Wrapped in the warm cocoon of sweetly scented ivory sheets in our lavish hotel suite, I had never felt such happiness. My life had been filled with unbelievable twists and turns over the last few weeks, and I could scarcely believe them when my mind wandered back to them again. I suppose you could say that I had finally arrived at my happy ending, despite giving up on it completely only a mere few days ago.
My name is Velvet. I am quite attractive, and yes, I know how vain that sounds. But once you've heard my tale, I'm sure you'll agree.
It all started once upon a time in a land far, far away. California, to be exact. My earliest memories were of a vague, muted warmth and the subtle pressure of hands all over my nude body. When my eyes opened, I found myself gazing into the sky blue eyes of the man I would come to know as Chris.
"You're quite the lovely lady," he had breathed, his features pinched in concentration as he applied something to my lips with a feather-soft brush. "It'll be a shame to send you off."
"Dude! Are you talking to the dolls again? I think you need a vacation." Another man's voice called from far across a brightly lit workroom.
"Shit," Chris smirked, glancing over his shoulder. "Vacation? What is that? I've got to get the fucking boat fixed, and this little lady's going to help do just that. The least I can do is pay her a compliment."
"Right. Well, if they start talking back, I'm quitting." The other man replied, and Chris gave me a soft pat on the cheek before wandering off.
I longed to see where he had gone, but soon understood that I could only observe. I couldn't move of my own accord, nor could I feel or speak. All I could do was see the world around me and hear the conversations of the men who created "girls" like me.
But Chris and his coworker, Matt, were very kind and thoughtful. They painted my fingernails, made sure my skin was smooth and flawless, and always treated me and the other dolls in progress as if we meant a lot to them. Not just creations of silicone and steel, but as if we were genuine creatures of heart and soul ... which, I suppose, we were.
One afternoon, as I lay posed on a sofa clad in a raven chemise of the softest velvet, Chris appeared. He was lifting me and carrying me, and I saw the workshop and all my sisters in various states of assembly as we breezed past the rest of the workspace. We moved quickly, and Chris was humming gaily as he took me out into a large loading dock where a small truck awaited, and beside that, a large wooden box.
"Ohhhh!" The driver exhaled a long plume of bluish smoke in the sweltering afternoon heat as I was carried toward the box. "Ain't she a looker? Where is she off to, Matt?"
"New York," the other young man sighed, moving into view as I was turned and carefully settled down into a large wooden freight crate, my eyes fixed on the ceiling of the large garage. "The guy paid us fifteen large to finish her as soon as possible, which rocks 'cause her body type wasn't that hard to develop. Just smaller figure. Not much in the tits and ass department. I don't get it, but hey—it's his money."
As Chris began to secure my arms and legs with clinging cloth straps, I could sense a great change in the air. I wondered where New York was. Why I had to leave Chris and Matt. Hadn't I been lovely enough to keep around?
"Well, we'll get her there safe and sound," the uniformed man said as the cover to the crate was lifted before me, and then I knew only darkness.
I don't know how much time passed. Only that when I next saw light, it was diminished and golden, and I was in an entirely new location. At first, I saw a large bed. It was piled high with fluffy pillows and looked very beautiful in the golden light. Then the crate shifted slightly, and I could see candles on a small table near a window. They were crimson, elegantly tall and slender.
And then I saw his face. He bent over me, and I was greeted by the most enchanting green eyes. They seemed to be full of warmth and joy when they gazed down at me, and he hurriedly began to unfasten the straps that held me in place, bending to lift me out.
"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, hurriedly dropping me onto the bed, then collapsing onto it beside me, obviously slightly winded but elated nevertheless. "You don't look that heavy!"
One of his hands ran over my belly, caressing the ebony velvet lingerie I wore as he gazed reverently into my face. Then his hand reached for one of mine, and cradled it between his own large ones.
"Wow, you feel amazing," he mused, leaning over to get a closer look at my face. One hand left mine to reach up and stroke my cheek. "Soft as velvet. They picked the right clothes for you, honey. But I wonder about how you look out of them..."
Getting to his feet, he crossed the room to a stereo system, turning on some sultry music. Then, he moved to the periphery of my vision to blow out all but one of the candles.
Returning to the bedside, he bent over me and carefully removed the delicate piece of lingerie I wore. Then he draped the top sheet up over my waist, and gazed down at me with a soft smile curling the corners of his mouth.
"Now that we've slipped you into something more comfortable, let's cuddle like you ladies enjoy doing."
My first evening with my new handsome stranger was magnificent, and I frequently found myself longing to be able to feel all the lavish sensations he was no doubt providing.
He embraced me with his eyes closed, and took great pleasure simply holding me. But when he parted my legs and I glimpsed how perfectly his own body had been made, I truly longed to feel, touch, taste and smell everything. The scent of his skin, the taste of his kisses. I longed to experience it all.
Hours later, after he had bathed me with the tenderness of the world's most gentle lover, I reflected on how lucky I was to be with such a kind man. He was very thorough with his cleansing, and once he lifted me from the spacious, two-person tub, he lay me down on a fluffy, royal-blue towel, very carefully patted me dry, and applied a fine veil of powder all over my body before returning me to his bed, where he lay with his head against my shoulder.
Over the next few weeks, we luxuriated in one another's company. I learned from his varied phone conversations that his name was James. I knew about his difficult dealings with The Bastards at Work. I was even privy to his secret passion for New Wave music, as he'd put in one of his favorite albums by Frankie Goes to Hollywood, and dance enticingly about the room before settling with me where ever I lay for more pleasurable interactions, smiling in a bashful manner and wistfully murmuring a cherished memory the music brought back to him as he rested his head against my bosom.
All this bliss came tumbling down one afternoon when Julie came for a visit. I had heard his conversations with her over the phone, and the look in his eyes suggested that he was missing her very much.
