Velma's Night Off

by
Lynda Shermer

---

 
Coolsville was safe. At the end of a days work, Coolsville was usually safe.  
Somedays, it even stays that way for as much as, oh, say, a week.
"'Night, gang!," I said, and turned for my door. It had been a hard days sleuthing, but the Gravy Ghoul was behind bars, revealed as Mr. Thompkins, of Global Consolidated Industries. Coolsville Canned Foods could open again for business as usual, without anyone leaping out of a vat and scaring off the workers.

And needless to say, all of us were drenched in gravy, and the Mystery Machine was going to need a thorough hosing-out tomorrow. But that's tomorrow. And Scooby Doo is going to have some great dreams, at least until the smell fades from his coat.

Me, I just want a bath and a good nights sleep, but I have other things I have to get done tonight. No rest for the wicked.

But I could take time for the bath. I unbuckled my shoes as soon as I was through the door, padding all the way to my tub in my trademark orange kneesocks. This apartment isn't huge, and all the wall space is covered with my books, but the bath tub is truly sybaritic. And the rent is low, and I never have to worry about the other tenants.

In the bathroom, I plugged the drain, started the water going, lit a couple of scented candles, and went and undressed in front of my big mirror. My legs are a little thick, but under that bulky sweater, I do have curves, and that IS a miniskirt I wear. But everyone remembers her as the sexy one. Ah, well, Daphne is a friend and compatriot; I could always count on her to have my back, unlike Freddie. (No, despite the rumors, Daphne and I are not Intimate friends, in that way. Maybe if things had been different, if not for my ...personal problem... But no.)

Oh, well; I slid into the water, rested my head against the back of the tub and closed my eyes. Bliss. I could feel the warmth, and flickering dim light, erasing the tension from my body, and loosening me up for what was to come.

I dozed off for a bit, but fortunately, I'd set a timer before getting into the tub. I dried off, donned my robe, and blew out the candles. Then I went to the mirror.

In the dark, I touched the secret spots on the frame, which caused the mirror to swing inward, revealing a narrow space with the top of a ladder descending into a hole in the floor.

At the bottom of the ladder, I stood in a sort of locker room, wooden bench in the middle, lockers along the sides, and a mirror at the end, next to a door.

I opened my locker, removed my robe, and hung it up. Crossing to the mirror, I looked myself over again, stretched, and ruefully pinched the small fold of skin at the base of my neck.

Which I then grasped, stretched, and pulled. My face in the mirror distorted, and then the mask came away with a sucking sound, obscuring my vision.

At the back of my neck, where it had previously been hidden, the top of a seam was revealed. Reaching around awkwardly, I opened it, and spread it downward. The loosening of my "flesh", started earlier in the bath, increased, as I pulled at the end of my fingers, pulling on the gloves of the bodysuit, as my shoulders came free through the back opening.

My breasts are always reluctant to let go of my true chest, being somewhat adhesive to keep them from shifting around too much, but they let go, and the front of the suit started to slump away from me. I put my hands along my body, and eased down my hips, carefully releasing the relief tube in there. Finally, working off the legs like removing a pair of tights, I was out of the suit.

Free of the suit, I took a moment to luxurious scratch myself, and then stepped into the shower, scrubbing away a weeks worth of salt and dead skin. The suit will pass most sweat, but there is still an accumulation. Then I dried myself, donned a pair of Y fronts and some overalls, and stepped into the lab.

Whenever I stop being Velma, I feel sorrow. She is popular, but yet not so popular as to be unable to move about in public. And there is her work, revealing creepy creatures for the frauds they are, which is satisfying.

And almost sinfully easy, as their costumes are no where near as sophisticated as the one she herself is wearing.

Well, except for Jacobo. Jacobo is a special case. Back in college, Jacobo was an instructor in the theater department. Special makeup.

So it was for his class I first made my lifecasting of my face, and sculpted the melting flesh on it in clay, to be cast in silicone gel. I got a good grade for that, although part way through the job, the casting got ruined, and I had to stay after to re-do it.

Secretly, of course, the cast was fine; I'd made another lifecast, and molded a different set of features on it, with a cute little nose, and nice cheeks; a female face. And in the time I had the lab to myself, I prepared that.

When I had it finished and painted, I pulled it on, careful to avoid bubbles, and painting the seams around the eyes with makeup to blend. I dug around the lab, finding a cheerleaders skirt, kneesocks, a sweater, and many shoes much to small for my feet, until I found that fateful pair of Mary Janes. With the addition of a wig actually meant for a performance of Hamlet, Velma was born.

And I would have quickly put her away, except there was a sudden sound from the corridor; going out without thinking, I found two students chasing a figure in a heavy cloak toward me. So I grabbed at him, pulling the cloak off, and spinning him around. He made good his escape through a fire door.

The two in pursuit, Daphne and Fred, of course, stopped to make sure I was all right, which allowed me to feign having the wind knocked out of me; I had done nothing as yet about my voice. They examined the cloak, and I tugged on the label, which said the cloak was to be returned to costume storage, room 306, when finished with. Clearly, the figure knew it's way around the department.

I only realized it had been Jacobo later. Through the years, I'd helped the gang catch Jacobo and Jacobo supplied villains time and again, and he'd never revealed that he knew my secret.

And now, he'd shown me up; his blonde reporter disguise had been almost perfect; the mask alone had shown the subtle flaws I looked for in all his works, ones I'd managed to eliminate from mine years before.

But his body work was perfect, surpassing mine. Velma is a bookish nerd, but as I said, I have curves and a body. But beneath the trimmed triangle of pubic hair there is just a crease and a urethra. No vaginal opening, and no real labia. Whereas Susan was, er, "fully equipped", a careful geometry of the hips creating sufficient depth for her to go "all the way" if the situation warranted it.
And I wanted that for myself!

The suit he'd been wearing when I'd unmasked him was in storage as evidence, but a foe as careful as Jonathan would never have only one suit. Myself, I have several spares, and for that matter, I own this small apartment building, and all the tenants are, in fact, me.

Including the new girl that moved in last week, an asian american student. Actually, she was a spare identity of Jacobo's I'd been modifying, getting rid of the mask imperfections and making a few other improvements. And tonight was the night she was finally ready to take on the town.

Velma had started out chunky, because that was how I'd looked in a skirt back then. Since then, I'd actually had to start padding the inside of the suit. But Amy was made to conform to the norms of beauty of modern society, so it was into my corset I got. After that, the process was the reverse of what I'd just done, apart from having to do a little more adjusting around the crotch. But soon, I was finishing up tugging and pressing around the ears and the eyes, and putting in my green contacts.

Then, I stepped back, and twirled to face the mirror, swinging my long silky black hair and smiling. Almost of it's own accord, my hand reached between my legs, and entered the softness it found there.

A frisson of tingling sped up my spine as my fingers encountered the moist membranes of my crotch for the first time. Down, boy, I thought; save some for some lucky guy later tonight.

I went to another niche in the wall, climbed the ladder there, and emerged in Amy's apartment. Her wardrobe is a bit sparse, but what there is for now is well suited for partying. I pulled on her tanga panties, B cup bra (how strange not to have valkyrian proportions for a change, but I could get used to not having to worry about people running into my boobs all the time), and completed the outfit with a leather mini, bustier, torn fishnets and a pair of mesh arm warmers. Then came the hard part.

Any makeup artist would call the masks a masterpiece, but all my other makeup experience was theatrical (Velma hardly wears any), and far too heavy to be what a woman would have arrived at after 15 years of applying her own makeup. And particularly not an Asian-American woman. Possibly I'd bitten off more than I could chew, but the goth appearance of my clothing had been selected on purpose. Goth makeup tended to be more dramatic and heavy handed.

Sitting down, I pulled on my high heel boots with the big metal buckles up the sides, and reached up to press against the sides of my throat. I inhaled, and went "Ahhhh."

Not quite right; I slid my index finger down and towards the center my throat. "Ahhhh."

This time, it came out a throaty purr, just like I'd wanted.

Throwing a jacket over my shoulder, I went out into the hall, and locked my door. I glanced over my shoulder at Velma's door, and said "Don't wait up for me, sis." So far, it was proving easy to keep my identities distinct in my mind.

Tak, tak, tak, tak, went my heels as I walked out the back door into the parking lot. Velma has a car, although you'd hardly know it from the amount of time she spends in the van with the gang. She has a nice, slightly elderly Honda Civic.

My car, on the other hand, is a Mazda Miata. Laundering the funds for that so they couldn't be traced back to Velma's savings had taken some doing. The gang actually do make a lot from rewards and such, but it's not like any of my other identities could hold down a full time job. And a bunch of patents from someone that just HAPPENS to be Velma's neighbor might look funny.
 

---

 
The club was dark inside.

I crossed to the bar, and sat down on a barstool. Years of miniskirt experience stood me in good stead there; the heels, on the other hand, were still something I was adapting to.

I ordered a glass of white wine, and swiveled slightly to look around; One thing I quickly noticed was that most of the girls here were sitting in groups at tables. They all seemed to be serving as mutual "wingmen", and here I was, all alone, as I had to be.

It gradually dawned on me, in shock, that I had no idea how to do this; no idea how to be a single girl in a bar, looking to flirt and maybe get picked up. After years of being a girl, full time, I was suddenly out of my depth.

The first couple of guys were real losers. I mean, I was desperate to get laid, but a girl has to have some standards. Their pickup lines were tacky, tired old saws that I remember people using the few times I'd gone to bars with my roommates in college. Clearly, the better catches were waiting to see what these over eager types got.

I contemplated this as I finished my wine; was i reading this correctly? The flaw in my plan was hopefully just sloppy research; I had been so eager to see the world from my new viewpoint, so anxious to get this underway that I had failed to do the reading.

In fact, this was all wrong. I wasn't ready for this! I started to hyperventilate. I had to find a way to go into this gradually, but I had! To! Get! Out! Of! Here!

NOW!

I set the glass down, empty, tucked a bill under the base of it, sufficient for the wine and a substantial tip, and slipped off the stool, turning to go home for a bubble-bath, and an intense night of googling, and fearing this was one of "those" things, which mere research would have a hard time quantifying, such as when I had decided I needed to have a menstrual cycle, when I ran into someone.

Reflexively, I started to bend over to search for my glasses, before I remembered I wasn't WEARING any glasses. But it turned out to be the right move, because as I bent, two strong hands loosely grasped my shoulders, and a deep voice enquired, "Are you alright? I didn't see you there."

I straightened up. "I'm fine," I said, "Are you alright? I wasn't looking where I was going."

"No, no; it was my fault; as long as you are alright, though. Can I buy you a drink?"

"No; I really have to go," and twisted to remove myself from his grasp.

"At least let me look to see if there's any damage; we might need to exchange insurance details." he said, with a grin.

Ah, I thought, this might work...

He ordered me another white wine, and had a beer himself, and we got to talking. Score! Clearly, he's interested. But as we talked, I realized he was too interesting for a one night stand! Frustrated, I pleaded a need to make an early night of it. I did manage to give him "my" telephone number, though.
 

---

 
The next week went slowly. We were dealing with cleaning, paperwork, and the legal depositions inherent in our most recent case. About wednesday, he called. I let it go to voice mail, and checked it when I could get away. He wanted to know what I was doing that night, and if I wanted dinner.

I texted him back. Dinner, dutch treat, were my terms. We agreed to meet at a Chinese place he suggested, my second favorite, as it happened. We ate, we talked, we adjourned to the starbucks down the block for coffee and desert. And there, we parted. But he did kiss me. God, what a kiss! Being Velma, I'd missed out on so much.

Friday, we met early, grabbed a quick dinner, and went to a movie. In the theater, making up for years of lost time, we quietly made out during the movie. And right then, I decided the heck with it! I was going to go for it. I'd purposely taken a cab to the restaurant, so we took his car to my place.

As I unlocked the front door, he grabbed me from behind, spinning me, and pushing me back against the door. I groped for the knob and half fell into the place. We passed through the living room, shedding clothing, and fell onto the bed, stripped to our underwear. And then further.

It was fantastic.

Afterwards, with my forearm trapped behind his neck, I felt something. I thought back to while I was kissing him, and realized he was wearing a mask! It had all of Jacobo's little "tells".

Was this an enemy? Was it Jacobo himself, escaped?

I tumbled out of the bed, and backed away crabwalking backwards, warily, on my hands and knees.

"Wait, wait!," he said from the bed, "How the heck do these things come off again?"

And the figure on the bed squeezed the little bulge at the base of the neck that is where Jocobo's masks come off, and lifted.

A bunch of blond hair tumbled out (the wig caps never stay on without something sticking them down), and underneath was Daphne!

"I've wanted you for so long, but it would have really messed up things in the gang," she said, "and then I caught you going through Jacobo's lair. In one of the rooms in the basement, I found another escape tunnel, and at the end of it was this suit. I took it, and having seen what YOU'D taken, I started staking out your apartment building. So when I saw you leave, I followed you to that bar."

She has a reputation as a bit out of it, but no one in the gang is a slouch at the detective work.

"So," she continued, "now do I get to see what you're really like?"

I peeled off my Asian-American face; underneath was revealed the face the gang had never seen.

"Cool!" she said, and finished peeling off the suit she'd been wearing.

"C'mon," she said as she reached for me, "we need to get to know one another, and then I want to see Velma! I know she isn't "complete", but we can still snuggle!"

In a world without ghosts, sometimes human beings are all the mystery you need.