Unicorn Point

Now they were both below the surface, out of sight. But it was possible to breathe here, by sucking air between the teeth to strain out the bubbles. Sheen of course did not need to breathe, except when she needed air for speech.  “Hold still, creature!” he cried for the benefit of the audience that peered closely at the heaving surface of froth.

“Is that an order, sir?” she replied defiantly. There was laughter from above; of course it wasn’t an order, in a game like this.

“Now I’ve got you—oops!” Obviously she had slipped out of his grasp. It was almost impossible to hold on to a person in this slippery stuff. Both remained out of sight.  Sheen screamed again, signaling that he had caught her again.

“Spread your legs, wench!” he ordered.

“Spread them yourself, sir!” More delighted laughter from above; the audience could picture exactly what was happen ing.

“If you don’t, I’ll tickle you!”

There was a pause. Then, hesitantly: “Where will you tickle me, sir?”

“Maybe on the feet.”

“That’s all right.”

“Then maybe on the knees.”

“The knees? I think I can handle that.”

“Then maybe the thighs.”

A pause. “I’ll survive it somehow.”

“How about the belly?”

“Oh, no, not the belly! Anywhere but there!”

“Anywhere?” His voice was quivering with suggestion.

“Uh—just where else did you have in mind, sir?”

“WHERE DO YOU THINK, WENCH?”

“I’ll spread my legs!”

“Too late! I’d rather tickle you. Just let me get my finger in there—“ She screamed yet again, piercingly. The laughter from above was almost overwhelming.

What the audience did not realize was that the activity under the whipped gelatin was quite different from that suggested by the dialogue. Sheen opened a breast-cabinet and brought out heavy makeup materials. She applied paint to his hair, wherever it occurred, changing it to match her own. She put green contact lenses into his eyes, so that they also matched hers. She removed both her breasts and fastened them to his body with flesh-colored adhesive, and applied pseudoflesh to his hips and buttocks. She used more of it to cover his genitals and mold them into a mound like hers.  This was feasible because her midsection was larger than his; there was room for layering. Soon Blue resembled her so closely that only a careful inspection would give him away.  Meanwhile, instead of tickling her—it was difficult to tickle a robot—he was helping her to assume his form. He removed her hairpiece and put on one that resembled his hair. He used a special pen to draw lines on her legs that made them look thinner and more muscular. He used pseudoflesh to thicken her waist. He removed her ears and substituted a set she had brought that resembled his. And he applied to her crotch a prefabricated unit of pseudoflesh that was cast in the shape of his male genitals. Then he smoothed out her now-flat chest, and painted a few hairs. The double transformation was complete.

At this point they were grunting suggestively, as though engaged in heavy activity, while the audience above quieted, striving to overhear and interpret what was occurring. All sex was free on Proton, and serfs indulged at will (or the will of their Citizen employers), but again the concealment enhanced the fascination. Blue made a final, satisfied groan, and they were quiet.

Then Blue stroked upward through the froth so that his head broke the surface. “Well, I didn’t get tickled!” he said in his best emulation of Sheen’s voice.

“Liar!” Sheen called from below, in his voice. “You got well tickled inside. If you haven’t had enough—“ Blue looked alarmed, and clambered out of the vat. Patches of lather covered portions of his body, making it more difficult for anyone to tell that he was not a naked woman. He hurried out, as if afraid the Citizen was about to call him back for another round.

“It’s better when they resist,” his voice came from behind, as Sheen broke the surface in his likeness. “Next time, translucent gel!” The audience applauded. The serfs had seen far less than they thought, and were convinced they knew what had happened below. A majority of the males now had erections. There would be a mass sex orgy the moment Sheen, as Citizen Blue, gave leave for general use of the vat. It was significant that none of the women was trying to leave early.  He hurried to the connected shower stall, and quickly rinsed the foam from his hair and body. Sheen, in the guise of the Citizen, would have a portable shower brought in, and the serfs would gladly operate it and the dryer, and help her back into his blue cloak. Then she would take his transport back to their suite.

He had to smile. Sheen was a machine, but what a machine! She did things so well. He trusted her absolutely, and yes, he did love her.