While I was fetching some normal clothes, I could see how these words had shaken her. No wonder - now all those irritating stupid ideas of God, that stupid organized religions force onto you globally on a daily basis, were colliding with the insight that the bliss and changes she had experienced and the things I had told her were simply true. I helped that confused newborn into her clothes. Some leather gloves covered her black hands - it's weird how these small differences matter. It's black material, too, after all. But if it's leather, nobody cares too much (other than, so I'd assume, appreciating the elegant and subtly erotic appearance), if it's rubber, the next badge of stupid cliches bombards their minds and threatens to manifest by word and action. This time not about religion, but about the insane idea that dressing for pleasure means that someone else wants to experience physical pain. They have no idea of the subtleties of one will allowing itself to be dreamed by another in total submission. Not coincidentally because, drumroll, they are loveless.

Good thing her head looked entirely human. We quietly left her flat. This was totally against all rules, but what should I do. I was captured by her, what a self-projection of pure bliss and beauty, and also what should she do? Imprisoned in a black latex skin - all the people out there would not let her be, well, at least most of them. And even if her hands, the only parts she couldn't keep covered without suspicion, wouldn't be black latex, there are still the spiritual problems. Demon horde, remember? Ok, in most cases I was able to devise a solution that would allow the individuals to keep their current life as is, so that's not a strong reason. Ah, what can I say. I found a living dream that has physically transformed itself. I've never seen this before. I just have to study her.

I brought her home, showed her around, put some suitable tracks into the media player, and placed her on a comfortable couch in a very dimly lit room, so her perception would power down a little. Now I should have driven back while exercising myself in making a very stupid face, so that I could tell the sleeping cop that she ran away and I couldn't have done anything (He would have believed me, he had seen her, and he had seen his colleague.), but I could not leave now. She was still purging all the shit out of her head, claim and counter-claim about reality (and especially God, a topic suddenly extremely dominant in her head, now that she had realized the connection to her radical bliss and freedom) were colliding and nullifying each other, leaving behind a new meaning that she was unfamiliar with. She needed a guide. I stayed. It's gonna work out somehow. It's a decision of love, so who's gonna stand in its way.

Well, it did work out, and I'm still doing my job, which is officially to solve problems the authorities are too mechanized in thinking to cope with. Under the hood things are a different story.

While the girl came through the mental purge process quite well, I would not call her a simple mind. She just had not filled her heart with fear and hate through her life, so it was not too hard for her to become totally silent inside. I am so damn happy, I can't tell you how much. She agreed to stay, she sees her situation from my point of view. The world is not ready for her, not yet.

I arranged an apartment for her, three rooms only - I have to pay for it, and I can't just conjure up cash out of thin air. Good thing: She does not need food anymore, just water. I don't know how it magically disappears when she urinates, but she is not getting rounder or something. However that works. Physical self projection. What are really the limits? Of course she is happy. She exists! And what a beautiful self she designed, wow. And she has a natural latex skin, I still can't believe it, man I love latex, and she loves to be caressed, yummy. I arranged for her living quarters to have as much latex in it as I can reasonably afford.

Lately, her situation has changed. It was going on for a while, but we hadn't really noticed because we had been distracted by the collision of our lifes. But then we finally became aware of it: Every morning her skin had been a little more silvery than the day before. And she became more sensitive.

One morning, when I arrived at her dwelling place, I came in and saw her sitting near the door, looking at me almost timorously, without a word. My quiet perception helped her to relax and let go, and she showed me what had happened. She stood up, and I could see that she was wearing high heel boots. Well - not really wearing, you know. She told me that in the morning, when she woke up, she had these high heeled boots where before she had "naked" toeless latex feet. Seamlessly one with her silvery latex flesh. This was really a part of her body, she could feel it when the heels touched something or when I stroked them. It's incredible, and though I felt her confusion and worry, I could not help to get a little stiff, but I ignored it.

"What is happening to me?" she whispered. I told her that this self-projection of hers was not static. She was and is basically a universe of her own, and she will continue to evolve - forever (and I mean forever). This confusing change had of course been an aspect of her will, though she might not have been aware of it. It was a sound that had always been in her song, and it seems now had been the right time to sing it. That's the secret behind all fetish desires, you know, it has always been a part of you, deeply buried in your subconsciousness, and those people who raise their level of consciousness beyond the common sleep-feed-work-party algorithm become aware of it, and those with enough balls consciously live it. But with her, with this ongoing ascension to spirithood in the world that had begun recently, it was different. She had become a reality of her own, no longer a part of the system, and more and more her dreams and desires came true. Nothing could stop that. A force of nature, unstoppable like gravity. And she's all about pleasure. Count me in, man.

The delicate thing about her, hm, boots is, when she moves around (and it's really a view, I can tell - and the clicking sounds of her heels and soles ... delicious), to stand on the shapely heels pains her. It is not a strong pain, rather like a spanking, but still it is pain. And when she lifts her foot, the pain subsides, turns into a pleasurable feeling that enters the physical emotion that she is, rises up her leg, and ends up stimulating her luscious crotch and rump quite intensely. Every time. So, what did we do, I backed her up and we strolled through her rooms. It was delicious to see her face express the combination of slight pain and great pleasure. It's a three-room apartment, and before we entered the third room, she came so wildly, I had to sit her down and take a few steps back. While she was coming, her body was moving by itself, making her latex flesh, and most of all the extremely sensible heels, touch furniture and floor, making her come again and again, I tried everything to calm her down, but even the music I mentioned before did not help too much, it took her hours to become, well, human again.

I don't know if these delicious high heels will stay or go away, but something tells me they'll eternally be a part of her, because she's such a sweetly perverted soul. That is her - a wonderful young female with a silver latex skin below the neck, high heel orgasm boots, and the purpose (The purpose!) to experience greatest ever increasing mental and physical joys. I adore her so much. Sometimes, we just sit together, holding each other, and we cry a little in joy over how lucky we are to be together, and of the truly awestriking eternal fate that she is imprisoned in, I mean think about it. That is her reality, and it won't stop. It won't.

Well, I rearranged her living quarters. Actually, I arranged new ones for her since I cannot have the craftsmen around. The new apartment, also three rooms, has floors covered with 1 cm of latex, suspended on a cushion of many small air-filled chambers. You don't sink in too much, but it still feels like flying. Her bed is just the floor of one of the rooms, with a latex pillow. The floor in that room is much more elastic, also the room is covered with about 10 cm of thick silicone oil (not as thick as honey, but, well, think shower gel). She can actually walk around in these rooms despite the rapey heels trying to make her collapse in orgasms, but she still has to concentrate. By the way, the image you see was taken during that time. She was resting her delicious heels on a latex covered couch, and it is really a great sign of trust if someone you love just starts to masturbate while you're around doing stuff. What she did was, she kept pressing and releasing her heels against the couch ... when she started moaning, I started watching. She felt it but continued. I let her, but from time to time I could not resist to kiss the tips of her "boots", making her moan a little more intensely. I love to caress her latex flesh. Sometimes I believe she is my dream, but she is real, no questions.