The Art Of Becoming
1
The Fun House loomed before Hannah and Chase, its exterior painted in a peaches and cream flesh tone, its trim done in burgundy, its edgings and peaks gleaming like polished purple leather under the tempting gold of the late afternoon sun. Far enough away from Chase's home and day to day vanilla haunts, in a sleepy seaside town, the Fun House was a super-sized colonial revival, regal and stately, that dominated the end of an otherwise ordinary lane of humble capes and ranches.
Hannah could still hear the comforting churn of surf in the distance as she strode beside Chase toward the house's door yard. She was led gently by her hand, outfitted in her little pink dress, little pink socks and her white Patton leather shoes. Beneath the dress, she wore a pink flower patterned camisole undershirt and panties. From her neck dangled her pacifier and nestled in the crook of her right arm was a plush teddy bear. As other pedestrian traffic ogled and scoffed, Hannah bounced her pig tails as she walked; contentedly swinging her left arm, her fingers proudly interlaced with Chase's.
She regarded Chase, stunning in her knee length, shark repellent chainmail, and cocktail dress. Hannah had yet to be permitted to touch the highly reflective mesh material to determine for herself as to whether it was actual steel. She then admired Chase's bared shoulders and the white gold choker around her neck, its blue sapphire gleaming at the center of her throat. Her luxurious raven hair was bound in artful disorder at the back of her head, and her ears were bejeweled with more white gold and blue sapphire. The click clack of Chase's three inch polished platinum pumps echoed through the street.
Sensing Hannah's stare, Chase stopped. The lane suddenly empty and quiet, she fixed an ice blue gaze on her lover, its intensity melting with each passing second. Without a word, Chase roved her gaze from Hannah's pig tails to her shining white leather shoes, and then kissed her full on the mouth.
Together, they mounted the wide black flag stone steps and crossed the columned portico to the door. Chase rang the bell, and Hannah could hear the resulting chimes, their tone reminding her of carousel music. She wasn't sure what to expect when the big black door was opened, so was not at all prepared when it eventually creaked wide enough to reveal a young woman, possibly in her early twenties, her face made up and her body dressed in the guise of a clown. The young woman gasped exaggeratedly, eyes wide and mouth agape, as she took in the two callers.
"Oh my my my Mistress Chase," she warbled excitedly as she came between the door and the stoop, "Where did you find such an adorable little creature? May I ask her name?"
"You may." Chase intoned as she turned to see that Hannah had stuffed a thumb in her mouth; her teddy bear choked between her upper arm and trunk.
"What's your name little girl?" asked the pleasantly grease painted, round red nosed and pink haired princess.
The clown was dressed in green and white checked gingham, a frilled collar around her neck, an abundance of ruffles under her skirt. She wore her pink dyed hair up at the top of her head, bound with a variety of brightly colored ribbons that were as wide as party streamers. At the end of her smooth, lean, legs, her feet were dressed in short orange socks and a pair of big red clown shoes.
Hannah regarded her shyly, and then flit her coy gaze between the clown and her mistress. Chase bowed her head in consent, which prompted Hannah to withdraw her thumb and announce:
"My name is Baby Daw."
Immediately, she poked the thumb back into her mouth, and looked for Chase's approval.
"Well it's very nice to meet you Baby Doll." Said the clown as she bowed slightly at the waist, "For now, you can call me Madam Giggles. Please; won't you come in?"
Chase led Hannah into the foyer as the clown princess closed the door behind them. Either genuinely uncertain or simply playing the role of reluctant child, Hannah glanced nervously behind her as the clown took up their rear; skipping her way along the hall. The sounds of dining room fine ware clatter and polite chatter were increasingly audible as they advanced past a great open room on their right and closed doors on their left.
Finally, on their right, Chase brought Hannah into a vast dining room. She first took in the enormous light wood and windowed china cabinet along the far left wall, then the huge pots of small trees and wide ferns along the back wall until she observed that in the centered of the marble tiled floor, was a long table covered with a bounty of food. Around the table were arranged twelve eighteenth century styled chairs, nine of which were occupied by an Assortment of the most peculiarly queer and glamorously mysterious freaks Hannah had ever seen.
One of the first to take notice of their arrival was a large man seated at the far end of the table; his head coweled, his eyes and nose masked in leather, his full lips and cleanly shaven cheeks exposed. As he began to clang a butter knife against the base of his wine glass, Hannah scolded herself for having thought the word freaks. These were fellow scene enthusiasts, lovers and the objects of their affections. They were Chase's confidants, intimate friends and accepting family. Presently, Madam Giggles found her seat as the room quieted down. The masked man turned his head toward the comely black woman seated beside him, and she regarded him with an assuring bow of her own head.
"Mistress Chase," she said, her voice silky yet robust, "Dungeon Master Guryon wishes to welcome you back to his home. So finally, we can put a face to the name we've been hearing about over the last few months. Would you introduce her please?"
"Everyone," said Chase, scanning their faces, "I give you Ms. Hannah, alias Baby Doll."
Hannah blushed, nodded and curtsied; a skin of goose flesh coating her shoulders.
"Ah yes, but do we get to keep her?"
The group laughed genially as Hannah turned to see who'd spoken: an attractive blonde haired man seated to Madam Giggle's immediate right, dressed in a sand colored Panama open weave jacket, a tie that matched his amber eyes and a white silk shirt.
"Welcome Baby Doll." Smiled the woman seated beside the masked man; her skin the truest blue black Hannah had ever seen, her tiger eyes seeming able to strike fear in the heart of anyone who dare to resist her, "Please; sit."
As Hannah and Chase took their seats, the woman continued the introductions. There was Samuel and Cissa Rosenblatt, the amputees; Angelica Divine, the festive transgendered; Jackie Kern, a girl who likes to stick to her guns; the sly eyed blonde man, Marty Cheevers, accountant by day, The Jack Of All Shades by night; Sally O'Malley, alias Madam Giggles; Roger and Patty Shipman, practiced switchers; their hostess herself: Cecilia Woods, aka Mistress Keisha, queen of the cat o nine; and their masked host, all muscle bound and leather strapped, Dungeon Master Guryon.
The conversation meandered politely enough until it ultimately became as culturally varied and rich as the food they ate. Hannah relished each morsel and devoted keen attention to each speaker in turn. An elementary school teacher by day, Madam Giggles told great stories about her little third graders. It was beautifully surreal, experiencing the exchange of educational philosophy and best instructional practices between Chase and a clown in full regalia.
Cecilia was a horticulturist who could tell you how many ways plants revealed their own intelligence. The Rosenblatt's and the Shipman's, each in their mid-forties, shared from their shared history, having known each other outside of their scene lives. Jackie was a living encyclopedia of self-defense, gun models, calibers and fire arms law and happened to love the feel of gun metal against her bare skin. Cheevers knew the ins and outs of tax breaks and deductions, but lived for more physical challenges. As for Guryon, the dungeon Master, he remained silent, appearing rapt or wearing a smile as appropriate until he finished his meal; at which point he'd zipped his mask down to the base of his neck.
Hannah wasn't sure about who she trusted least; Cheevers or Guryon. She did know however, that house rules were house rules, and the expectation was that each participant in the play party that was to take place after dinner would obey them. Guryon was their host, the dungeon master, who would not participate, was obligated to see to the safety and welfare of his guests, and should be trusted. Still, his height, musculature, shining leather, gleaming studs and lack of a face, Hannah couldn't help but find unsettling.
Ultimately though, she trusted Chase and would be her dutiful slave for the evening and for hopefully more evenings to come. She'd taken pleasure in serving her mistress dinner. Chase had loved how well Hannah was mucking it up as Baby Doll, as did everyone else at the table. For Hannah, the shyness was the easiest element of her portrayal of Baby, since the group represented some degree of over stimulation that went against the grain of her Asp burgers.
In fact, the stress was making her think really hard about stealing off to the bathroom to rob Guryon of his toilet paper. But, Hannah survived the urge and spent the remainder of her time in the dining room without spewing more than one somewhat related odd fact, like: On average 70% of the time ice from fast food restaurants is dirtier than toilet water or a can of spam is opened every 4 seconds somewhere on Earth. After dinner, they all shared in the clearing of the table, and then broke up for dessert.
Hannah still couldn't shake the awkward feeling that she was an outsider, though it was clear that she was a perfect fit among her mistress's play party pals. Of course, it didn't help that her lover remained engrossed in some boring conversation she was having with Mistress Cecilia about all the great scene tools and binding materials that could be found in any local home improvement retailer. So, Hannah roamed the halls of the Fun House, her teddy bear tucked inside an arm, her fingers interlaced behind her as she, as nonchalantly as possible, peeked into each open doorway. The thing was, all doorways were open and all peeking was encouraged. But, Hannah still didn't think she'd feel right, watching perfectly strange strangers indulge in their fetishes without a television screen being between her reality and theirs.
Sauntering casually down the hall, trying to look very casual but not feeling casual enough, Hannah poked the pacifier she had strung around her neck into her mouth. There, she thought, that's better. Then, approaching the first room, she glanced inside to see the Rosenblatt's engaged in a naked game of Twister. Cissa, looking very good for a woman of sixty-two, was rubbing her wet pussy upon Samuel's lower legless right knee. Cissa, a complete person too, beyond the lack of a left forearm, was having the end of it sucked by Samuel, his zeal quite evident by his manner of sucking and by the very tall and youthful appearing erection he was sporting. Well, Hannah thought, hard rubber, golf putter, Elmer Fudder, I'll just move on now.
The next doorway was across the hall. Looking inside, Hannah saw that the room's floor and walls were covered with a layer of gym mats. Playing inside the room were Cheevers and Kern. Cheevers, covered in only black leather briefs and some truncated tank top of leather straps, and Kern, wearing an even more brief leather bikini bottom and top, prowled around one another like two wrestlers. Cheevers looked just as good in his little leather underwear as he did with his street clothes and Kern not only had a fantastic head of hair, but she was the most muscle bound woman she'd ever seen. And wrestling was exactly what they appeared to be on the verge of, though the ante looked to be set pretty high. So high in fact, Hannah wasn't sure if it was even legal. Abruptly, she spit out her pacifier and asked:
"Uh, tell me datt ain't a weal knife and dat ain't a weal gun."
It was a moot question. If Jackie was as enthusiastic about guns as she made herself out to be, then the slick black semi auto riding her right hip had to be the real deal and, as a matter of course, the four inch blade sheathed on Cheever's right was equally as genuine. Jackie, bracing her palms against the sides of her waist, gave Hannah a sidelong stare. Cheevers went into a neutral corner and, folding his arms, waited. Then, nodding in Cheever's direction, Kern said:
