Author’s note: Thanks go out to the various members of the HoLD for my inspiration and insight into various hypnosis techniques. Also, I apologize for the Madame Butterfly spoiler. :)

 I waited nervously, impatiently for the knock on my apartment door. SHE was coming. This wonderful woman I met what seemed ages ago. A woman who wanted something I could give her. Imagine that...me having something a woman wanted. So I gave, poured all my energy and being into what she wanted.

<I heard you make dolls,> she typed randomly over my messenger one day.

Shocked that someone I had never met would say such a thing, I paused a moment. My heart crowded out everything else in my throat, making it impossible to breath. I forced calm back into my body and began typing.

<Yes, yes I do.>

<I want you to make me a doll.>

<Well, what kind of doll?>

<Barbie. I want to be Barbie.>

A simple enough request. I had gotten it many times before. My skill with a picture and Photoshop were known well enough in the circles I belonged to. It would be easy for someone to track me down and request something like this.

 <Well, I’ll need a picture.>

 <No, you don’t understand.>

 <?>

 <I want you to make ME a doll. Make me Barbie.>

 I had to force my heart back into my chest again. I couldn’t believe what she was saying. Part of me said it was a joke, that someone had read enough of my posts in various clubs and enough of my fiction to figure out what I wanted most in the world. Skepticism and disbelief set in. But, as if she were reading my mind, she kept typing.

 <I realize you may not believe me, that I’m just some adolescent kid pulling pranks on people. I assure you, I am serious. I WANT to be Barbie, stiff joints, plastic skin, blonde hair and all. I want to be dressed up and driven around in a convertible. I want to be played with.>

 Dear God, she was serious.

 <ok...you’ll pardon me for asking, but why me? I mean, it’s not that I’m not extremely grateful, ‘cuz I am...but what led you to ask me?>

 <You seemed like you would know what to do, and how to do it...was I wrong?>
 Somehow I sensed disappointment through the screen. Don’t mess this up. <No, no, no...you’re right. I know what to do.>

 <Good. :)>

 <umm...I’d need to put some things together to get started. You realize this will require some funding.>

 <Money is no object. Whatever you think is needed, just ask.>

 Ok, serious didn’t begin to describe this, to describe her.

 <Very well. Some rather heavy hypnosis is going to be involved in this...is that ok?>

 <Of course. I was expecting it.>

 My poor brain refused to accept the input my eyes were giving it. This is what many in my circles would consider the ultimate...someone volunteering, with great enthusiasm, to be dolled. I took several deep breaths and gathered my thoughts. I would need visual, audio stimulation. That meant scripts, music.

 <ok ok ok...I’m going to send you a basic script and a few mp3s, stuff that will make you more easily tranced, so the later, heavier stuff will be easier.>

 <Cool. My e-mail is with Yahoo. I’ll be waiting.>

 She logged off as quickly as she came, leaving my head spinning. Fortunately, it came down business side up, and I got quickly to work. Before closing the messenger I checked the activity log for a screen name. PaigeInOR@yahoo.com. I had somewhere to begin.

 I kept several scripts of different kinds on my hard drive, and picked out the most basic relaxation-inducing script to send to Paige (I had no other name for her). I also attached some mp3s I had dubbed. I hope she likes techno trance. My theory behind all this was that deep relaxation and increased susceptibility could be keyed to a trigger, so that later, the actually dollifying scripts could use the trigger and bypass a lengthy relaxation process. I had tested this out on myself with some success, though I’d never tried anything on this scale on myself. I only hoped it would all work. I typed a quick message, instructing Paige to put the mp3s on a continuous repeat and listen to them while reading the script. I signed it with my screen name, Maker, and sent it, hoping this was all for real. I decided I needed to unplug, so I grabbed myself a sandwich and spent some time away from the box.

 Fate, it seems, would have other ideas. Not ten minutes later, an e-mail alarm went off, indicating I had a new message. I wanted to ignore the thing, but couldn’t. I opened it without looking to see who it was from.

  Thanks, Maker. Will comply in all parts. I enclosed something
  I hope you’ll like.
  -Paige

 Curious, I looked at the attachments list. A .jpg file, 86K in size. I opened it. Before me was a vision. My vision. The thing I carry inside me, the fire that fuels all my stories and secret desires. There was Paige, completely nude. One arm was at her side, elbow slightly bent and fingers press together into a slightly curved blade of flesh. The other arm was bent up, the same curved blade pushing away long blonde hair from a heavily made-up face. The hair was obviously a wig, but the make-up was expertly done. She had even painted over her nipples, so that the illusion wouldn’t be broken. It was Paige as Barbie, or Barbie as Paige. It was hard to tell, but to see my vision made reality was more exciting that I could put into words.

 It was that vision, that image she gave me, and all the work that followed that kept me sane while I waited for that knock. For months I sent her scripts and music files, and she sent me feedback. We got progressively more advanced with the hypnosis, going from several minutes to an hour to several hours. When she was able to stay entranced for an entire day just from a trigger, I moved on to creating the Barbie persona. Giggly, vacuous, carefree. Sometimes I was worried things were moving too fast, but she always wrote me the next day, fully conscious and aware of what had happened the previous day and still in control of her faculties. We worked on movement and body control. I recall at one point she wrote in a follow-up letter how amusing it was to watch her alter-ego try and type without functional fingers, just a fused hand poking away at the keyboard, one key at a time, and how the next day her face would hurt from smiling all the previous day. I knew we were getting close. It was time for phase two.

 <Paige, we’re going to need supplies...for the final phase.>

 <Ok, shoot.>

 <some flesh-colored latex, a sprayer, blonde hair, outfits...and a mask.>

 <done. but what sort of mask did you have in mind?>

 <you’ll need to find someone who can do a lifecast of your head. Maybe an art student or someone.>

 <ok. then what?>

 <send me the lifecast. I’ll need clay and plaster as well.>

 <done. I want you to pick out Barbie’s outfits though, so I’ll send you my sizes and reimburse you.>

 My head was spinning again. I lost track of reality for a moment.

 <Maker?>

 I shook myself out of it and looked at the screen again.

 <hello?>

 <sorry, i zoned for a moment. i guess you’re going to need my mailing address. I’ll send it after we’re done here.>

 <:) ok. I’ve got some things to do. ttl.>

 *PaigeInOR has logged out, 21:14:09*

 I shot off a quick mail with my address, still hoping this wasn’t a hoax. My fears were finally laid to rest when packages started arriving, the camera one day, latex, clay, hair and plaster the next, the sprayer a few days later...then, the lifecast. I carefully lifted it out of the box The artist’s skills were good. The plaster head was smooth, and her skin was blemish-free. What caught me most was the smile. It was perfect, neither over-cheese or too understated. I gazed silently at it for moment. A dowel had already been inserted into the neck, so I could mount it and start working. Along with the lifecast was a note, handwritten, from Paige.

  Dear Maker,
   I hope everything is satisfactory. I wear 7s everywhere,
  so that should make things easy for you. And don’t worry, you
  don’t have to buy underthings for me. :)

    Always,
     Paige

 The writing was bubbly, girly, just how I had always imagined Barbie would write. I tucked the note safely back into the box. I started setting up a workshop in my living room. I started work on the mask the next day. Paige’s features lent themselves easily to a doll, but she wanted to be Barbie, and Barbie was distinctive. A thin layer of clay went over the whole head, then I refashioned her nose and forehead into a sweeping curve, built up cheekbones, and made her lips slightly fuller. I cast her redesigned head in plaster, removed the clay, and fit the mold and head together. I poured the latex in, letting it fill all the nooks and crannies, covered it with plastic wrap and let it be. It would be days before it would be completely set. I spent that time shopping for outfits.

 I knew I wanted to take Barbie somewhere, but I couldn’t decide on a movie or something fancier, like the opera. Eventually, both won out, and I decided on two outfits. I always felt school girls looked exactly like little dolls, so I picked out a red and black pleated plaid skirt and a white oxford, with heeled Mary janes and white knee socks. The formal was much easier. A black slipdress with an asymmetrical hem and strappy heels. I decided right then I would rent a tuxedo for this event. A suit just would not work. I paid for everything with minimal harassment from the salesperson and went home.

 The mask had finally set, so I pulled it from the mold and admired it. There was only one way to describe it. I held Barbie’s head in my hands. I spent any free time I had over the next week punching hair into the rubber scalp, tuft by tuft. Fortunately, Barbie’s hair follows neat little rows, so this part was fairly easy. No need to create a “natural” hairline. I left some room around the slit I put in back, so putting it on would be easy. Makeup was also easy. Red lips, browns for eyeshadow, false lashes, and some neatly drawn brows in a nice arc over the eyes. It really was Barbie, just like every Barbie doll I had ever seen in the store. My work had finished. It was time.

 <I’m ready when you are, Paige.>

 <cool. One month from now, on Saturday. I’ll fly in in in the morning, and leave the following day. Kosher?>

 Stay overnight? Something kept my fingers going after my brain stopped.

 <Kosher.>

 <Great. I’ll see you then.>

 So, here I sit waiting for the knock, running over the last 6 months in my head. It seemed surreal. Things like this don’t happen to me, or didn’t until now. Then it happened. A light rapping at my door. For some reason, the line, “‘Nevermore,’ quoth the raven. ‘Nevermore’” invaded my brain. It was amusing and relaxed me enough to answer the door. And then she was there, Paige the mystery woman, in living color. She gave me a smile that melted my heart.

 “Hi, Maker.”

 “H...Hi, Paige. Please, come in.”

 She walked in gracefully and with purpose, as if Fate had led her here.

 “Could I get you something to drink?”

 “No, thank you. I’m really anxious to get started.”

 I breathed. Thank God I wouldn’t have to make small talk. Women make me nervous enough, and here was a beautiful one, in my apartment, wanting me to
make her Barbie.

 “Well, sit here,” I gestured to the chair in front of the computer. “There is one last session of hypnosis before we can get started.”

 “Ok,” she replied smiling. She sat and I ran the hypnosis program I’d been working on for months. Images, text and sounds had all been integrated into one program I wrote specifically for this moment.

 “Set me free.”

 The program spoke the first trigger, and Paige settled into the deep relaxation mode. Immediately, images of Barbies flashed across the screen, accompanied by a trance soundtrack laced with various, short phrases meant to reinforce the visual elements. The images were actually animated gifs laced with text, sped up so the conscious mind wouldn’t register them. I gently placed headphones over her ears to drown out external sounds. The program would run for 10 minutes, which gave me time to get everything prepared. I hooked up the sprayer to the latex, then covered everything in plastic drops. No need covering everything in latex. That morning, I had moved all the furniture off to one side of the room to give me plenty of working room. I checked to make sure Paige was doing ok, then went to my room and pulled Barbie’s outfits, both still in the garment bags from the store, from the closet. I finished just in time for the timer to go off on the program. I ran back into the living room and watched as the screen slowly faded to black. Paige was breathing slowly but steadily. I removed the headphones. The moment of truth had arrived.

 “Millicent.”

 The word triggered the first, more traditional Barbie program. (I hated using the word program, but nothing better came to mind.) Her body stiffened considerably, elbows and knees slightly bent, fingers and thumbs pressed together, and toes pointed.

 “Hello, Barbie. How are you?”

 She stiffly turned in the chair and looked at me. Recognition washed over her.

 “Hello, Maker.” Her voice was noticeably different: higher, cuter, more giggly. “Could you help me up?”

 She held her arms out to me, bending only at the shoulders. Her elbows remained stiff. I balanced her on her toes in the middle of the floor.

 “Thank you, Maker. I’m so happy today. Are you happy?”

 “Yes, Barbie. Yes, I am.”

 She giggled. “That’s good. I’m sad when other people are sad.” For effect, she made a melodramatic pout, which bounced right back into her smile, which
prompted her to giggle again. It was time to move to the next phase.

 “Bendy-flexy.”

 Barbie’s body softened noticeably, though she stayed on her toes and kept her fingers pressed together.

 “I’ll...uh, need you to take off your clothes.”

 “Sure, Maker.”

 She removed the workout suit she was wearing to reveal, well, nothing. She hadn’t worn any underwear. I started to get sweaty palms.

 “How do I look, Maker,” she asked most innocently. I could help but take notice of her lithe, curvy body. It still boggled my mind that a woman like this was willing to trust herself to me. I couldn’t figure it out.

 “You look....perfect, Barbie.”

 “Thank you, Maker.”

 I had to move on before certain urges got the better of me.

 “Skin Deep.”

 Barbie closed her eyes and breath deeply, then spread her legs and arms out, still balanced on her toes. I put a dust mask on her face and donned one myself, then got to work. I grabbed the sprayer and started working on her arms. I had tested this out a week ago, to make sure it would work. It did, to my surprise, creating a very artificial skin over my own. I worked quickly, spraying a thin coating over both arms and her torso, then went back over with a hair dryer. I repeated this process with her legs, forcing myself to keep from staring at her nether-regions. The cycle repeated itself twice, forming a matte, artificial skin. Next came the mask. I slicked her pixie-cut brown hair back and tucked it under a bald cap. I took the mask in my hands and lightly sprayed some prosthetic adhesive I had bought myself onto all the interior surfaces. Holding it open, I fitted it to her chin, then pulled it over her head in one motion, pressing the neck and cheeks in and making sure everything was stuck where it was supposed to be. I sprayed some latex over the edge of the mask and blow-dried it, sealing it closed. I arranged her hair a little, then stood back and admired what I had created. It was Barbie, big as life and twice as beautiful.

 It was one o’clock, and the movie was going to start soon. I ran into the bedroom and got the skirt, shirt, socks and shoes, then brought them back to the living room.

 “Millicent.”

 Her eyes fluttered open, a now permanent smile on her face.

 “Hello, Maker. Was I sleeping?”

 “Yes, but that’s ok. We’re going to play dress-up.”

 “Oh, I love dress-up, Maker,” she giggled. “That’s my favorite thing to do.”

 I smiled, too thrilled to speak. I bent her arms up at the shoulders and dropped the shirt down them. I bent them down again and buttoned all but the top two
buttons. Then, I put the skirt onto the floor, then had Barbie step into it. I pulled it up around her waistband buttoned it closed. I sat her down in the computer chair and put her socks and shoes on, all the while listening to her talk about how wonderful plaid is and how much she liked the clothes I had for her. I stood her up again and she pranced around, stiff-legged and -armed, blonde hair swishing back and forth. I told her to wait there while I got changed. I went to my and put on some khakis and a shirt. I came back to find Barbie had somehow fallen into a sitting position on the chair, legs out and slightly bent at the knee, arms out, waiting for someone to take them, and head slightly cocked to one side. I had to focus and stay a gentleman.

 “Would you like to see a movie, Barbie?”

 “I’d love that, Maker.”

 “The new Metropolis is showing. Is that ok?”

 “Of course! I love movies.”

 I smiled and pulled her up. In the heels, she was as tall as I was. Her stiff knees didn’t seem to slow her down as we walked out the the red convertible I had rented that morning.

 “Ooooh,” she cooed. “That is such a pretty car. I love convertibles.”

 I opened the door and realized she would need help getting in. I turned her around, took a stiff, curved hand in mine, and gently let her fall into the car. Then I swung her stiff legs around and buckled her in. My efforts were rewarded with a kiss on the cheek, too wonderful to describe in words. I returned to my senses and closed the door, then ran around and jumped in.

 The movie was good, but the company was even better. Barbie was engrossed in the film, but I couldn’t help but stare at her every few minutes. It was just too good to be true, but there she was, sitting next to me of all people, a living Barbie doll. The light from the screen reflected softly off her matte, rubbery skin and illuminated her golden hair. The movie ended all too soon, and I helped her to her feet.

 “That was wonderful, Maker,” she saiding smiling as we walked out of the theater. “What’s next?”

 “Well, I was thinking we could go home, change, and then perhaps go to the opera?”

 Her eyes got really wide then. “Oh, I just LOVE the opera,” she squealed. “All the people dressed up and the beautiful music...it’s so wonderful!”

 It filled my heart to overflowing to see Barbie so happy. We hopped back into the car (well, I did. We did a repeat of the performance earlier, which garnered a few stares from people who were trying to figure out why the rather artificial-looking woman wouldn’t move her legs.) and drove home. I undressed Barbie, which was always fun, and slipped the black dress over her head. The silk was water flowing down her body, only this water stopped conveniently at her ankles. I had her step into the strappy heels and left her there to get dressed myself. I stopped halfway to me room and looked back. It was a beautiful, serene sight. Barbie stood there, head half cocked, posed perfectly in the black silk dress.

 I didn’t waste anytime getting into the tuxedo. I came back to find her in the same position I left her in, and that only added to the moment. I almost didn’t want to disturb her, but I didn’t want us to miss the opera.

 “Barbie, are you ready?”

 It was like someone had pointed a remote her and pushed ON. Suddenly, she was fluid and graceful, or as fluid as a stiff-kneed Barbie doll could be.

 “Yes, Maker. I can’t wait!”

 I smiled and offered my arm. She took it gladly and we went back down to the convertible. The drive was pleasant, as every now and then I could catch a glimpse of Barbie gazing around, her smile lighting up everything she saw. We approached the opera house, and I realized the valet wouldn’t be expecting someone whose knees don’t move. As we pulled up to the front, I leaned over into her ear.

 “Bendy-flexy.”

 He body softened again, just as the valet opened the door and offered his hand. Barbie graciously took his hand and got out of the car. I handed the valet the keys and joined Barbie as we walked into the opera house. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman there, and she garnered stares from all directions. We walked in, and I handed the tickets to the usher, who led us up into the mezzanine. The seats were good, close enough to see without glasses but not insanely pricey. Tonight was the first night of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, so the house was filling up fast. We got comfortable, then I leaned over to her.

 “Millicent.”

 Barbie’s arms and legs resumed their stiff, outstretched, slightly bent positions. The lights went down and the performance began. The opera was in Italian, so I had to rely on the supertitles, but every now and then I would glance over at Barbie. Her attention was totally on the cast, as if she understood what they were saying. I realized how little I knew about the person I had transformed. Time flew by, and the opera was coming to a close. Cho-Cho San had just committed suicide, yet another victim of unrequited love. I glanced around, and the tears were flowing pretty freely. I’ll admit, I was getting pretty choked up. The subject did hit a little close to home. What amazed me was the single tear slowly making it’s way down Barbie’s left cheek. Her smile was still there, but there was something deep within her eyes that identified with poor Cho-Cho San. A riddle inside a paradox within an enigma.

 The lights came up, and the crowd exploded into a standing ovation. The curtain call started, with the applause growing louder and louder as the more prominent characters appeared on stage. Finally, the young woman playing Cho-Cho San walked on stage with graceful humility, and the crowd exploded once again. Flowers flew like colorful missiles onto the stage. We must have clapped for five minutes straight. The cast took their final bow, and Barbie and I started to make our way to the exit. We made it downstairs before most of the crowd. While we waited for the valet to bring the car around, Barbie turned to me and smiled, larger than usual.

 “That was beautiful, Maker. Thank you so much. Noone has ever taken me to the opera before.”

 “It was my pleasure, Barbie.”

 The car arrived and I helped Barbie into the passenger’s seat as the valet was getting out. I took the keys, tipped him, and we were on our way back to my apartment. It was after dark on Saturday night. The city came alive after that, and I wished we could have gone and done more. But that wasn’t part of the deal, and the spell would soon end anyway. The coach would turn back into a pumpkin, and Barbie would become Paige again. I fought the pangs in my heart and stomach and focused on the road.

 We returned to my apartment and went upstairs. An awkward feeling washed over me. She had told me specifically no pajamas. She slept in the nude, and knowing she would wake up as herself didn’t want to deal with clothes.

 “I...I made up my bed for you, Barbie, if that’s ok. It’s much better than the couch.”

 “Thank you, Maker. I am getting sleepy.”

 I nodded and helped her get undressed. It wasn’t hard, since it was just the dress and shoes. I hung the dress up in the hall closet on the hanger and put the shoes under it. Barbie stood naked in the middle of my living room, the soft light from the lamp causing her latex skin to glow. I fought every male instinct I had with every ounce of will I possessed.

 “I, uh, guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

 “Ok, Maker,” she said, smiling. “Good night.”

 “Night.”

 She tiptoed off into my room. I peeled off my tuxedo and hung it up, then put on a t-shirt and some lounge pants, my usual sleeping attire. I turned off the lamp and crashed in the couch, the room lit softly by the glow from the street. As amazing as the day had been, I was exhausted and sleep came quickly. I dreamt of living latex dolls of all kinds, including more than a few Barbie dolls.

 Day came too fast. I rubbed my eyes and checked my pants to make sure I hadn’t leaked during the night. I sat up, slowly getting my bearings, when Paige walked sleepily into the living room, still naked, still beautiful, and back to normal.

 “Good morning, Paige.”

 “G’ morning.” She paused in the middle of the room and chuckled. “You know, I just spent the night in your apartment, and I don’t even know your real name.”

 “My, uh..I’m...um, Matt. My name is Matt.”

 “Matt...I like it. You look like a Matt.” She came over and sat down next to me.

 “Can I, uh, get you something? Coffee, tea?”

 “No,” she said softly, smiling. “I’m fine.”

 I fidgeted. The all-too-familiar nervousness was coming back. Sweaty palms and all.

 “You know,” she started. “I remember everything from yesterday.”

 “Really?”

 “Yeah.” She paused for a moment. “You were such a gentleman. No one’s every treated me like that.”

 “Well, you know,” I stammered. “It was nothing really.”

 She smiled. “I still haven’t been played with, you know.”

 I gulped audibly, and I’m pretty sure I could have blended in completely with my red couch.

 “I...um, I mean, if you’re sure. I don’t want to impose.”

 She stood up, putting one foot up on the couch so her almost-smooth crotch was fully visible. With great relish, she pinched the latex just above her lips and peeled down, revealing herself in all her glory. The act must have been highly arousing, because she shuddered as the flesh-colored flap came off.

 “Play with me, Matt.”

 I didn’t realize I could take off my pants so fast. Like magic, she wrapped me in latex before lowering herself on me. My vision exploded as she settled herself on me, rubber flesh pressing against real flesh. It was surreal, what was happening to me. What seemed like hours passed, Paige running her rubbery hands over my body. She ground her pelvis against me, and we gasped in unison, only she never stopped, until the gasp was released as a squeal and her whole body convulsed. It more than I could take, and and we came together, like a beautiful, erotic symbiosis. She collapsed on me, kissing me as our faces touched.

 “Thank you, Maker,” She whispered in my ear. Time stopped as we lied together on my couch. She eventually smiled at me as she pushed herself off of me and padded off to the bathroom. I got and went to the kitchen, grabbed some paper towels and cleaned up, then got dressed again. Paige reappeared in the living room.

 “Ok, Maker. Change me back.”

 I smiled and started to peel the latex from Paige’s body. It came off easily in large sheets, and I almost managed to get the whole front half off in one piece. The mask was next. I got some Q-tips and the adhesive remover and started working it under the edges of the mask. It was slow going at first, but I got to where I could use cotton instead of Q-tips, and that was much better. The mask slowly peeled away, inverting itself and revealing Paige’s face, beautiful in it’s own right and beaming.

 “Wow,” she said in a half whisper.

 “What?”

 “All my life I’ve wished for what you have given me. I don’t think there are words to thank you enough.”

 “Oh, believe me, you’ve thanked me plenty.”

 She laughed. It was sweet, endearing, almost innocent. It would be entirely to easy to me to fall for this wonderful woman. I took off the bald cap, freeing her short hair. She breathed deeply and shook her hair out. She disappeared into my bedroom for a while, and came back showered and wearing the school girl outfit.

 “Do you want to get get some lunch?”

 Lunch? I glanced at the clock. 11:45.

 “Wow. I didn’t realize it was so late. Um, sure. Let me get cleaned up.”

 I got a quick shower and put on a fun shirt and some jeans. I suggested sushi, and that excited her. We jumped in the convertible and headed down to the local sushi bar, where I spent a considerable amount of my time (and money). We had a nice lunch of shrimp hand rolls and yellowfin norimaki.

 We ended up spending the whole afternoon together, talking, hanging out at the coffee bar, doing some window shopping. It was the most amazing 6 hours I had ever spent with anyone. I could only hope Paige felt the same. It was starting to get dark when we got back to my apartment. Things felt tense again; we both knew this wonderful weekend was about to end.

 “Matt?”

 “Yeah?”

 “I...I really enjoyed this weekend, with you. What you did for me was...was amazing.”

 “You’re welcome, Paige. And thank you, for trusting me.”

 There an awkward pause. I had to do it now.

 “Maybe we could....keep in touch?”

 She smiled at me, the most beautiful I’d seen all weekend.

 “I’d like that.”

 My heart soared. She came over, hugged me. We kissed one last time, then she left as she had come, softly into the night.

Fin