THE POLAROID OF DOREEN GRAY

THE POLAROID OF DOREEN GRAY Doreen’s descent into debauchery began early in middle school.  She was a real Lolita and a gorgeous piece of Jailbait.  By the time she was “barely legal”, more than a few men were indebted to her to stay discreet, and she made them pay dearly.  At such a young age a combination of shrewdness and sexual virtuosity propelled Doreen into great success – whether at mere prostitution, scandalous intrigue, marrying for money, or bleeding a sugar daddy for everything she could. Doreen could be whatever her mark might fancy – coy, innocent, classy, slutty, abusive, angelic, witty, moronic – which earned her the nickname “The Chameleon” by those in the know.  It was closer to the truth than they really did know.  For during her long misadventures Doreen had stumbled over many strange secrets, but the most occult was her hypnotic talent to cloud her appearance in the mind of her beholder and substitute it with his innermost desires.  But she had no idea what that image was – until the Polaroid.   One of her clients snapped her picture, and Doreen feared he would see her true features.  She squirmed for a minute as it developed, then relaxed as she saw from his expression that the hypnosis wasn’t broken. But hell, she thought as she looked at the picture, the illusion was physically captured in the emulsion.  It was like looking into a mirror and seeing someone else, the woman of this man’s desire.  In this case she was the spitting image of Raquel Welch.  Checking a real mirror nearby Doreen was glad to see her own reflection.  But she kept the photo to check it later in the privacy of her penthouse, and there she was still – Raquel.  Hot damn!  On a hunch she rushed downstairs, seduced the doorman, and jacked him off in the alley.  And the Polaroid?  Eww, looked like the man’s daughter.  WELL! This was interesting!   Over the years Doreen guarded that square of film as her most cherished possession. It was a window into the Psyche of every potential conquest.  The holdouts who resisted her seductive arts would succumb after she consulted the Polaroid and teased at the secrets of their Id.   Long after her retirement, when senility made her careless, one of her bratty grandchildren found the Polaroid and posted it on Facebook.   “Look, Grandma knew someone who looked like Kate Upton!”  The replies were all over the map – “WTF?! She’s a hottie, but she looks Jamaican!” – “Huh?! No! That’s Princess Di!”  – “Nah, THAT is Little Annie Fanny in the flesh.” – “Annie Who??” – “Uhh, never mind.” Eventually everyone just figured it was a weird internet hoax, not suspecting a metaphysical phenomenon had gone digital.  The controversy cooled, then was forgotten after a few cat videos distracted everybody.  But– look for yourself – Who do YOU see? {Thanks again to Foonman the morph magician for another wave of the wand.}

 

 

Doreen’s descent into debauchery began early in middle school.  She was a real Lolita and a gorgeous piece of Jailbait.  By the time she was “barely legal”, more than a few men were indebted to her to stay discreet, and she made them pay dearly.  At such a young age a combination of shrewdness and sexual virtuosity propelled Doreen into great success – whether at mere prostitution, scandalous intrigue, marrying for money, or bleeding a sugar daddy for everything she could.

Doreen could be whatever her mark might fancy – coy, innocent, classy, slutty, abusive, angelic, witty, moronic – which earned her the nickname “The Chameleon” by those in the know.  It was closer to the truth than they really did know.  For during her long misadventures Doreen had stumbled over many strange secrets, but the most occult was her hypnotic talent to cloud her appearance in the mind of her beholder and substitute it with his innermost desires.  But she had no idea what that image was – until the Polaroid.

One of her clients snapped her picture, and Doreen feared he would see her true features.  She squirmed for a minute as it developed, then relaxed as she saw from his expression that the hypnosis wasn’t broken. But hell, she thought as she looked at the picture, the illusion was physically captured in the emulsion.  It was like looking into a mirror and seeing someone else, the woman of this man’s desire.  In this case she was the spitting image of Raquel Welch.  Checking a real mirror nearby Doreen was glad to see her own reflection.  But she kept the photo to check it later in the privacy of her penthouse, and there she was still – Raquel.  Hot damn!  On a hunch she rushed downstairs, seduced the doorman, and jacked him off in the alley.  And the Polaroid?  Eww, looked like the man’s daughter.  WELL! This was interesting!

Over the years Doreen guarded that square of film as her most cherished possession. It was a window into the Psyche of every potential conquest.  The holdouts who resisted her seductive arts would succumb after she consulted the Polaroid and teased at the secrets of their Id.

Long after her retirement, when senility made her careless, one of her bratty grandchildren found the Polaroid and posted it on Facebook.   “Look, Grandma knew someone who looked like Kate Upton!”  The replies were all over the map – “WTF?! She’s a hottie, but she looks Jamaican!” – “Huh?! No! That’s Princess Di!”  – “Nah, THAT is Little Annie Fanny in the flesh.” – “Annie Who??” – “Uhh, never mind.” Eventually everyone just figured it was a weird internet hoax, not suspecting a metaphysical phenomenon had gone digital.  The controversy cooled, then was forgotten after a few cat videos distracted everybody.  But– look for yourself – Who do YOU see?

{Thanks again to Foonman the morph magician for another wave of the wand.}