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FANTASIES

Myra Stanford was a very pretty little girl. She had thick, lustrous blond curls extending halfway down her back; large, luminous blue eyes; a pert little nose; and pouty, perfectly- shaped lips. At the age of seven, she won first prize in the 'Little Miss America' contest. After that, her mother took her to auditions for commercials, tv shows and full-length movies. By the time she was eleven, she had appeared in dozens of features on both the large and small screen. Her personal bank account had grown prodigiously; she had enough money to pay for her college education, several cars and at least one or two houses.

"I'm so proud of you," said her mother. "Just wait till you grow up. You're going to be a famous movie star. More famous than Meryl Streep, Grace Kelly and Ingrid Bergman combined! Just wait and see."

Myra wasn't interested in movie stardom. She knew it would be great to be a star, but that was her mother's dream. Myra dreamt of boys. And at the time, many little boys were dreaming of Myra. But her mother was very strict and didn't allow the mobs of pre-teen suitors to come near the house.

"You're just too young to date, sweetheart," said her mother. "You'll have plenty of boyfriends, soon enough. There's no point in rushing things."

"It isn't fair, Dad," she complained to her father. "It's just not fair. I only want to go to a movie with a boy or something. Why would that be so terrible?"

"Listen to your mother, honey," her dad replied. "You don't need boys in your life right now. One day, you'll be glad we made you wait."

Myra obeyed her parents and tried to forget about boys. Instead, she concentrated on her schoolwork, her movies and her tv shows. But, by the time she reached the age of twelve, the movie and tv offers had slowed considerably. And by the time she was thirteen, it appeared that her acting career was over.

"I don't understand, Mother. I'm the same person I was a year ago. Why doesn't anyone want to cast me any more?"

"Keep trying, Myra," said her mother. "I'm sure you'll get another movie offer, soon." But Mom was wrong. Myra didn't get another offer that year, or in the following year. The reason was simple: puberty had not agreed with the girl. She'd lost her looks.

"Don't you think I'm still pretty, Dad?" she asked her father.

"Of course, honey. You'll always be beautiful in my eyes."

Myra suspected that he was lying to her, to spare her feelings.

Meanwhile, Mother had relented on her 'no dates' policy and was allowing boys to visit the house if they wanted. But no one ever came to see Myra.

At fifteen, she went to her bedroom mirror to give herself an honest appraisal. Her nose had grown long and almost had a hook to it. Her face was covered in adolescent pimples and her long hair was greasy and unattractive.

_Ok, so I'm not the best looking girl in the world. But, I can be better looking. I know I can fix myself up._ So Myra had her hair cut short, in what she hoped was an attractive, tom- boyish style. And she covered her face with pimple cream, night after night.

Her pimples disappeared, only to reappear again in a different area of her face. No matter how much cream she used, her skin never looked as clear as it did when she was a little girl. However, Myra had developed breasts of respectable size. _Boys like cleavage_, she thought. _Maybe I can get a few dates if I just start dressing a little . . .differently._

She was now in a high school with plenty of available young men, so she began going to class in low-cut blouses and dresses. This strategy yielded her exactly one date, with a stringy-looking older boy who tried to get fresh at the first opportunity. Myra slapped his face and refused to have anything more to do with him. The low cut dresses also earned her the wrath of her teachers. One day, she found herself going home from school with a letter from one of these teachers, asking Myra's mom to supervise her attire a little more closely.

"I can't believe you've been going to school in these outrageous outfits, Myra," said her mother. "What has happened to you? Where's the sweet little girl I used to know?"

So, Myra settled back into her old, ultra-conservative mode of dress, and began looking for food, rather than boys. She ate her way through the tenth and eleventh grades, gorging on sandwiches, ice cream and cake, candy bars and licorice whips. On the night of her senior prom, she sat at home, alone, eating an entire roasted chicken and crying quietly to herself.

At eighteen, Myra's parents gave her control over all the money from her former acting career. It was quite a formidable sum, so when she decided to go to college, she chose one of the most expensive. This school didn't cater to geniuses, but then, Myra had only scored average grades on her college aptitude tests. Instead, this university was famed for having the latest in high-tech diversions, luxury living quarters and recreational facilities.

When she arrived at the school in September and first saw her private dorm room, she was delighted. It was enormous, with huge, walk-in closets, an over-sized single bed and a large, vanity mirror on the wall. Myra's pleasure abated somewhat when she looked into the mirror and saw a two-hundred pound, shorted-hair, pock-faced girl staring back at her.

_So, maybe I'll try to lose a little weight and grow my hair longer. And actually, it doesn't really matter what I look like. With my money, I'll find lots of friends in this school, maybe even a boyfriend._

"I have close to $600,000 in the bank," she told a group of students after one class. "So, I guess it's good that I believe in sharing."

"You're lucky, I guess," said one boy.

"Oh, luck had nothing to do with it. I earned all my money."

"How?"

"That's sort of a secret. I'd rather not say. But I will give you all a ride in my Jaguar if you like."

"Maybe some other time, Myra," said one student.

"Yeah, I'll take a raincheck, too, Myra. I've got a class soon," said another.

"You'll have to count me out as well," said a third.

The other students just didn't appreciate her generosity. Despite her wealth, Myra didn't make a lot of friends. Instead, people began making fun of the fat girl who tried to throw her money around.

She was eating a big lunch in the student cafeteria when she finally realized how bad her reputation had become.

"Hey tubby," yelled one young man. "Why don't you give me some of that money? With enough incentive, I'd be willing to give you a kiss on your chubby cheeks. I'll have to shut my eyes of course."

"Hey, maybe you could just put a bag over her head," said one of his friends.

"You could do that," said yet a third boy. "But what are you going to do about her butt? You couldn't possibly fit a bag over that fat ass!"

Myra dropped her sandwich and stared at the boys. She tried to speak, but words wouldn't come out of her mouth. So, she just got up from the table, ran to her dorm room and locked the door.

_If only they knew who I am--was,_she thought. She looked at her girth in the mirror again, with newly horrified eyes. Those boys knew her as 'Myra Richmond,' a name she'd adopted back in high school for the sake of anonymity. __What if they knew they were making fun of the 'Myra Stanford'? They'd probably only laugh harder. They'd laugh at the pretty little girl who turned into a monster. The princess who turned into a toad._

For months, Myra did little more than go to class, run back to her dorm room and lock the door. Interacting with the other students seemed pointless. The way Myra saw it, her god-awful looks made men and women alike run for the hills. And her defensive personality didn't help matters. _If only I could turn back the clock and be 'little Myra' again, just for a minute. I know I'd feel better. I know I'd like myself again._ But of course, it was impossible to turn back the clock. Then one day Myra was leafing through the student newspaper, when she read an ad which made her think it might be possible to 'turn back the clock,' for a short time, anyway.

Myra grabbed the phone and started dialing. A male voice on the other end of the line confirmed the information in the ad. Then, she was told the price. It cost $250 a session!

_Well, maybe my money can buy me love, or at least peace of mind_ she thought. So, she gave the man her credit card number for a 'no money back' deposit, then made an appointment for eight o'clock that evening.

She spent the afternoon rifling through her dresser drawers, looking for a picture of herself as 'Little Myra.' She hadn't wanted too many reminders of her past lying around, but she knew she had at least one picture, somewhere. And finally, she found it, under a pile of panties.

The 'Virtual Reality Center' was located just a few miles off campus, but Myra didn't trust her ability to find the place, so she left the dorm room at seven-fifteen. By a quarter to eight, she was standing at the admissions counter in the 'VR Center' shoving the picture of 'Little Myra' in a man's face.

"You want to look like this old child-star?" asked the beefy attendant, somewhat incredulously. "You want to look like a little girl?"

"I want to look like this little girl grown up," said Myra. "I want to look like she'd look at twenty."

"She probably is around twenty, now," said the man, a starry- eyed look glazing his eyes. "I wonder what happened to her. When I was seven, I had such a crush on her, you wouldn't believe it."

"Never mind that," said Myra, impatiently. "Can you make me look like 'Myra Stanford' at twenty, or not?"

"Sure. No problem," said the man. "But it'll cost an extra $50. For this session only of course. Then, we'll store the image in your file for your next visit."

"Fine. I'll pay. Do it."

"All right. I'll fix you up nice. Just give me the picture and let me work on it for a minute."

"What do you need to do with the picture?"

"Well, unless you want to look like a seven-year-old, I have to computer-enhance this image. Then, if you approve of the results, I'll turn it over to the tech boys in back and you'll be ready for your evening of fun!"

"This won't take long, will it?"

"No. Just a few minutes. So, have a seat over there." He pointed to a row of chairs by the front window of the admissions room.

Myra clumped over to a chair and sat down. She watched the chunky admissions man scan the picture into a computer and fiddle around with his keyboard. Meanwhile, several other customers of varying ages, sizes and shapes entered, interrupting the man's work as he checked them in and ushered them back to the VR chambers.

"Hey you!" she yelled to the man.

"The name's 'Phil.'"

"Ok--Hey Phil, you're obviously busy. Can't someone else check those other people in?"

"No. Nobody else is working the counter tonight. Just relax," he advised. But Myra had just about forgotten how to relax.

"How're you coming?" she asked after another five minutes or so.

"It's almost ready," he replied. "Keep your pants on."

"There's no need to be rude," she said.

"Just let me work on this for another minute, OK?"

So Myra sat, fidgeting, looking at her watch and repeatedly glancing over at the attendant. Finally, after at least another fifteen minutes, he called her back to the counter.

"How's this?" he asked, turning the computer monitor so she could see the image on the screen. It was perfect. 'Little Myra's' gorgeous eyes and smooth skin stared back at her from the monitor. Shapely breasts graced the young woman's chest. Long blonde hair extended down to the edge of the monitor, suggesting tresses that reached to mid-back.

"It's--It's perfect," cried Myra.

"It is a work of art, isn't it? This girl is positively sensational."

"Let's go--let's go with it!" Myra exclaimed.

"Fine. How do you want to be dressed? Evening wear? A swimsuit? Jeans and T-shirt?"

"Evening wear."

"And your choice of locale?"

"Huh?"

"Where do you want to be? A nightclub, maybe? About twelve of our other guests are using the nightclub setting, tonight."

"Fine. Let's just get started!"

"Go through the double doors on your right," said Phil. "And get ready for the experience of a lifetime!"

Myra ran through the doors, and found herself transformed into 'Myra.' She was in a nightclub. The sounds of soft rock music wafted from hidden speakers. She could see small groupings of handsome, tuxedoed men and lovely woman drinking cocktails and laughing at cozy tables throughout the room.

Mirrors conveniently placed by the club entrance displayed her new form. Myra was dressed in a slinky, low-cut black dress which perfectly contrasted her light eyes and shimmery blond hair. The dress had a long slit up the side, revealing a generous portion of silky, adult thigh. She was tempted to stand and look at herself for most of the evening, but a handsome, brown-haired man interrupted her with an invitation to dance.

"You look like---like Tom Cruise," she remarked. "A very young Tom Cruise."

"I should---that's the look I paid for," replied the man.

"What's your name?"

"Call me Tom. And who are you?"

"I'm Myra."

"And your body belongs to--which actress or model?"

"It's my own creation. Do you like it?"

"Very much so."

Myra danced a few dances with Tom, then sat down for a drink with the man. He certainly was nice to look at. A little dull maybe, and a little too 'into' his role.

"So what do you do for a living?" she asked.

"I'm a famous actor."

"No, really."

"Really, I'm an actor. Haven't you seen my movies?"

"Yeah, I've seen your movies."

"And what do you do?"

"I'm a former actress--a former child star."

"Now, that is interesting," said Tom.

_Oh baby, you don't know how interesting_ she thought.

After a bit more mundane chit-chat, Tom leaned in for a kiss. And, Myra let him kiss her. It was a pleasant experience. Still, by the end of the evening, she found herself more interested in the guy's body than his mind. And since it wasn't really 'his' body, she was left feeling somewhat empty.

"Will I see you here, again?" he asked at about one in the morning.

"Maybe."

"I come here every Thursday, always as 'Tom'."

"I'll look for you," she replied with a smile. But, in reality, she hoped to find a different man on her next fantasy. Someone more stimulating, more intelligent, or maybe just 'different'.

She checked out of the VR center about fifteen minutes later. The 'transition' from beautiful Myra to fat old Myra was depressing at best. She was extremely conscious of her bulk as she moved through the admissions area.

"Did you have a good time?" Phil asked when she neared the counter.

"Yes, but I intend to have a better time, tomorrow. Can I make another appointment now?"

"No problem," Phil replied, giving her a sly grin. "We look forward to seeing you."

"I'll be here."

Myra went home, exhausted. She had no problem falling asleep. But when she woke up the next morning, she felt both depressed and anxious at the same time. In fact, she was so anxious, she didn't even feel like eating. She skipped all her classes and just sat in her dorm room, glaring at the fat girl in the mirror and glancing nervously at her wall clock.

When seven-thirty finally rolled around, she grabbed her coat and bolted out the door. And she drove her Jaguar so fast towards the VR Center, that she was stopped for a speeding ticket on the way. Still, she managed to reach the center by eight. This time, she didn't have to wait. Phil suggested the 'ocean' setting and instantly ushered her back into a fantasy.

In the blink of an eye, Myra found herself dressed in a very small string bikini. An oddly placed full length mirror allowed her to admire the contours of her body before proceeding. Then, she was off for a bright sunny 'afternoon' of volley ball with a group of handsome, virile young men and a few other attractive girls.

Later, she allowed a muscle-bound man named 'Peter' to cover her back with lotion as she stretched out on a towel, sunning herself. Again, it was a pleasant experience. But again, the transition back to her real body at the end of the fantasy left her morbid and depressed. She hated herself as a 'fat girl' even more than she had before she had heard of the 'VR Center.'

Myra made another appointment for a few days hence, deciding that daily visits would be just a little to much on even her huge bank account.

In the following days, she returned to her normal routine of classes mixed with solitary confinement in her dorm room. But now, her depressed, angry moods were mixed with feelings of anticipation for her next fantasy.

Months passed in this manner. Myra would visit the center two or three times a week, enjoying the company and admiration of gorgeous men in a variety of settings, only to return to the campus, depressed, bemoaning her ugly form and rapidly shrinking bank account.

One evening, after a particularly enjoyable ski trip fantasy, she found yet another reason to hate herself. She was 'recognized.'

"Hey, you ARE Myra Stanford, aren't you?" asked Phil the attendant.

"What?"

"You are. I know you are. You sort of look like her."

"Right, I look like 'Myra Stanford' and you look like Robert Redford," she replied to the chubby boy.

"I don't mean any harm, Myra," Phil replied. "So, you don't have to be so nasty. And I know you are Myra Stanford. I'd be willing to put money on it."

"OK fine, you're right. I 'was' Myra Stanford. So what do you want? You want to make fun of me? You want to tease me because I'm not so pretty anymore?"

"No. I don't want to make fun of you. I'm a fan," he replied, a hurt look crossing his face.

"Oh, go soak your head in a bucket," she replied as she stormed out the door. And she went home crying tears of self pity.

She hoped that she wouldn't see that 'Phil' on her next visit and, when that night arrived, she was pleasantly relieved to see one of the other attendants on duty.

"I should complain to your bosses about that horrible Phil, she cried to her alternate 'host.' "He really harassed me the last time I was here. And that's not right. I'm a paying customer!"

"Phil harassed you? You're kidding. Everyone loves Phil, he's a nice guy."

"Well, I hope I never see his ugly face again," she snapped.

"I'll pass your complaint on to the management, ma'am," the boy replied.

"Do that," she said. And then she stormed away, back into her fantasy world.

She was in her beautiful body, in the nightclub setting that evening, but she found it hard to have a good time.

_Maybe I was a little harsh,_ she thought. _I hope I didn't get Phil fired or anything._ It took three young men and quite a bit of alcohol before she could relax.

Phil wasn't at the desk on her next visit or the visit after that, or the visit after that.

_I did get him fired_ she thought. _God, I'm such a bitch. I've got to try a be a little nicer, a little more civil to people when I'm in my real body._ But it was hard to feel guilty when she looked like a goddess. And the attention she received from handsome young men made her forget her 'crime', or at least put it in the back of her mind.

One young man in particular began to capture her imagination. His name was 'Bob' and he was particularly insistent on meeting with her during all her fantasy visits. She met him in the nightclub, then in the 'Paris' setting, and then in the 'Calm Forest' setting. He was following her everywhere.

"How'd you know I'd be here tonight?" she asked, one day at the 'beach'.

"I guess I just got lucky," he replied. She decided to show him just how lucky he was, so she spent all her time with him during that fantasy, to the chagrin of several other 'suitors.'

"I'll be back here on Sunday," she finally told him. "Will you be here?"

"You can count on it," he said. And from then on, it was nothing but 'Bob', 'Bob', 'Bob.' She danced with Bob, she swam with Bob, she climbed mountains with Bob. And soon, she felt herself falling in love with Bob. They both liked movies a whole lot, and spent hours discussing films and actors they admired.

"I just love 'Bringing Up Baby' with Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn."

"That's one of my all-time favorites. You know, it's one of the original screw-ball comedies."

"Well, Cary Grant was great in all his movies."

"Most of them, at any rate."

It seemed they both liked romantic love stories, and westerns, melodramas, even science fiction. And, if one of them hated a particular film, the other usually agreed with that assessment. Of course, she avoided talking about the old movies of 'Myra Stanford.' That conversation would have been a little too personal and uncomfortable.

Back in her dorm room, she found herself wondering what Bob really looked like.

_Maybe he's an old man. Or just an incredibly ugly guy,_ she thought. But she didn't care what he looked like.

_I'd be willing to accept him for what he is, here in the real world. If only I could believe he'd be willing to accept me._ She examined her real body in the mirror. Myra had lost weight because her anticipation of the trips to the center usually killed her appetite. And her hair had grown down to her shoulders. _Ok, maybe I'm not quite as repulsive as I used to be, but I'm still no beauty. He'll hate me if he sees me like this._

It was her cumulative bill from the VR Center that finally convinced Myra that her current lifestyle could not continue. _My lord, I've spent $70,000 on fantasy. If I keep going at this rate, adding in the cost of tuition and my other expenses, I'll have spent over three-quarters of my money after four years. That's absolutely ridiculous!_

So, the next time she was in her favorite nightclub setting with Bob, she began a delicate conversation.

"Bob, how can you afford all these trips to the center?"

"I--uh--I have a special agreement with the management. How can you afford it?"

"I can't anymore. I mean, I can, if I want to spend every cent I have, but that wouldn't be very smart, would it?"

"So, you're not going to come here anymore?" he asked, his handsome face contorted into an expression of dismay.

"Listen, Bob, suppose we meet out there, in the real world."

"Do you want to--meet out there?"

"Look, I know you're probably not the best looking guy in the world. And I don't really look like this," she said, indicating her fantasy figure. "But don't you think we could learn to-- accept each other?"

"Myra, I'm all for a 'real world' meeting. And, I won't be disappointed in you, no matter what you look like," he replied.

"That's what you say now!"

"Myra, I mean it. I want to meet the 'real you.' Let's do it tonight. Let's leave this place right now, together."

"No! Not tonight."

"Well, if not tonight, then soon!"

Myra thought for a moment, then, somewhat against her better judgment, she made a 'real date' with Bob. They were to meet in the 'quad', a beautiful tree-filled area on her college campus where most of the 'normal' kids hung out. The time of their meeting was set for 7 P.M. the next evening.

That night, Myra couldn't sleep very well. She kept thinking about Bob. But morning finally came. She skipped her classes that day and spent her time primping, washing and brushing her hair, picking out her nicest dress and blouse (altered to accommodate her new smaller figure), and finally, putting on a little make-up. _Well, this is me,_ she thought, looking herself over for a final time. _It'll just have to do._

At six-forty-five, she started out for the quad, hands shaking from nervousness. Bob was supposed to be wearing a blue sweater so she'd be able to identify him. He didn't ask her to wear anything special. He said he'd 'know her anywhere.'

The quad was filled with boys and girls, laughing and talking, but she didn't see anyone with a blue sweater. _Oh please, don't let him stand me up,_ she thought. _Please god, make him keep our date._

Then, as she was scanning the benches in the quad for a fifth time, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around, and saw Phil, her original VR center attendant. And he was wearing a blue sweater.

"Hi Myra," he said, "I'm Bob."

"You're Bob?!"

"Yep. Disappointed?"

"No." Myra wasn't disappointed. She was excited, elated, but definitely not disappointed. Phil was the only man who'd ever actually flirted with her in real life. _Besides, he's a really nice guy--a terrific guy, in fact. And he isn't too bad looking either, despite his pudgy little belly._

"But--I thought you hated me," said Myra. "You certainly should hate me, after the way I treated you."

"I could never hate you, Myra. I love you," he said. "In fact, I've loved you from the moment I saw you."

Phil took her hand in his own, and they sat down on one of the benches, to talk, laugh and enjoy each other's company. Exactly like every other young couple in the quad that day.



end



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