by Tara Alton

An early morning in the middle of July, I didn't put on my starched pink uniform with its row of frosted white buttons that I wore to work at Don's Retro Diner. Instead, I put on a low cut, short black dress. I had the opportunity of a lifetime, and I wasn't taking any chances.

In another time, my figure might have been the rage, but my shape was flourishing in 2024. Sure not a lot of things had changed in the last twenty years. There were still pencils, zippers, books and shopping malls, but technology had raced ahead with self driving smart cars and fully computerized houses with iris scanning laser locks. Just as skirt hemlines flowed with the tides of time, so did body types. Extreme gaunt was back in. Curves were being flushed out of the "mainstream" world. Thin babes with 32A's, pierced and tattooed were all the fashion. Women were even getting breast reductions.

So imagine my surprise when I got a call from the magazine editor I used to work for. He was starting a new man's magazine with naturally endowed women. He was cashing in on the recent buzz from the 1950's movies that were showing off bombshell types. The moves were being circulated at midnight shows in art film houses.

Still, I had some apprehension. I'd never done any nude modeling in my time, but the extra cash had its appeal. A week ago, there had been a power surge in my apartment that had wiped out all my small appliances, and with only my income from the diner, I couldn't afford new ones.

The most distressing thing was that I had my Stim Mitt battery in the charger when the surge protector blew. I hadn't a decent orgasm since. The charger wasn't cheap, not to mention the cost of the battery. I loved my Stim Mitt. It fit my hand like a glove, and it had the texture of a rough man's hand with thousands of sensors that gave the skin a tingling electric charge.

I tried to go without it. I even tried to do it manually, but I was only
left with damp panties and raging frustration.

As I pulled on my pantyhose for my appointment, I thanked my lucky stars I had never bought into the Reclaim Ourselves Movement. It started with the "Do and Don't Magazines." Since my looks were unconventional even then, I was served up as a tall and lanky young woman who looked unhappy at her fashion crises.

Just as large breasts went out of style, I was clad in a Lycra top, my
nipples proudly erect. "Don't" was stamped across my face.

Still, it was a hot picture. I got to keep a proof before it was marked up. It was so hot that it even caused a stir with a prominent feminist who went on to write the book "Reclaim Ourselves."

What set her off was that men were buying a woman's magazine in record numbers to see my tits. She said that women should discard men's images of women in order to reclaim ourselves. The climate must have been right because she had a national best seller. I lost my job, moved to the suburbs and got my job at the diner.

Soon after the sex industries took a nose dive. The remaining ones went underground, where publishers used Holo Girls, holograms of nude women who were morphed from old magazines and assembled into slick 3-D images. Holo Girls were cheaper than models. They could even be used to animate cyber peep shows through on-line services.

But no matter how strong the new women's movement was, I noticed I got a better tip when I showed some cleavage to a male customer at work, and it gave me a secret thrill.

With that thought in mind, I headed to the train station, but I was so caught up in the hustle that I left my coat with my billfold in my pocket in the women's room. By the time I hurried back, it was gone.

Good thing I had kept my ticket stub in my hand. As the train sped toward the city, I wondered how I was going to get downtown when I noticed a man across the aisle. He adjusted his trousers as he stared at me. I turned his way and leaned forward to adjust my shoe, giving a full view of my cleavage. It sent a flush of heat over my body. It must have been too much for him. He got up and left, his newspaper covering the front of his trousers.

As the train got closer to the city, I saw chicks with nubs for breasts. Men hardly even glanced at their bony legs.

When I got off the train, I noticed most of the men had been staring at me.

At a vid phone, I called the publishers collect to see if they would send a driver, but the receptionist didn't have a clue who I was. My editor wasn't in the office yet to verify my name.

I hailed a taxi to see if he would let me get the fare from the office when I arrived. I got in the cab. It stank. He sped off before I could tell him where I wanted to go.

"Here's the deal," I said over the seat. "Take me to the Blairwood Building, and I'll get you the fare."

He hit the brake so fast I was lurched into the back seat.

"No way," he said. "Payment before you get out."

"I don't have the money," I said.

"Then why did you get in the cab?" he asked.

I reached for the door, but he hit the gas.

"Let me out," I cried.

He took a turn, taking an alleyway. I grappled with the door handle, but there was a loud click. He locked the doors from the front seat.

The taxi came out in another part of town. I glimpsed signs for Holo Girls stripping on stage. Glancing in the rear view mirror, I realized he was waiting for my reaction.

"Give me a break," I said.

His gaze dropped to my cleavage. He swallowed, noticing it for the first time.

"Oh my god, you're a bombshell from the movies at Second Street," he said.

I groaned.

"If I were a bombshell from those movies, I'd be dead," I replied.

He slowed his cab.

"Please show me your tits, and I'll let you out," he said.

The cab came to a stop. He leaned over his seat, his breath smelling like sardines and garlic.

"Take me to the Blairwood Building," I said.

He shook his head and licked his lips. The temperature in the cab seemed to go up. My Stim Mitt was easy to deal with. I unplugged it.

"I'll do it and you unlock the door," I said.

He nodded.

Pushing down my dress, I hoisted them out. The door unlocked. I tucked my breasts back in and got out of the cab.

He sped away. I stood on the sidewalk. A very butch looking woman, who looked like she'd had too much to drink, gawked at me I looked for a pay phone to call the publisher's office and demand a ride. She made a grab for me.

I tried to wrench away and spotted an open video store across the street. She caught me and spun me around. She was so strong. Her hands were all over me. In an instant, my dress was ripped, my breasts were back out. I heard fabric tearing.

I kicked her shin. She let go. Covering my breasts with my hands, I fled into the video store.

"I need a phone," I cried.

The guy behind the desk pointed to the back.

"Last door," he said.

At the door, I thought it had to be a phone booth door because it was so narrow. I slammed it shut behind me. There was no light. I felt for the phone. The door locked behind me. A light came on. I gasped. I was in an old fashioned peep show booth. I heard a coin fall in a slot and a window shade came sliding up. On the other side stood the clerk.

"Holy shit," he said. "A real live girl with big tits in my peep show. No one will believe this."

He pressed his face to the glass.

"Let's make a deal" he said. "You make me a bunch of money and I'll let you go."

"Let me out of here!"

His gaze was glued to my bare skin. I could play coy, get him to open the door and then beat the shit out of his squirrel like body, but I saw the dollar signs in his eyes and the Tazer in his hand.

"How about me instead?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"My boyfriend wouldn't let me," he said.

"Damn," I said.

He paused.

"All nude for two hours," he said.

I shook my head. The window shade went down. I was back in the dark. I wondered what time it was. I had to get out of here.

I told myself I was about to become a nude model anyway that was if my editor still would talk to me.

I called out that I was willing to negotiate. The window shade came up.

"Half nude. Half the tips," I said. "And one hour."

He agreed and left.

As I waited, I was a little mortified that I felt the titillation from the
diner come back. Here I was being held captive and I was getting a charge from imagining the strangers who were going to look at me. Why was I getting off on it? A chill went up my back.

But nothing happened. One hour passed. Then another. The clerk wasn't keeping his deal. Finally, a small man with glasses came into the booth. He gazed up at me as if I were the Amazon princess of the century.

"How on earth did you get here?" he asked.

"Would you believe I'm having a very bad day," I said.

He nodded.

"Did you know you have the type of breasts that can give a guy an instant hard on?" he asked.

He said it so matter of fact all I could think to do was thank him. He
introduced himself as Lenny.

Rubbing his brow, he looked me up and down.

"I heard up the street this was going on, but no one believed it. I decided to check it out. Wow! I could make a ton of money off you as a Holo Girl. Your proportions are excellent. No piece work. Just smooth lines."

"You do Holo Girls?" I asked.

"Only the best in the business."

"But I thought you made those from old men's magazines."

"We use what we can," he said. "And what I can use is you."

An idea came to me.

"Could you do it from in here?"

He looked around the booth.

"With a laptop, a video camera and some feeds, yes."

I stepped closer to the glass.

"Could you play a Holo Girl of me from inside here?" I asked.

"With some reflectors and a lead through here," he said and pointed to the tip slot. "I could set it up."

"I really need to get out of here," I said.

I told Lenny my story. He began to smile. When he left, we had struck a deal.

He came back with his gear. I was relieved to see him. He video taped me with a hand-held video camera, fed the data into a satellite net connection, created the Holo Girl and had it saved into the laptop.

Halfway through the taping though, he paused.

"You know I could have done this anyway without your permission," he said. "What will you show me to really make it worth my while?"

I raised my eyebrow at him. He raised his lens.

I inched down the zipper of my dress and let if fall to floor where I kicked off my shoes beside it. Then I peeled off my panties and hose.

He nodded and clicked off the camera.

With the laptop stuck in the corner and the lead through the tip slot, I prayed that the clerk wouldn't see the triangle of reflectors on the floor, nor notice the sudden bulk behind the boxes, which was me.

Lenny left the room and told the clerk I needed to see him right away. I tripped the switch for the Holo Girl. Before my eyes a hologram wavered and came into view. I'd never seen one before, and her reality shocked me. She was my identical twin, my clone, my alter ego. There she was, naked as a jay bird, innocently asking the clerk if she could please go to the bathroom. She promised she wouldn't try anything. He could even follow her into the bathroom if he wanted.

The Holo girl of me was so damn hot. I felt as if someone was squeezing my rib cage.

The moment he opened the door, his eyes fastened on the Holo Girl still staring out the window. I bolted, knocking him off his feet. Before he could recover, I locked him inside the room. Lenny grabbed his gear minus the reflectors. The Holo girl vanished. We fled the video store.

Outside, he had his car. We leapt inside. To my relief, I saw he had a
trench coat on the front seat waiting for me.Taking a deep breath, I pulled on the trench coat. Lenny looked pleased with himself.

"That was fun," he said.

As he drove me home, he told me about the royalties he'd get off my Holo Girl. I could make some real money. As I listened to him talk about selling my image to the strip joints and peep shows, something else occurred to me. Couldn't I make more money doing this on my own? Did I need a middle man who was taking a cut? Sure I had stripped for him and he had helped me, but I didn't really know him at all.

I glanced at Lenny, not sure how he would take this.

"You know, Lenny," I said. "I really appreciate you getting me out of trouble back there, but I've changed my mind. The deal is off."

"You've got to be kidding me," he said. "After what I just went through back there."

Now there was tension in the air. I didn't like the looks he was giving me out the corner of his eye. He was about a half mile from my apartment. I hadn't given him my address yet.

"You can drop me here," I said.

"Where?" he asked.

I pointed at a modern duplex. He slowed the car. Just as he put it in park, I grabbed his laptop and bolted out of the car. My plan was to take the mini disk with the Holo Girl on it. Lenny was right behind me. I fumbled with the laptop, trying to open the latch and take out the mini disk. It was stuck.

"Oh god," he cried. "You're going to break it."

Lenny grabbed my arm. I turned on him so fast it took his breath away. He was so scrawny, and I was a whole lot stronger than him. In a heartbeat, he let go of me.

"Don't touch me again," I said.

Hoping the latch would pop open, I banged the laptop on the hood. It was no good. The mini disk wouldn't come out.

"You're destroying my computer," Lenny said. "And denting my car."

"No. I'm taking your laptop," I said.

I started to walk away.

"Thief!" Lenny cried out. "I'll call the police."

"And tell them what," I said. "I'll tell them you video taped me against my will."

With that said, I left him. I hurried across a subdivision, cutting along some back streets until I was sure Lenny wasn't following me.

In my apartment, I saw the light flashing on my answering machine. I pushed the button. My editor informed me that if I couldn't show up for a meeting or bother to even call, he didn't want to work with me ever again.

I took a hammer to the laptop in my kitchen sink. I pulled out the disk and held it up. The kitchen light gleamed off the mini disk. She was on here. The Holo girl. I thought about men all over, checking out my work, getting off on me. I'd learned something valuable about myself tonight. No more diner work for me. I wanted to be a sexy exhibitionist in charge. A real live Holo Girl.

I began to remove the lap top from the sink when I noticed the battery case. I opened it. Nestled inside were the same type my Stim Mitt used. I glanced at my door wall, the blinds still closed. I was going to have some serious fun tonight.

_______________

Tara Alton's erotica has appeared in The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica, Best Women's Erotica, Guilty Pleasures, Clean Sheets and Scarlet Letters. She lives in the Midwest, collects tattoos, worships Bettie Page and writes erotica, because that is what is in her head, and it needs to come out. Her website can be found at http://www.taraalton.com.

Holo Girl © 2004 by Tara Alton