BODIES: Nikki

As a general rule, shy, reclusive Nikki Walsh only gave her body to one man, Scott. For good reason. Her body was imperfect, at least, as far as she was concerned. She lacked the confidence to share it with another man, until today that is. After today Nikki would feel different. Today she would confront her bodily imperfection and seek elective cosmetic surgery, or less intrusive techniques, to correct the parts of her body that distress her most.

Understandably, she felt more than a little nervous as she entered the private clinic a minute before her appointment was due. This would be her first examination by her private body consultant since she was created.

The reception area was well-lit with grey deep-fill sofas, high class glossy magazines spread over glass-topped birchwood coffee tables, a plush beige carpet, and an attractive brunette girl wearing heavy make-up, a cream bustier bra, cream sports pants, and a tight ponytail. The girl looked up from her rubber workout mat, and asked if she could be of any help.

Nikki smiled. It felt good to be back in the world of eternally evolving beauty.

‘I have a ten-thirty appointment with Mr Mastiff?’

The girl got up and walked to her laptop, ‘Mr Mastiff? Certainly. Can I take your name, please?’

‘Walsh, Nikki Jane Walsh.’

The receptionist scrolled thru her pre-screen, ‘I have you! Ms Nikki Walsh, Flat 9, The Ashes, near Gargrave BD29. Currently under treatment by Dr Marsden. Here for full body re-creation.’

‘That’s right.’

 ‘If you would like to take a seat, Ms Walsh.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Mr Mastiff is dealing with another body at the moment. Can I fetch you coffee, hot chocolate, a refreshing cup of lemon and ginger tea maybe?’

Nikki relaxed and sank into the nearest comfy sofa, ‘ A hot chocolate would be lovely, thanks.’

The fit girl walked to the multiple choice hot luxury coffee, chocolate and tea blender, blended Nikki a creamy hot milk chocolate, topped it with whipped cream and marshmallow, placed the branded Body Creators Clinic cup onto a branded saucer with three luxury chocolate melt-in-the-mouth lozenges, then ferried the drink to her client. She produced a form, a branded pen.

‘Please complete our pre-body appraisal medical questionnaire. Return it to me when you have finished,’ she said, giving Nikki her best ‘I love you,’ smile, ‘Any questions, feel free to ask.’

‘I will, don’t worry.’

Nikki ticked and crossed her way through the mass of questions about her current state of physical and mental wellbeing which were excellent, other than her imperfect body.

Did she suffer any allergies?

She entered the name of her GP: Dr Marsden at The Birches Medical Centre, signed then dated the disclaimer, finished drinking her hot chocolate, wiped the cream moustache off her taut upper lip, the cocoa powder off her puffy lower lip and chin, the froth off of the tip of her delightful snub nose.

She handed the form to the fit girl who was preoccupied with attaching a gold-plated Body Creators Clinic: Karen badge to her left breast.

Another body entered the room.

Nikki’s eyes widened at the sight of the perfect body steadily ambling towards her.

Stretched out on her mat in her plank, Karen sought to reassure her, ‘Don’t worry, Ms Walsh. She won’t bite. Harper will be your companion for the duration of your re-creation by Mr Mastiff.’

‘But she looks so real, Karen!’

‘Harper is our latest companion, as close to being true human as a companion can possibly get.’

Her new companion stood over Nikki, looking down on her with her clear ruby red eyes. The woman’s hair was coloured dark teak, cut short. She had pursed lips, a snub nose, and a pallid corpse-like complexion. She was topless. Her pipe neck led to a slender body with long arms.

Harper had tiny breasts, Nikki saw, noting her perfectly round nipples pierced with metal rods. Her legs and abdomen were covered with black lycra stretch tights, concealing her navel, and she was wearing red hipster pants underneath. But it was her hands that concerned Nikki most, her wrinkled, old woman’s hands with chipped jet black nail varnish, no marital rings to speak of.

Tattooed on the woman’s inside left forearm were four symbols, HBCC, representing her name and brand identity. Nikki wondered if she was capable of speech.

Reading her mind, Harper spoke in synthetic tones, reminiscent of a mechanical monster she watched on You Tube as a little girl in Gargrave, ‘Mr Mastiff will see you now.’

Karen looked up from her plank, nodding her out of the reception area, a hidden door slid open in the white washable wall. Nikki followed Harper into the heart of re-creation: the body clinic.

The clinic was just as she remembered. An entire wall was taken up by a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Two of the walls were concealed by full-length plum drapes. Harper stood, wrinkled hands-on-hips, in front of the fourth, grey brick wall.

The door slid closed. There was a click as it locked. Nikki wasn’t aware of any other way out. In front of the grey wall sat a buttoned brown leather sofa. At the end of the sofa, in the far corner of the dimly-lit clinic, stood a bright spotlight, the kind you might expect to find on a film set. The spotlight illuminated the bloodstained wooden plinth dominating the centre of the room.

‘Man’s chopping board,’ he called it. Mr Mastiff sat on the sofa, calm, pleasantly informal as ever. He was wearing a crumpled pale blue chequered shirt, the sleeves rolled, untidily, as far as his elbows, its top button undone to reveal his hairy chest. A purple and mauve tape measure hung tellingly around his neck, and in his right hand he held a garish, lemon, body marker pen.

God, you’re looking sexy today, opined Nikki.

Mr Mastiff, pushed himself out of the sofa, leaned on the plinth and stared her in the face with his beautiful clear grey eyes. His beard looked trim and smart, his hair was freshly cut, swept back off his lightly freckled face.

His lips were dry and cracked. Nikki wanted to kiss them, to stroke his short brown hair, to hold him in her tender embrace.

Not yet, she reflected sadly, not until I’ve been re-created.

Mastiff wasted no time with small talk, ‘Take off all your clothes. Stand in front of the mirror.’

As the sun set in the cold, wintry, sky outside, she undressed, handing her warm fleece, hipster jeans, trainers, socks, bra and pants to Harper, who hung them up on a hanger on the brick wall.

Won’t be needing those where I’m going, mused Nikki, I’ll need a larger sized bra and panties.

She stood in front of the clinic mirror, admiring her nude body. Nikki had an all over body tan, unblemished skin, slender arms, legs, fingers and toes, pert round breasts, a graceful back, soft hips mellowing into her silky-smooth, come-hither bottom. Her face was perfect, too: a cute little snub nose over her lips, an enchanting chin, a kissable neck.

Only her straggly dark teak hair, her untidy mess of  knots and split ends, annoyed her greatly. Still her bottom was too flat, and her breasts were a mite too small. She’d tried to create a distraction by having a large tribal tattoo needled into her lower back bearing her name and brand identity NBCC, that didn’t work: the beautiful design only accentuated her flat bottom, depressing her even more.

‘How would you like me to re-create you?’ asked her body consultant.

Nikki eyed Harper, her pale complexion, closed her eyes and dreamed.

‘I’d like rosy pale skin, rosier than hers,’ she gripped her companion’s forearm, ‘I’d like large breasts with dusky beige nipples, teatlets would be nice. Cut my hair short, to shoulder length, dye it red fox. And can I have a sexier bum, oh, and finer tufts of hair between my legs.’

‘I’ll see what I can do for you,’ came his reply.

Mastiff took the body marker and drew crimson circles all over Nikki’s breasts and buttocks.

‘Lie on the plinth, on your front,’ he said.

Nikki let go of Harper’s hand, padded up to the plinth, climbed atop, and lay naked, face down.

‘Turn your head to face me.’

She turned her head to face her Saviour, and he was there for her, in surgical gloves and mask.

‘Close your eyes and dream of who you most want to be, Nikki,’ she heard her surgeon whisper.

 She shut her eyes, weakening as she inhaled the anaesthetic spray into her nostrils, dreaming:

On the first day, he created Zara (facial sculpting, ginger hair implants in her head and crotch).

On the second day, he created Mary (body sculpting, cut fatty deposits: breasts, tummy, thighs).

On the third day, he created Lucy, then he stored her inside a clear glass bottle for future reuse.

On the fourth day, he made boss-eyed Maria and he saw that she was good, imperfect, yet good. On the fifth day, he created Melissa, his blonde, busty, well-built, fatty, biker girl companion. On the sixth day, he created Harper.

Shy, reclusive, Nikki Walsh only gave her body to one man, Scott. Until today, the seventh day.

For, on the seventh, and final day, her God re-created Woman.

She lay waking on the plinth, hungry, eager for him to make love to her, his ever faithful Nikki.

*****

Nikki (yes, Nikki!) recorded Nikki on a wav file which is too large to upload here. But if you’d like to hear Nikki, see Nikki’s old body and new body in full detail and meet Harper, Karen, Mastiff and his re-creations visit my free website: https://www.isittodayhjfurl.com – enjoy! Harriet-Jacqui xx