The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

From Blonde to Blonde

Sydney's plan is probably the smartest—and really, wouldn't it be fun to be Chelsea Cooper?

But last night comes back to you in a flash: Fuck me, Sydney had moaned. And fantasize that I'm Chelsea Cooper while you're doing it!

"I want you to be Chelsea," you tell Mr. Hagerman.

"What if I can't get the memories?" he asks.

"You can do the switch in here. One last time," you urge him. "You won't get caught."

He hesitates. Then he shoves the mask and metal band at you.

"Okay," he says as he starts tearing at the buttons on his shirt. "But get it done fast!"

* * * * *

There is one very hairy moment where everything almost goes disastrously wrong, but you manage to squeak out of it. While Sydney struggles out of Mr. Hagerman's clothes, you pull off Chelsea's shoes and socks and to go work on her blouse. You pause long enough to tear Mr. Hagerman's face off of Sydney's—exposing the beautifully shaped features of your girlfriend in her native form—then return to loosening Chelsea's things. You're just trying to figure out how to get the skirt off her when she stirs. Her eyes are just fluttering open when you slam Mr. Hagerman's mask onto her face, and the English teacher materializes in the chair where Chelsea had been sitting.

Luckily, you had already loosened her skirt and blouse, so he didn't rip anything when he sprouted in front of you. But he was still inside her panties and bra. "I didn't even have to put shit like this on when I was trying to join a fraternity," he complained as he struggled out of them.

Like the Christine-pedisequos, the Mr. Hagerman-pedisequos is up to speed on what's going on, and seems docilely accepting of it, and he even volunteers to leave the room (locking you in) and to go hang out in the teacher's lounge so that other teachers won't interrupt your work by looking for him in his classroom. After he's gone, you kneel over Sydney and drop a metal band onto her forehead. It vanishes, but she remains asleep. You are tempted to play with her breasts, but content yourself with sitting next to her (being careful not to catch your swelling boner in a pinch) and pick up her hand. You hold and squeeze and stroke it, trying to bring Sydney out of her swoon without pushing her too hard.

Eventually she does begin to stir, and with your free hand you brush the hair from her forehead. Her eyes flutter open, and a dreamy, quizzical smile purses her lips.

It doesn't remain there long. Half a second later it's replaced by a frown of alarm, and she sits up sharply. When she sees she's naked, she gasps and scrambles away from you, a look of surprise and horror on her face.

She's just confused, you tell yourself. Two minds all mixed up inside each other, and all that. "Sydney?" you say to her in a low, calm voice as she stares at you. "Sydney? Do you remember what's going on? Sydney?" you plead.

"Oh, Jesus!" She slaps her hands over her face and freezes in place. "Christ almighty Christ almighty Christ almighty," she murmurs over. "Oh God." She pulls her hands down the sides of her face, like her cheeks are putty. Then she raises her hands to study her fingers. She groans again.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," she groans. Then: "No."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. No, really, I'm fine." She visibly wilts. "It's just like being punched in the brain with another brain. Oh, God!" She clutches her head between her hands.

"Come on, get up," you urge her. "Move around."

"My head'll fall off," she moans.

"No it won't." You put out a hand, and she reluctantly takes it. "Come on, stand up, get yourself used to it."

"You just want to ogle my tits!"

"Well, yes," you admit. "But this'll help too."

Sydney shoots you a baleful look but suffers to let you raise her up onto unsteady feet. She sways there, frowning hard.

Then she does a little double-take at you, and her grimace fractures a little. Slowly her mouth curves upward.

"You really do love me, don't you, Will?" she says. You nod. "And you want to take me in your arms and—"

She lets the sentence hang. You let it hang a moment too.

Then, before it can break, you put your arms around her and pull her close, hugging her tightly. She hugs you back.

"I'm the sexiest girl you know, aren't I?" she murmurs in your ear.

"Uh huh," you gulp in reply. It's all you can do to keep your hand from dropping to cup her bare ass.

"Then let me put on my face," she whispers, "so I can be the sexiest girl in school."

* * * * *

She knows you, so she doesn't insist on dressing in Chelsea's clothes before sealing up Chelsea's mask and putting it on. She gives you ten glorious minutes to drool as she lays unconscious on the floor, showing off Chelsea's body.

You straddle her, balancing on your hands and feet, so you can caress her naked form with eyes that burn—like you're staring into the sun.

Her summertime tan has started to fade, so that her arms and legs are darker than her belly and hips, which are themselves darker than her globe-like breasts. But she is a creamy butterscotch color all over, and her skin is taut and smooth. Everyplace on her body is kissable, but you are drawn to the brown tips of her breasts, and the little hollow at the bottom of her throat, and her small, pillowy lips. And her hair—God! you could suffocate yourself inside its gentle curls. As for down below, she is shaved and smooth, and you nearly cream yourself when you give yourself a taste of delights to come by stroking the slit with a trembling fingertip. When you think you are about to lose it, you hunch down at her feet, taking one in your hands and massaging her sole and instep. Her toes are like little niblets of corn that you want to bite off.

The wait pays off when she stirs again. She sighs and groans and arches her back and stretches, then lifts her head to smile at you from under heavy eyelids. "Hey there," Chelsea Cooper murmurs at you.

"Hey."

"That feels good," she says as you press your thumbs into her instep. "Oh! Keep doing that!" She lays her head back down.

After a minute more, during which you listen to her breathe—she blows and pants like she's trying to catch it after a demanding workout—you ask if she's ready to leave.

"Yes," she says drowsily. "I suppose we should— Oh, fuck!" She bolts upright.

"Well, that's what I wanted us to do eventually," you chortle.

"No! Shut up! Oh, God, Will!" She scrambles onto her knees and grabs at her clothes. "I have to get out of here!"

"What for?"

"What for?" she echoes. "You dumbass! I— Sorry, I didn't mean that, it just barged out," she says. "But you know, I do have a boyfriend! I mean, another one! Shit!" Frantically she begins to pull on her panties, and snaps her fingers at you to hand her the bra.

Right. That would be Gordon Black, Chelsea's Neanderthal boyfriend. The captain of the basketball team. "Are you supposed to meet him someplace?"

"He's got practice right now and I'm supposed to be watching him! Oh, fuck! Well, I'll tell him something came up. But listen—!" She twists herself into her blouse. "We probably won't be able to meet tonight." She does a double-take at you. "And certainly not with you looking like that!"

"What's wrong with the way I look?"

"Hello? Number one, Will, you're a guy and I have a boyfriend. Number two, you're a junior. What's your name again?"

"Zion," you say, taken aback. "Zion Barber. Don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember! But Chelsea wouldn't know you from the Mexican kid who mows her family's lawn!" She throws her hair from her face and blasts an exasperated sigh at you. "So priority one is getting you a new face. Someone I can hang out with."

"What about Gordon?" He really is the most obvious choice. But she frowns peevishly at you.

"I'll have to think about it. God, Kendra and Gloria are probably dying to know what happened to me! I was only supposed to meet for, like, five minutes with Mr. Hagerman. Where'd he get off to, by the way?" She hops on one foot as she pulls on a shoe.

"He's in the teacher's lounge."

"Can you handle him? Well, do your best with him. Love you lots." She lurches forward to peck you on the lips. "Keep your phone charged and turned on. I'll send you a text tonight."

"Can you at least try to get away from Gordon?"

"No promises, love," she shouts as she grabs up her pack and runs for the door. "But I'll be thinking of you if, you know—" Then she's gone.

If I wind up fucking Gordon. You know that's what she was going to say. Your chest tightens up.

* * * * *

Did she sleep with him? She doesn't say when she texts later that night with some candidates for you to be. Gordon's name on it. He has a shitty home life, she replies when you ask why you can't be him. Trust me u don't want to b him.

Who does she suggest? Two of her friends on the cheerleading squad: Maria Vasquez and Kendra Saunders. One of her enemies on the squad, Lin Pol. And the president of the student council, Kim Walsh.

But are you not ready to give up on being both her official and her secret boyfriend.

Next: "Partners Under the Skin" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 4)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)"