“She turned you down!?” I exclaimed in shock.

“I couldn’t believe it either,” answered Esmeralda. “I told her to choose: that writing project or me. Was I being unfair to her?”

“I don’t think so… I mean, I know she’s supposed to be the responsible one, but even she needs a break once in a while.” As the days went by, Latexa seemed to become more and more distant from Esmeralda and myself. She closed off her memories, and now she was making excuses to be alone. Having no idea what she had discovered, there was no way for me to help even if I might have been able to piece together the puzzle for her. So I gave up; if that was how she wanted to act, then I was going to steer clear of it and focus on my own needs for the time being. Latexa had no right to tarnish my newfound happiness, my newfound… escapism?

Admittedly, that’s what it was. With the world turning into a much scarier place and my personal problems spiraling out of control, all I wanted was to curl up in the arms of my second mom and forget everything. What could be better than a reality built upon a foundation of passionate lust? Esmeralda was all I looked forward to each day. Since she lived on another continent, I could only see her at certain times; thus, whenever she was around, she immediately became all that mattered to me.

If there was a phrase which could so aptly describe my scenario, it would be that I was falling from a great height. I recall the phrase from a story I had read back when I was much too young for this sort of thing. There was a woman who fell in love with a doll collector. Some of his dolls were more traditional, while others were of the sexual variety. She found herself assimilating into their ranks over time, wearing the same clothes and posing the same way as if she were never truly human to begin with.

The more she immersed herself in this fantasy, the more she lost her free will. She quit her job to move in with him, and she would lounge around sluggishly when he wasn’t there to control her. The story ends with a magic spell that permanently immobilizes her, something she saw coming a mile away yet made no attempt to escape from. The memory of that story brings me back to an assortment of flashbacks, dating all the way to when I was about fourteen.

A year had passed since I had decided I wanted to live as a girl, though I still hadn’t told my parents. After a day of intense fighting among the family, I couldn’t take anymore and told them through a written letter. It didn’t exactly go over well. They wanted me to keep it secret from everyone, and I simply didn’t want to any longer. That didn’t go over well either.

For me, femininity manifested itself through flexibility. Flexibility therefore became my tool to achieve validation, even if that meant doing things others would look down on me for. Being called beautiful, being called talented – those compliments alone were enough to push me into further sexualizing my own body. The tactile sensations I felt from doing so were merely icing on the cake.

Then, around the time I was sixteen, I met an older man online who changed everything for me. This ex-professional turned trainer opened my eyes to the idea of the human body as a physical object. The way in which the body was bent could imitate abstract art, furniture, or even living dolls. Suddenly, all I wanted was to transcend the human shape in every conceivable way. So when my physical self brushed up against its limit, I used cybersex to keep moving forward.

In the realm of roleplay, I could stretch endlessly, twist and compress like true rubber. Wrapping the whole of my being around another’s body as I made sweet love to them became an addiction, until one day it reached a fever pitch and then boiled over. I remember being seventeen, roleplaying my rubber contortions with a beautiful woman, when it dawned on me to separate my skin for her to climb inside of me. Sealing myself around her naked body, I had become her catsuit. It was the first time I had ever considered the idea of living clothing.

These events served as the basis for the rubbergirl I wished it were possible to be. I continued to roleplay for years as a rubber version of myself without a name; so when Latexa came along, all of those ambitions gradually carried over to her. Because I never expected her to have a separate set of memories, I didn’t think to tell her any of this. She gained all of the insight and confidence and ability without ever having to experience the downsides.

She never experienced the feelings of depression, the drops in self-worth. She never experienced the nights of crying myself to sleep; feeling like my lustful actions would make me a failure in the eyes of my family, my friends, my teachers and the rest of society. She never experienced those days where life just did not feel worth living. So this temper tantrum of hers was really starting to piss me off.

I told all of this to Esmeralda, and after digesting it for a bit, she responded, “Nicole, are you absolutely certain that Latexa doesn’t know about these things? I mean, she knew about your fourteen-year-old self, and that’s what triggered all of this pent up aggression.”

“If she knew, then she had to have been probing my memories at some point. The entity that is Latexa has only been around for a year. Going off the idea that she has her own memories, anything before that point simply cannot be hers. It’s impossible.”

“I’m not so sure…”

“What do you mean, mom?”

“There isn’t any conclusive proof, but I’m starting to wonder if she might not be based on you, but rather a fragment of yourself which sat dormant for many years.”

“Mother, if I may be completely honest?”

“What is it?”

“The possibility of such a thing… kind of scares me a little. It would mean admitting that I don’t know myself nearly as well as I think I do, and I might even have to re-evaluate every decision I have ever made to ensure each was my own.”

“I think you’re reading too much into this, Nicole. Well, the only way to know for sure is to question her directly. Should we do that tonight?”

“I… Yeah. I guess you’re right. Tonight, then.”

I couldn’t talk to Esmeralda, and I couldn’t talk to Nicole either. I admit that in the first days following the discovery, I was angry at Nicole for what I felt to be a deliberate concealment of memories. Yet the more I delved into them, the more I realized that she had no idea how far back mine actually went. No longer could I refer to myself as mere persona; the reality was that I existed in the form a true split personality. In reflecting upon her life, any gaps in the timeline could only be moments in which I had acted on her behalf.

Flashes of history began to surface at an alarming rate, but as the pictures became more clear, a horrific sequence of events subconsciously played out. The urge to wretch and to vomit overtook me, but it was soon followed by a sense of understanding my unique position. The pain meant something important for the both of us, and it was a clear indication of Nicole’s behavior around Esmeralda as well.

If things continued as they were, Esmeralda’s influence would inadvertently hurt Nicole. That’s what the situation was telling me, at any rate. Whether the woman knew it or not was irrelevant; what was absolutely imperative was that Nicole be heavily moderated from here on out. Because if not…

I should have expected that this would be met with opposition by the two of them. I should have expected that Nicole’s sudden loss of consciousness was a trap to lure me out. Unfortunately, I fell right in. “Was there something you needed from me, mother?”

“The truth.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow?”

“You’ve been keeping secrets from us, and it’s possible that you’re trying to keep Nicole away from me altogether.”

“Well, aren’t you the perceptive one? Let me ask you this: do you honestly think that indulging her like this is going to help her at all down the road?”

“Why does it matter to you? If it makes her happy, what right do you have to place arbitrary limits over it? Or could it be you’re the one who secretly wishes she could have a childhood?”

“If you understand Nicole’s affliction, then you take full responsibility for enabling it. My reason for being here is to make sure that she can move on from such a weak mental crutch.”

“Who made it your responsibility to police her!? What evidence do you have to make the claim that Nicole is unable to moderate herself like a rational adult!?”

“…I don’t have to tell you shit.”

“The hell you don’t! Admit it; you know far more than you’re letting on, Latexa! How far do your memories really go!? What the hell are you to this girl!?”

She was quite persistent as well, and while I couldn’t exactly trust her, I needed her to see the consequences at stake. “The first memory was one of Nicole holding me in her arms. I was covered in bruises and cuts, and she was apologizing to me for them.”

“Wait a minute, that sounds just like… the hypnotherapy!?”

It only makes sense that if the girl was me, then my actual self had to have existed from the time Nicole was fourteen. It is possible that I existed even before that, though I can’t say for sure yet.”

“This is incredible… Since you already know that much, why keep it a secret from me and Nicole?”

“It is absolutely crucial that she doesn’t find out about any of this. Knowing what I know would destroy her inside.”

“You know, I don’t think you’re giving the girl enough credit.”

“What right have you to say that much? You want to sit here and hold me to some kind of standard; well, what about you? Do you want to know what my life has been? Every time that she faltered and failed, she swapped places with me so that I could shoulder the blow. Mentally, she is nothing more than a child. She can’t survive in the real world. She can’t handle the lingering possibilities of failure and rejection. If I weren’t here, she’d never try at anything again.

“I think I get it now… I know what it is you’re both feeling inside. I can help the both of you, but you have to be willing to let me in, Latexa. You need to be able to trust me the way Nicole can.”

“Latexa, please…”

“Alright, fine. Nicole didn’t have the best adolescence. In her first year of high school, not only was she routinely bullied, but she had a father who told her she was throwing her life away. That stuck with her for a long time. Her next few years had their ups and downs. Throw in an abusive ex-lover, and you have the recipe for one suicidal transgirl.”

“That sounds so awful…”

“Trust me, it’s worse than you can imagine. She threw herself out of a car at sixteen. At seventeen she thought heavily about punching a bathroom mirror while at school and using the shards to stab herself. I stopped her then, but she responded by instead throwing herself against the stalls several times. That landed her in outpatient for a week.

Even after she had done her hypnotherapy thing in college, she continued to rely heavily on me. There was a night where she thought of driving her truck off a mountain; I stopped her. She slammed herself into the stalls of a college bathroom one evening; I made her seek help. Practically every time she tore herself down, I stepped in to bring her back to reality. She lives today because I helped heal much of that pain at the cost of my spirit.”

“It must have been hard for you. Is it possible that what you want more than anything is rest? You said you pitied her because she’s too stubborn to see what’s in front of her, but could it be you’re also tired of being the one to guide her?”

“Who’s going to help her other than me? This world is rotten, and part of the reason she’s so fucked up emotionally is because of all the people who have stepped on her throughout her life. Nobody can save us. Sadly, that statement applies to you as well.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Don’t underestimate the power of a listening ear and a comforting word. I want you – both of you – to be able to lean on me when times are tough. Even if I can’t help you physically, there are still things I can do spiritually. Can you believe in that, Latexa?”

“I don’t know; maybe I can… Nicole and I have a mantra we stick to. It’s the idea that we’ll lust after anyone, love those who captivate us, but trust no one. Nicole tried to trust Valerie, and then that relationship was eventually cast aside by a pointless disagreement. She was alone yet again. Loneliness is a disease, originating in the mind and rapidly spreading to the body.”


“I’m not disregarding what you’re saying. It’s just, I want to believe that – at the very least – you can love her the way you claim you do.”

“Of course I do. And I love you as well, so get those doubts out of your head. Whatever happens, we’re in this together. Are you okay with that?”

A part of me that did wish to accept her proposal. After all, less than a fortnight was all it had taken for this woman to exert her will over us in full. My abilities as a witch couldn’t hold a candle to her level of influence. Esmeralda wasn’t merely a succubus, but a goddess of darkness.“I suppose I will have to be. I don’t trust you completely yet, but I am willing to extend the benefit of the doubt.

“That’s all I really ask. The reason I remain here is because I believe in the potential of utilizing the craft to achieve transcendence. I can definitely thank the two of you for thoroughly reaffirming those beliefs.”

For what it’s worth, I have enjoyed doing this with you. Maybe in time, we’ll center on that ideal.”

There were a few minutes of silence, and then she wrote, “Tell me the thing which you desire most, Latexa.”

“What I desire most…?” If Nicole wanted to be clothing, then what did I want? Though despite never truly entertaining the question, I found that I already had a clear picture of what that might be. “What I want… is to be… a doll…”

“Ohoho…! Then a doll I shall make you become! Allow yourself this sensation; allow yourself this escape – if only for a little while each day. Trust in me to give you perfect balance in all aspects of existence, for that is what you truly deserve…”

She was right. Maybe it was about time that I gave in… “I… I deserve this…”

“As you lay yourself in my lap, feel a heaviness overtaking your arms and legs… Your rubber skin is becoming more sensitive as you find yourself unable to move at all… Your speech has locked up; you may only speak when I command it… Most of all, your body has become absolutely flawless… beautiful… perfect…”

The deeper I fell into the trance, the more a sexual heat began to wash over me. It was an itch I couldn’t scratch on my own, thus I found myself rapidly losing sanity. I needed to be touched, to be played with. I needed my owner – yes, owner – to dress me, to pose me, to fuck me. It was as if I were falling from a great height, but I fucking loved every instance of it.

In the final moments before I whited out and Nicole took over again, I found myself questioning whether I really was as above these mindless urges as I made myself out to be. Perhaps Nicole and I truly aren’t that different at all.



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