. I got some kidding from the rest of the guys, the ones that had not had their salon appointment yet. The ones that had commented that for the money at stake they would have tested breast implants. We agreed. Somebody said to shut up, they don’t need any more ideas.

So Mom and I were at my kitchen table, and I was trying to make weight so I can get this over and start losing it. Typical project conundrum. At 215 I feel really fat but Mom tells me I look fine, slow down on the snacking.

Mom as usual has all the info. She gives me the background on the island , which turns out to be critical and then informs me our first opportunity to perform will be in three days, Friday night. There will be a mixer. Us and the Townies.

Mom wants the big prize, the others are fine but we’re going for the twenty mil, ten for her. It turns out she is not only smart, but really devious and calculating, like all real mothers. We got along fine and came up with a strategy.

First, let’s recap the background. A group of brilliant women biotech scientists meet up with some very smart women MBAs and lawyers. They form a company called EstroTech, small, with all women. They get out some products and just as they are about to get fabulously rich by an IPO, they get stopped by a patent infringement case.

Blaine Winston rides in, sees them as a gold mine and is smart enough to leave them alone. He sets them up with some highly classified contract work, helps them find potential commercial product lines which utilize similar facilities and they have a cash flow tsunami.

However they have to be so secure for the classified stuff that they need to move to an island Winston owns. He sets them up and lets them run it. They decide they will keep their all women staffing policy and define a utopia, probably over way too many cosmopolitans, where they could have men when they wanted them but they would not distract from day to day life. They liked men but men could be annoying.

Plus, they were still pissed by the infringement suit which a rival had brought just to hose them, as it had little basis. So, men would be imported for sex when needed and not to be allowed to muck up the operation.

When a island participant gets really craving the whole masculine experience, she goes off island and gets it, usually returning with a smile and vowing to never do it again, until the next time. Very few don’t return.

If she just wants sex at home and another girl won’t do, she can hire one from the male escort service, a company regulated monopoly, whose men are trained just for her pleasure, at reasonable rates, payroll deduction available.

Group D presented a real challenge to the EstroTech society. They were men, they weren’t hookers and they were on the island. They fit into no known social niche.

The EstroTech Project Scientists, seeing the rare and low cost opportunity to do long term testing on several products had jammed the decision through the Island Community Board, which was chartered by EstroTech to be the local government. Like most company towns, the decision was easy to foresee.

Acceptance, however, was not easily decided by a committee. As if anything was ever decided by committee. I was once told the only thing a committee every made was another committee. I have never seen it refuted.

Contrary to popular belief among most guys, estrogen is not a necessary ingredient to cooking. Living alone, I’d had my fill of eating out, which is easy to do if you travel a lot. So, I already knew how to cook for myself. I turned out to like it and I found I preferred knowing what I was eating.

I had gone to the Complex grocery, stocked up and was serving a dinner to Mom in my place. Chicken Cordon Bleu. She was there to give me some last minute pointers for the Friday mixer, but had shifted her priority when she tasted the food. She loved it when someone else cooked really good food and I passed her test.

“Bobby, if you can do this every time, we have a real edge. We just need to use it properly. Many of the women are just lousy cooks, but they all love to eat.” Mom said, slowly chewing, savoring the taste. A chef always likes to see people enjoy the food.

As Mom left, she said. “Just remember, meet me here just before you leave on Friday.”

Chapter 11: Lions- 46, Group D- 0

They came, we mixed and we all struck out. Some guys tried too hard, and Mom had warned me this was a cattle buyers walk through, just to check the merchandise. It would be unlikely any of the women from town was going to get horny and go out of control. I was treating this as reconnaissance and target identification.

There they were, about sixty or so really fine looking women, dressed for a cocktail party. They were elegant, sophisticated and worldly.

We were wearing skintight bodystockings which showed off just how overweight we were.

Some of us had relied on the salon for the hairstyles, thinking an effeminate hairstyle done well was better than an effeminate hairstyle done by an amateur. Nancy and her friends had put in extra hours to pull it off.

When you are trying to talk to a woman who is comfortably dressed for the hunt and you are dressed like we were, you feel like a clay pigeon.

You can see her load and just wait for her to say “Pull!” The conversation is effectively over. She has made her point and you are shattered remains.

Mom had helped me immensely. She wanted me calm, and projecting a ‘don’t need to be here but glad to meet you attitude.’

When she came to my place just as I was ready to go, she told me to go upstairs. Once there, I stood still, she opened my crotch seam and showed me where “Daughter” had learned her skills.

After my initial shock I let it go. We had money on the line. Plus she was very, very good.

Afterwards, she put me together, patted my hair and kissed me on the cheek. “Just go and stay in character. See you tomorrow, you’re making dinner.” Mom pushed me out the door.

After Mom’s ministry, it was easy to be relaxed and easier to control my natural exuberance of the erectile persuasion. In this case, not standing out was what you wanted to be.

I met most of the women from EstroTech. They were curious, mostly and they weren’t stupid. The question in their minds was what were we? Most of them knew we could not talk about our work and being in a business based on intellectual property, respected that.

I decided to be funny and self deprecating and get them to talk about themselves, which used to always work. It still did.

The art of sales is knowing when to close the deal. Some of the guys had my foolproof formula of making the conversation about the girls, by the girls, but went for the close. Machine gun fire, mayday ,mayday, sound of plane auguring into the ground. Crash and burn.

Mom’s instincts were right. I made some friends and did not appear needy. They did not need that, they were on this island in part because they found that behavior annoying in males. Women act needy too, but the islanders had cut their having to deal with it by 50%.

Chapter 12: Be Careful What You Ask For

Another two weeks and most of us were maxed on our weight. I was grateful when Debbie told me I could start thinning down. Just stop all snacks. Make sure I tell the exercise leader.

I looked down and saw the suit pushing up the flab on my chest into something that was disturbing. I could not see my feet except for my toes.

The funny thing was, in regular casual male clothes I would not look that bad, overweight but most of my major flaws would be disguised. Like this, I felt really conscious of how I looked. I was not used to showing this much of me off to everyone. Another revelation on why women were the way they were.

After the disastrous mixer I got asked to be part of a delegation to see Dr. Michaels. Group D would respectfully like to see if there was some flexibility in our program. Somehow I got elected spokesman.

“Dr. Michaels, we appreciate you seeing us and taking the time out of your busy schedule. “ I opened.

Nancy had talked me into a new hairstyle and I had just come from the salon. Many more curls, a little teasing.

”I’m happy to, Robert. I was wondering when you would be coming to see me Love your hair.” She was good. I couldn’t tell if she was bluffing or really had us figured out.

Then it hit me. We were under constant surveillance and I would bet she had been briefed on exactly what we had discussed. So I would pretend she did not know what I was going to say, and she would pretend I didn’t know she knew.

Dr, Michaels listened to our request for additional clothing. We wanted something more than bodystockings. We understood we were in the middle of a test, but respectfully wondered if there was something that could be done. Plus we wanted to go outside, even if it was cold. It had been chilly in the corridors and the suits were not keeping us warm enough.

She told us she thought that might be our concern and brought in Debbie and two others who were introduced as a volunteer group.

They were trying to solve the problem for us, on their own time. Could we meet with them in two days? Of course. End of meeting. Thank you so much.

Chapter 13: Why Thank You Madam , May I Have Another

Based on my meeting with Dr. Michaels I had the distinct impression that asking for something to wear was part of their plan. They had been waiting for us to ask. I decided to keep my suspicions to myself and play it straight. Besides I was freezing my ass off in the corridors.

Debbie and her team were assembled in a conference room. No PowerPoint. An excellent start.

Debbie went on, as earnest as all get out. They needed to come up with something for us that :

1. Kept the experiment of the bodystockings intact- that is adding no untested variables
2. Use what they already had here. Running up new costs was a corporate crime unless you had a budget to put them in, or divine intervention, which meant a Corporate Officer Who Wanted To Take A Risk For Which She Had No Personal Gain. Basically, you were wishing for a unicorn, because they were more common.
3. Find a valid business reason for the change in plan so an auditor would have a check box. Auditors got very angry without check boxes.

They told us they found a solution, all off the books on their own time. We were being set up. How could you say no?

They told us they had surplus standard uniforms which had already been tested with the bodystockings , had been proven to generate no interference , and contained their own sensor and security circuits which had an established interface with the suits. Plus to justify the change, we would agree to test an additional new product line, which would allow us to use the surplus uniforms.

It felt ok, the women were eager and trying to please us, so we all fell for it. We told them it sounded great. Then they brought it out. They showed us a uniform tunic, long sleeve and about knee length. With pleats. The neckline was low cut.
“These are the largest we had , and we have taken out the waist in this one with all available material. “ Debbie told us, beaming.

They were in lavender, blue and pink. “Even with that you would need our new product to get into them.”

She showed us a line of bodyshapers, one she called an ‘All-In-One’ which ran from the upper thighs to the top of the chest with shoulder straps, the other a pair of toe to waist tights. It was made from a variation on the material used in the bodystockings.

“They go on and can variably tighten and reduce their shape under the control of the tunic system. And they were developed and tested with the bodystocking themselves so they are already approved. With these, you can easily fit into the tunics. “

She smiled at me and continued “When you get to your new target weights, you will probably not need them very much.”

What could we say? We seemed to have limited options. We questioned Debbie. Were there any male clothes which were available? Debbie looked like she was going to cry, we felt awful. She told us that Estrotech had only gotten funded for research that was oriented towards women and some other firm was working on pants and things like that, she guessed. But due to security, she really did not know.

This was the best her team could come up with. We all did our best to tell them how much we appreciated their work, it was fine, we were just asking.

Next, Debbie explained the bottom line. Corporations do things which benefit corporations. They could fund shipping additional tunics if we became part of the BodyShape project.

A two phase process. Totally voluntary if we signed up, but we were committed to finish if we did. Dr. Michaels was willing to go to bat and determine a male test group was needed to help us out.

One of the guys looked at me and laughed. He said “Bobby, you’re gonna have some ‘splaining to do.”

‘I’ll just have to tell them it was the best choice which matched our hair, Ethel.” I said in my near flawless Lucy Ricardo imitation. At least I think it’s near flawless. This would be interesting.

We went and explained it to the group, armed with the contract riders which covered testing of the bodyshapers.

Debbie agreed to do a demonstration.

Her psychology was brilliant .If you want to get guys to do stuff, add a potential of risk to it and then get them to agree in a group. Alone, most guys make sane decisions on life threatening risk. In front of their buddies, they face death willingly, without a care.

This is actually a race survival trait, as we used to hunt in groups and somebody had to go attract the mastodon.

Second, show them a reason to risk death. Debbie showed up with a dressmaker’s dummy and was wearing a pink tunic with tights. She looked great but she would have looked great wearing a cardboard box.

She explained the proposal to forty four guys who were paying rapt attention. The she had us focus on the dressmaker’s dummy which had been dressed in an All-In-One. It was white with some embossed pattern, flowers I think, and hung loosely on the frame, over a sleeveless, legless scallop neck bodystocking, just like our sleepstockings.

“Now watch me activate the unit to improve the figure.” Debbie lectured. She tapped her tunic in a specific sequence, then tapped various points on her torso, some a multiple times, and then she kept slowly tapping her waist.

She had obviously set the dummy to simulate the current Group D profile, which was the opposite of an hourglass. Fat guy.

Being technolophiles we watched and were fascinated as the chest area became snug but not too snug and the waist went from bulge to that tapered shape we all wanted but few of us had ever achieved. A lot of approving nods.

She then compressed the waist a small amount more., maybe a half an inch. Barely noticeable.

“At this level of compression and with us taking out the tunic waistlines as far as we can go, you should be able to fit the uniforms easily. As you lose weight over the next few months, you will need less and less compression. Oh and some of the girls have noticed you guys appreciate the way we look, somewhat enthusiastically”

She gestured to her crotch, we knew what she meant “and we thought you might want to have some help with that. Not that we aren’t flattered, but it can be distracting for us and even dangerous to you, you might bump into something.”

We laughed.

. “This All-In-One will help you keep your intentions a little more discrete.”

Now for the danger. Debbie told us that this stuff was powerful technology and we needed to make sure we assembled the garment correctly. They all had safety systems.

We assumed this was just typical consumer safety babble, and then she told us to watch the dummy. She said told us the safeties were disabled, and began tapping at her waist rapidly. We watched the dummy get compressed at the waist to the point that all lower ribs would be fractured in a real person. Then the dummy was crushed and broke in two.

We had our danger, in a group of guys, in front of beautiful women. No problem. We’re not worried. Not us, Danger Guys. Group D, license to squeeze.

Now the reward. Debbie expertly took off her tunic, in a way that would have made a stripper nod in professional admiration. She was wearing an All-In-One and the tights. She had our total and complete attention.

All we had to do was test the capabilities of the bodyshapers for two hours a day to participate in the program. The duration was hitting our target weight plus two months or six months, whichever was longer. Testing protocols coordinated with our Body Image Technicians.

One guy asked Debbie why she was wearing the shaper, she sure didn’t need it. Debbie smiled a 1000watt smile and showed off another little trick.

“I’ve never been happy with my ass. “ Shouts of “No way!” Debbie goes to 1500watts on the smile and continues. “So I now get to add a little where I want it.”

We watched Debbie tapping her buttcheeks with a red fingernail. Talk about erotic. The shaper started to swell and added an inch to her rear. She did the same for her hips which did not need any help, just for show and she got another inch there. I could watch this all day.
“The fabric combines with air and makes a foam like effect. I suppose I could tap these but I never saw the need.” She was indicating her boobs, firmly swelling in the cups of the All-In-One.

I swear some guy moaned and probably came in his bodystocking. We were not going to disappoint this woman.

If you wanted clothes, you signed. Forty four fat guys with fabulous hair signed. Two held out for a week.

Chapter 14: Contestants, Come On Down!

There is a tipping point, a shift in mental state, when you have moved to someplace new and you accept it as your home. You are no longer a visitor, or a new arrival. You are part of the community.

I knew most of us had made that transition when we adopted the women’s sports teams as fans and began to follow their seasons. And bet and argue about which player was better.

It was about five months and we were figuring out the local variations on the dating game. Some guys claimed all you needed to know was on the porn channel. . One of us had won the Level 1 competition and we were acting much smoother. The mixers had transitioned to regular parties and we were on a first name basis with many of the EstroTech women. I knew a lot of them and had actually achieved fifteenth place in Level 1, but I was focused on Level 3.

I cooked for a handful of women, got to know them and entertained in my condo. I was on plan for Level 3, but I could see it would take a while.

Mom had a good perspective, which I did not share with the rest of the guys. We were having coffee after my work session and were ostensibly going to plan our next steps to riches. She kept getting distracted so the first item of business became helping her decide if she should get spiral curls at the salon.

I had learned another difference between girls and guys. If a guy is trying to decide on something, like a car, or a new PDA, the other guys will give him definitive opinions, what they think he should do. Most women I had encountered really want someone to validate their decision process, which means listening and agreeing with everything they say as they argue all possible opinions.

This of course is only my observation, and try it at your own risk.
Mom went on, and I was supportive of all the possibilities. If I really gave a damn I would have taken a style option I did not like and made a joke about how it wasn’t good on someone else of questionable fashion judgment but I was ill equipped to play the game at that level.

“Ok Bobby, I’ll do it. Since Nancy told me how good it came out on you, I’ve been dying to try it.” Mom said. Which of course we both knew was not the final decision as that is never made so you can always blame the hairdresser.

I fingered my long curls. I could wear it down now as that rule had been relaxed, as long I followed the Nancy’s program. Still had to use the sleep cap, which actually resulted in less time in the morning and was supposed to cause less damage. Most of us still used ponytails, plaits or just pinned it up for exercise.

I had learned that living with hair this long required greater attentiveness to keeping it out of desk drawers, doorjambs and other stuff that caught it painfully. And wind outside was a pain in the ass. We all had a styling session at least once a week, and tried to keep the result intact as long as we could with minimal effort. (Hey, we were still guys!)

We bonded with our Personal Product Technician/hairdresser and when you do that you feel the need not to disappoint them. We conditioned, brushed carefully with only the right kind of brush, were told to avoid rubber bands and metal clips, minimized hot air drying, anything that would damage hair and prevent hair growth. Some guys had followed the online instructions to redo the hairstyle, or try a new one, at the request of their current girlfriends.

Level 2 rewards were a great incentive and the EstroTech women knew it. Quite a few of us became familiar with the home styling stuff in our closets, all salon approved. Plus, it was something to do. More on our reaction to boredom later.

I had lost all but the last ten pounds. It was stubborn, even with the increased exercise. Most of us bitched to each other about getting to the weight goal. We all looked a lot better but were determined to hit our weight target. So I poured Mom some more coffee and held my tunic so it would drape correctly when I sat down. I had stayed with the original knee length, although we had a couple of more options now. And it was black, thank God, not pink. I had to remember not to cross my legs as it looked really stupid the way guys did it, like exposing your crotch for inspection. It was strange that I was comfortable alone with Mom in just my bodystocking, but with the All-In-One on I felt like I should wear the tunic. I still could not fit into the tunic without the All-In-One. Maybe it was the white fabric with the embossed flower pattern., Group D had decided that was not all that manly. No debate.

The tights were great. No more chills up my ass in the hallways. As a gift from Debbie we all had the new shoes, actually the same sandals with the thick flat soles but in colors matching our tunics.

Mom continued, important stuff like hair now temporarily tabled, and proceeded to the mundane details of getting our hands on a large bucket of cash.

“Bobby , I know you’ve seen the “Ladies Night” channel. “ she meant the porn channel, erotica, whatever. “Most of the guys going for a real sexual conquest are going to have a very tough time. If the women need that, they have come to think that’s what you do on the mainland, away from their sisters here.”

I vagued out at the word ‘sister’. Sister, or Bambi or Daughter or whoever had come less frequently as I started dating. I had not seen her for a month. I hoped she was training with the Olympic Team in her specialty. Mom tickled my thigh and I startled back to the lecture.

“Damn it Bobby, pay attention. I’d give you a blowjob myself but I just put on this lip gloss.” How did she know what I was thinking? Momhood is universal.

I nodded and she went on.

“Now I’ve compared notes with the Moms “ The all powerful Mom network. “and there are only five of you boys who have a prayer. Women talk you know.” Women talk about their relationships like the ocean is salty, like bears like bacon, like men look at cleavage instead of the face, pick any tautology you want. I nodded.

Mom covered each of my current relationships with the EstroTech townspeople. Sister and Nancy were nice but did not count, being Complex personnel.

We jointly built the personality profile of them to answer the age old question of ‘What Do Women Really Want’ which is of course much different from what they say they want , and also different from what they usually pursue. This from Mom, no argument here.

We agreed to narrow it down to two. Mom thought it would take almost to the end of the first year contract, if not beyond. I now learned there was not a chance of us leaving the Complex until year two, barring intercession of A Good Corporate Reason and those had been all used up this year. So I had time and could relax.

Forget placing in Level 2, that might actually be counterproductive. Besides, I was seeing Nancy and if I really need a good roll in the hay, Mom would pitch in if Nancy threw me out. I began to suspect that Nancy was partnering with Mom in the competition and had a piece of the action. I also found that when you are sleeping with your hairdresser, the lover/friend relationship is good, but always trumped by the hairdresser/victim relationship (I mean client, sorry Nancy, just kidding. Please don’t take it seriously. Never get your hairdresser pissed. Some guys had seen the results. The rest of us giggled and learned, assuring them they looked fine.).

I had a plan to get a woman to commit. It was part common sense, part clever deduction and a lot of deviousness. Mom was pleased and sent me into the world, knowing I had a good chance at catching a good woman. A Doctor no less. She would love to tell that to the other Moms but secrecy was required. I had sympathy for Mom. She air kissed me (lip gloss, remember?) and went to do her other Mom duties.

Chapter 15: An Excellent Observation Doctor, But Sometimes A Cigar is Really a Cigar

I’d love to talk about work. I can say it was challenging but not consuming. Maybe because we only had to burn for three hours, sometimes less, we were really on during that time. Other than that, I can’t tell you. Otherwise you’d have to sign a Non Disclosure Agreement. And then be killed. After we read it to you. Twice. And again after you are dead.

So I’ll talk about Group D.

Our blog, or group diary/mosh pit/soap box if you don’t know what a blog is, was critical to our sanity. We all contributed and were more open at a keyboard than face to face. Plus we used aliases. We had developed one of those guy rules, unspoken , like public urinal behavior, of never revealing our aliases. It would ruin the blog. We all published and linked to others, dropping comments and flames as required.

We all had suspicions of who was who, but we also changed aliases frequently. Security! Anonymity! Desperation! Vive La Group D!

One post was embraced as our manifesto. I’ll try to get it right from memory.

Samwise Says (his alias, you moron)
“ A while ago I took some crap because of my hairstyle. Since this pretty much describes us all at one time or another, and I know it was not serious, I did not think much of it. Let me dispense with the insult first, just for fun. My Personal Product girl really wanted to try it, and she’s screwing me really good, and the insulter isn’t. So, eat your heart out, asshole! (I wasn’t the only one with a hairdresser/girlfriend)
Manly stuff taken care of , let me dispense some observations.

Facts:

-We are all fairly similar to each other, physically and culturally. I do not know about mentally, but we are not dumb, in fact we are all in the top ten to fifteen percent on the brains scale.

-We all like women. If someone is gay, or bi, my congratulations! You are buried so deep you must be crazy. So assume we are all straight, normal guys. I also don’t think we have and extra Y chromosome types, or any ladykillers.

-Nobody seems to be a crossdresser, although we’ve all had our suspicions. I could be wrong, but I bet they were screened out.

-We are all driven by our work

-We all respond to money, or rather the freedom it buys

-We are all compulsive gamers. Give us rules and an objective and we get consumed.

-We all follow instructions if we understand them and we know what is in it for us

-Island society is women centric. Men are sexually useful, but serve no other function in society. We are not despised, just dismissed. They do not need us now. I cannot even find books or fiction that has not been redone to agree with this concept. And damn, there were books I wanted to read.

Parables
-You all know the frog in the pot metaphor, I think they teach that at Consultant School, right after how to tie a Windsor knot. Put a frog in boiling water, they hop out. Put a frog in cold water and raise the temperature a degree at a time, you get very tough frog’s legs.
-Posit an aquarium. Some of you must be fish experts so I won’t use real species to avoid the useless and unwanted comments on how I got it wrong.
A bunch of species A is in a tank. They are happy and well fed. Say species A is pink. A handful of species B are introduced, who are normally white but have an artificial pink tint. Just a little, no way you would mistake the species B for A except from far away. The two species swim in schools differently. After a while, does species B start swimming in the species A school? I think we are finding out.

What the future holds
- We are all going to adapt to being on this island. We are not going anywhere soon
- We are going to play the contest
- We are going to become part of the society, therefore useful or wanted by the members of the community . We had better, because you guys are getting boring

I do not have all the answers, just some questions.”

We all pounded the keyboards. Samwise changed his alias after it went up but the discussion was enlightening. We had all been thinking this stuff.

Chapter 16: Not Yet Voted Off The Island

We are halfway into year two. Janet, my girlfriend the doctor, is asking me to stay for a while. It’s almost been a month. I have made sure we are in a public place, and everyone in the restaurant is waiting for my answer.
My head feels light, but some of that is due to Nancy letting me finally cut my waist length hair last week. She had finally ruled it had stopped growing.

My contribution to her product line mostly over, but I still have to see her once a week. Janet’s hairdresser is pissed about that. Janet wanted it as long as I could stand so we settled for mid back length. Nancy is creative with that length.

I still had five pounds I could not get off, but I felt great. The bodystocking test was over. However I was still wearing control top tights and a really well tailored dress. We had stopped calling them tunics a while ago. What the hell.

I was wearing a dress because that was the price to leave the Complex. Janet and Dr. Michaels had gone to the Island Community Board with the proposal to let Group D have access to the rest of the island. After bureaucratic horror, they said ok if the Fashion Committee would approve what we wore. Also any behavior reported as a problem would send us back to the Complex forever.

The Fashion Committee was their firewall. We would never get by them, they thought. Janet and Dr. Michaels pulled in some favors and threatened to reveal some stuff they knew. We were allowed out as long as we dressed ‘consistent with the community prevailing style’ and also did not have public erections. They actually wrote that in.

Now the five of us out in the village have decided not to push what ‘community prevailing style’ was and settled for unquestionable attire. We also decided being flat chested was not a problem, but we asked and got a ruling in our favor.

The price of freedom had been negotiated for Group D, and the guys still in the Complex were weighing the cost, trying to decide if they would pay it. Five of us were pioneers.

My project goes on. I still can’t tell you. Have to kill you. Blah Blah Blah.

Now I was about to win the Level 3 contest. Almost. I actually placed fifth on Level 2, , with Janet. The virtues of not trying too hard.

Janet asked me to help her with her research , since I worked at home anyway. I had agreed and I hope that’s not why she is asking me to stay now.
She has a product line of synthetic flesh for women who have had radical mastectomies. Full breast removal. Look this stuff up, will you?

The product actually merges with the flesh and connects to the nerves. It is removable but is designed to last a lifetime. Not missing a bet, the big market to pay for the good work is cheap and easy breast enhancement. It should make millions. She is working on skin tone matching, all of the rest works. So I can look forward to that next week. She seems to think it will increase her fun. And she was intent on it increasing mine. How could I say no? It’s only for a year, trying different sizes.

I say yes and the crowd rushed up to Janet and me, hugs and kisses.
Especially the other four guys.

I looked out at the horizon. Damn big aquarium.

I had to call Mother, she would be so happy.

End

Not the End

This is Samwise. My good friend Bobby is too happy so I will tell him later. He’ll laugh then. There was one more clever twist which makes this whole package a monument to integration of goals.

Remember Blaine Winston was a media billionaire? He had a daughter, his probable heir, who dreamed this up. She had an idea for a reality show based on regular guys adapting to a girl’s role in life. He let her run with it.

She set it in motion and we have all been her private cable channel for almost two years. She now will develop the show. All of the other stuff, our project, the technology, the product tests, EstroTech were already there, she just blended them together. That’s why it was so perfectly devious.

She was boiling the aquarium. Got to go now- Bobby is going to need help with the ceremony. I want some say in the attendant’s dresses.

END (really)