The REAL ME
by Joy James
email: joyjames@ivillage.com
"Not every woman is a good candidate for cosmetic surgery." The doctor, sitting with me on the couch in his consultation room, pauses and looks deep into my eyes. "You must decide what you want to accomplish, then together we'll determine whether your expectations are realistic." I smile as I think that what I want to accomplish is for this handsome doctor to move closer on the couch and for his skilled surgeon's hands to knead my black-stockinged thighs.
Smiling back, he continues: "I can tell that inside you is this incredibly desirable woman just dying to come out. The real you. So my job is simple - to allow your real inner beauty to be expressed." Then maybe he'll fuck me, I smile, as my French-manicured fingers play with the hem of my box-pleated mini.
While he patiently waits for me to say something, his beautiful blue eyes confidently lock into mine. I love a man who's comfortable with silences. There's wisdom in that. I can't help flirting:
"You mean I'm not already desirable?" I make a mock pout.
"You know that you are." He stares into my eyes. "But there must be something more you want. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here." What I want, dear doctor, is for you to carve me up and make my body yours - that's what I don't say. So I say:
"Well, Frank.. You don't mind if I don't call you 'doctor?'" He smiles and nods. "Well, Frank, I'm worried about my mouth. My lips don't seem full enough, even with the collagen my previous doctor gave me. It wears off so quickly anyway. Maybe I need something more permanent? Maybe the whole shape of my mouth needs fixing?"
Frank's eyes study my mouth for what seems forever. Then, wordlessly, he places his fingertips to my lips, and I tingle.
"I want a mouth that you can't resist kissing." The words rush out, unconsciously.
For the first time, he looks away. He blushes. Finally, he says: "I'm sure all the guys want to kiss you. You're quite the babe."
"But I only want you, Frank. What will it take for you to want me?"
A few days later, when I go under anesthesia, I feel like I'm still awake. That happens sometimes, you know. The patient doesn't feel any pain and can't move but is aware of everything. It can be horrifying; but for me, my mind is mixed with the wildest, unthinkable fantasies.
Poking out from beneath Frank's green scrubs is his hard, naked cock -- thicker and longer than I could have dreamed, awakening a delicious sense of wonder and craving: how much could I take in my mouth?
"Molding putty!" he barks to the nurse. I love his authority, the way his few words spark instant action, as her latex gloved hands begin to work a milky, gooey paste up and down the shaft of his enormous cock. It takes some time, this foreplay, but finally she is finished.
"Set the timer," he commands, and then: "Scalpel!"
My mouth is clamped open with forceps, and with the scalpel he carves the back of my throat. The tissue he cuts away is dropped in a pail beneath the operating table. There is blood everywhere, just as when I was fucked for the very first time. Only this time there is no pain, only the consciousness of future ecstasy.
Frank moves to the foot of the operating table. Only then do I realize that my feet are in stirrups, as if I'm about to undergo a gynecological exam. But it doesn't feel clinical; instead, I sense my pussy getting juicy.
At that moment the timer rings, and Frank calls, "Nurse!" She removes the now hardened mold from his cock and pours some pre-prepared jell into the cavity.
"It should be hard in 15 minutes," Frank says. "Set the timer."
He then lifts the scalpel to my cunt. As if an out-of-body or near-death experience, I intuit the blood in my clit pulsing ever faster from my need to be fucked by Frank. Now, finally, he is crafting me into what he most desires. I'm as a passive as a sex toy; in his desire lies my raison d'être. .
Delicately he cuts away portions of my cunt lips, the outer fatty folds of my labia majora, and gently sets what seem like tiny muscles, still twitching, on the white, now bloody, sheet next to my head.
The timer rings. The nurse retrieves the mold and breaks it. Inside is a rubber-like dildo, an exact replica of Frank's tantalizing cock.
The nurse inserts the dildo into my mouth, gradually, slowly, a bit at a time. It must be eight inches at least. I feel like I'm suffocating, about to die. Then suddenly, as if a dam is broken, the dildo glides all the way in; I can breathe again, gloriously so.
"Notice the smiling reflex on the patient's face," Frank tells the nurse, as he uses a grease pencil to draw incision marks around my mouth. I imagine a perfect "O," an expression of happy surprise, wrapped around the dildo. Then Frank deftly carves my lips.
"Sutures!" Frank sews the labia majora to my existing lips. "We have to be especially careful with the nerve endings," he allows. It seems like hours before he's finally finished.
I'm bandaged, both mouth and crotch, and wheeled into the recovery room. For weeks, I can't put anything into my mouth except a straw. Sucking on it brings a pleasurable quiver, and I'm able to forget the painful throbbing in my crotch.
"Is it all a dream?" I ask Frank when he finally removes the bandages.
"No, babe," he says, smiling at his artistry and bringing music to my ears. "I'll kiss you now." At last I am happy, the ultimate babe I was meant to be, as he effortlessly slides his delcious cock deep into my incredibly beautiful, oh so desirable, delectable $12,000 cuntface.
about the author: JOY JAMES HAS WORKED AS A MAGAZINE EDITOR, NEWSPAPER REPORTER, AND ADVERTISING COPYWRITER -- AS WELL AS FOR AN ESCORT SERVICE. HER STORY IS INSPIRED BY HER OWN REAL-LIFE "BEAUTIFYING" EXPERIENCES WITH COSMETIC SURGERY. SOME OF HER OTHER UPCOMING WORK IS TO BE PUBLISHED IN CLEAN SHEETS AND MIND CAVIAR. SHE CAN BE REACHED AT joyjames@ivillage.com.
