Girlfriend with Testing Device Ch. 04

"It's, um." He struggled for a moment. "it looks good? It suits your eyes, I guess? I'm sure it would look great on you. Everything looks great on you."

I smiled at his non-answer. It was so cute that he tried.

That was a relief at least. I could still probably get away with wearing makeup if I needed to.

For a second there a part of me had been a little worried that Evan's new sluttier, shop-happy mind would start girling out about cosmetics on me. The last thing I wanted was to end up waiting on him whenever we went out because he had to take so long to put on his face. I laughed. It was kind of fitting though, given how I increasingly seemed to be the guy in the relationship.

Knowing Evan, I'd never hear the end of it either. He'd always be trying to touch up my makeup or give me little tips. Not that he didn't mean well, of course, but I got enough of that from every other girl I had ever known. I just wasn't a makeup person and I never would be.

Although I supposed now I had a choice in the matter, didn't I?

I eyed the shining racks of powders and brushes conspiratorially. If I wanted to I could swap some girl's makeup techniques with my own or something like that. I mean, I was beautiful enough that I could probably get away without it, but it would be a useful skill to have wouldn't it? Could I do that? Swap skills to myself? Knowing the device, the answer was probably yes.

I stood there a moment as this realization sunk in. This was a complete game changer. What other stuff could I teach myself this way? Dancing? Martial-arts? How big could I go? Could I swap into myself someone's entire career? Although maybe that would be a little much. Makeup seemed like a good enough place to start.

Except, how would that even work? I remained aware of the changes, so I would get the skill, but what about all the knowledge that went along with the skill? I guess I'd suddenly just know things? Would I know what I suddenly knew, or would I not know what I suddenly knew until I needed to know it?

I furrowed my brow. Okay, this was uncharted territory, but it was nothing I couldn't figure out.

If I used the device to give myself a lifetime of practice, would I suddenly have memories of that practice? Would I suddenly remember learning concealer at my mother's knee and carefully sculpting my face in front of the mirror every day? Would I have a whole new set of experiences grafted onto my existing memories? Or... no, I'd have given up my actual experiences as part of the swap, wouldn't I have? So far, being aware of the changes made it so that, for better or worse, I didn't seem to remember things as they were post-swap, - I had been unaffected mentally - but I didn't see how that could be in this case if I was trading away memories without it invalidating the swap entirely.

Oh god, it would probably have such a huge impact on my life too. Even if I did come out of it without a huge chunk of someone else's life grafted into my brain, everyone else would remember me having always practiced it as well wouldn't they? I'd be the only one oblivious to the fiction that the device would create. I'd have a gaping hole in my memory that everyone else seemed to remember but that I didn't. That was kind of unsettling.

None of these outcomes seemed particularly appealing to me. This was maybe a trickier subject than I had initially assumed. I made a mental note that this was something that needed testing.

I looked at Evan, who was looking curiously at the shelf I had been idly staring at while I was lost in thought.

I suppose it's obvious in retrospect why the idea popped into my brain just then. What I don't understand is why it seemed like such a good idea at the time when just moments earlier I had been dreading the very prospect. It was the power, I think. Little things like 'no' become 'why not?' in the face of it.

If I gave Evan a love of makeup like I had given him a love of shopping, if I gave him all the skills needed to really make a girl's face shine, then not only could we use it to experiment with skill swapping when we got home, but, if worse came to worst, at least I'd have someone who could put on my makeup for me on those rare occasions when it was called for.

On second thought, giving Evan a love of makeup was maybe taking it a bit too far. Evan was already exhausting me with his newfound passion of consumerism, I really didn't want him to suddenly go crazy over mascara or anything too. Perhaps familiarity was a more appropriate term for the kind of relationship I was looking for? Besides, I reaffirmed, if things got out of hand it was always another one of those things I could swap back right away.

Evan remained lost in thought as I withdrew the device. It was still a little warm to the touch from the last time. I wondered what he was thinking? I felt kind of bad. The poor thing had no idea what I was doing to him.

The sales associate, I reasoned, would make for an excellent swap target. She clearly knew a lot about makeup, and with her current body like that, it wasn't going to be doing her much good anyway. Quietly, I set the dials to swap her knowledge of cosmetics with Evan's.

There was no unusual heat this time, besides what was already there. Just the same old electric zzzzttttt. I wondered what part of the device made that sound. Was that the sound of a loose wire arcing, or, like, something immaterial, like reality itself stitching back together?

"Oh, you know what though?" said Evan suddenly, leaning forward and examining one of the makeup shelves before him in more detail. "I think this one here would actually look really nice on you." He held something up next to my cheek. "It would compliment your skin tone really well and totally make your pretty eyes just pop, you know? It's a decent brand too. Not exactly cheap but you get what you pay for with this kind of stuff." I took a look at the eyeshadow he was holding in his hand. It was one of the brands I didn't recognize. I hadn't even seen it, tucked away as it was on the shelf. I guess taking the sales ladies knowledge meant he now knew where all the best stuff was.

"Honestly," he continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially "most of this stuff isn't all that great. Oh! You know what? We should go to the MAC on the east side later and get some really fun stuff for you."

"Oh yeah?" I smiled. His enthusiasm was infectious. "Maybe we can get a bunch of good stuff and you can give me a makeover when we get home?"

We both laughed.

"Oh god, could you imagine?" laughed Evan all the harder "I'd probably end up making you look like a clown."

"Wait, what?" I said flatly, my laugher coming to an screeching halt.

"I mean," he backpedaled "you'd look amazing, don't get me wrong. Not even I could ruin that. But you know what I mean."

"But..." I prodded, "you know a lot about makeup, right?"

"Well, yeah." He grinned "But I've never applied any, you know that. It's a fascinating subject, but it's not something you can get away with doing as a guy." He stopped for a moment and then added "I mean, not that I'd even want to in the first place, you understand."

"Wait, then how do you know so much about it then?"

"Um," he said, chewing on the question. "Video blogs, mostly? I mean, my mom taught me a lot about it when I was little, of course, and I learned a lot about it from talking to my friends in school, but these days, yeah, it's mostly video blogs. I mean, I wouldn't say I know a lot about it. I know what works and what doesn't and all the brands and all that stuff, and what kind of contouring to aim for and the like, but that's not a lot more than most people would know, you know?"

Okay, so the remote apparently differentiated between knowledge and skill. That was a good thing to know. Wouldn't want to accidentally give myself knowledge of kung-fu instead of the ability to actually do it, especially right before a fight was about to break out. I guess this meant that the saleslady now had no idea what she was doing when she put her makeup on, but was nonetheless quite good at it? That was kind of weird. Still, good to know.

I readjusted the device. What could I swap that would make it so that Evan was not only skilled at it, but that it was something he actively practiced? I set the dials so that it would swap his experience with makeup. Would that work? It was a bit, well, I don't know what Evan was giving up on the deal, but this was going to be a strange swap. The woman was older than Evan too. Would he suddenly end up with an extra decade's worth of memories sloshing around in his head?

I took a deep breath, hoping that this would work, and pushed the button.

Again, I had expected Evan to wind up wearing something that reflected his post-swap state. Instead I found myself once again holding my breath as I waited for some kind of sign. He seemed no more invested in the cosmetics before him than he had a moment ago.

It wasn't until he caught himself in one of those little mirrors that he actually reacted. For a moment he looked like he'd seen a ghost and then a deep blush spread across his cheeks. His confidence seemed to melt away as he started glancing around nervously.

"Um, actually," he said, quietly, as he picked up a small compact and a little bundle of tubes. "let's get a few things here after all."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I um," he cast his eyes down, refusing to meet my gaze. "I just realized I forgot to put my face on before we left."

I laughed.

"Hey!" he cried, blushing harder. "Don't laugh! This is serious, I feel totally naked right now. I can't believe you didn't say anything!"

My smile faded. As fun as this was, he was clearly not happy. I don't think I've ever seen him so embarrassed, and this was a guy who had had no problem walking to the mall today with his ass hanging out like it was nothing. I suppose that was kind of a special case, though. Still, it was unusual for him to be acting this way.

"I thought you wanted to go to MAC?" I asked.

"I do!" he said, giving the shelf another quick look to see if he'd missed anything important. "Oh god I do. Ever since you mentioned the idea of me giving you a makeover, I've been all excited. I mean, I know you don't like it when I try to give you makeup tips, but you have such a beautiful face and I'd love to see what I could do with it. But, um, well. The employees at the MAC here are, well, let's just say that I wouldn't be caught dead in a place like that. Not after what happened last time."

"Wait," I asked, confused, "what happened last time?"

"You don't remember?" he glanced around "I um, I'd rather not talk about it. Right now, at least. Let's just say I'm a real asshole when it comes to makeup."

Okay, that was interesting. He must now remember living out a bunch of little encounters that the bitchy sales rep had originally been a part of. He had no idea that his behavior was literally the actions of another person. It must be so surreal to have all these strange memories of acting like someone completely different.

"We'll just pick up a bit of the basics here," he went on, swapping out one concealer for another "and I'll go put it on the bathroom. There's actually this great little shop not too far from my place - we can get makeover stuff there on the way back."

"Oh," I said "okay."

While Evan spent the next several minutes agonizing over what, exactly, qualified as the basics, I was trying to decide if I'd gone too far. The changes were unorthodox, sure, but I didn't think I was hurting him, necessarily. I mean, he was still the same man he'd always been, even if he didn't quite look it. He just happened to now have a lifetime's experience with powders and creams.

Plus, let's face it, I was insatiably curious to see what he looked like with his face put on.

After paying for the cosmetics and Evan's new dress, we stepped back out into the mall proper. Evan's high-heels clicked as he rushed towards the nearest bathroom. With the way he was hurrying and with his jersey no longer hanging down to his thighs, I was given a stunning view of the way his ass bounced and swayed with each step. I could also see that Evan's earlier attempts at micromanagement had apparently fallen by the wayside given the way his skirt was currently riding up. Whether that was because of his new sluttier tastes, or just because he was in a hurry was a mystery to me. I picked up the pace to keep up, but stayed enough behind him that I could enjoy the view.

As luck would have it, we didn't have to go too far to get to the bathrooms. They were a short walk and then just across the plaza, on the opposite side of the gangbang fountain.

The gangbang fountain was one of the mall's more unique landmarks. It was not, of course, actually called the gangbang fountain, but that's what everyone always called it. Apparently, it had been a gift from one of the school's art students, who had made it big as an installation artist.

It was an elaborate series of tubes suspended from the ceiling at various angles, which poured water into each other in sporadic spurts. The water would flow between them in an elaborate pattern before finally arcing onto and cascading down a large, centrally located, vaguely human-shaped, boulder. It was, if the plaque was to be believed, an artistic representation of the enormous and complex interdependency of infrastructure and consumerism needed to make capitalistic institutions such as the mall work.

Realistically, it looked like four giant metal tube-men ejaculating onto a kneeling rock-woman over and over again. Whether this was the artist's intent is anyone's guess. The mall's management, of course, didn't realize what it looked like until it was too late and by then it was easier to insist that it was a perfectly respectable fountain and that people looking at it just had dirty minds than it was to uninstall the thing.

A cold, humid breeze struck at my thigh as we walked by. Fuck. I was kicking myself for not buying some damn pants when I had had the chance.

Evan sprinted off into the men's room as fast as his heels could take him while I made my way to the women's room, where, for the first time in my life, I peed standing up.

Honestly? Would not recommend.

Staring at Evan's stupid sexy ass must have aroused the damn beast's attention, and despite my best efforts to tame it I simply couldn't get it to point in the direction I wanted it to go. Worse, my attempts at wrangling the damned thing just made things all the harder. I had to step back and try very hard not to think about plowing my boyfriend's juicy little cunt over and over until we both collapsed from exhaustion. Do you have any idea how difficult that is at the best of times? And, of course, trying to not think about something inevitably provokes the opposite response, so let's just say that that didn't exactly work out.

Eventually, after a lot of deep breaths and mental algebra problems - a few tricks I had picked up from tv - I managed to trick the thing into getting soft enough to actually point down towards the bowl. I honestly couldn't comprehend how guys put up with their junk apparently deciding it just wasn't going to cooperate when they were horny, which was, as I now knew from extensive personal experience, all the damn time.

Somehow, I emerged from the washroom before Evan. I supposed he was taking his time applying his makeup. I grinned at the irony. Here I was waiting on my boyfriend to powder his nose. I couldn't decide if I found it funny or hot.

As I sat down on one of the benches overlooking the fountain I began contemplating everything that had been happening. I guess I hadn't hitherto had the time to really sit down and think. I was worried. I looked back at everything that had happened today and just couldn't believe that I had been the one doing all those things. It all just seemed so out of character for me. Sure, there was all my hype about being a new me and turning things around, but messing with the lives of total strangers? I felt like I had become a completely different person overnight.

I mean, I had. Physically, at least. But that didn't explain my behavior.

In my mind I went over all the changes that I had made to myself. I was sure I was missing a few. I had made so many and had been so drunk that a lot of them seemed to just kind of blur together. That just made me worry even more. Was my change in behavior a result of one of those swaps? Or was this buried deep down inside of me all along? Had I inadvertently brought something into myself when I had swapped, for example, my sexuality? Or was this just confidence, peeking out from within the vault of defense mechanisms I had built up since high school?

What about the ease with which I had been changing Evan? I had come so close to losing him already and still I had been treating him like a test rat. And for what? So I could get a better view of his delicious sweater stuffers? So I could have him give me a makeover? He deserved better than that.

I wasn't hurting him was I? I was just having a bit of fun making a few minor changes here and there. Hurting him was the last thing I wanted to do. We could swap back without too much trouble if he didn't like it, right? I should tell him. Maybe not now, but like, when we got home. Well, maybe after I was done enacting all the torrid little fantasies he'd inspired in me by walking around in that skimpy little skirt all day. Okay, maybe I'd tell him tomorrow morning... I should tell him, is the point.

Could I even turn him back? I had no idea where his body was right now. And even if I did would he even want to swap back? I guess that was the scary part, he probably wouldn't. In so far as he was aware he'd always been like he is now. I'd almost be asking him to become something completely different for me. That wasn't right, was it? And... and yet here I was doing just that without even his permission. He deserved to know, right? One way or another. If the situation were reversed, I'd want to know.

Wouldn't I?

Lost in thought as I was, it wasn't until I saw the nipple slip free that I realized that while I had been staring off into space, an enormous pair of tits had moved directly into my field of vision.

I blinked.

There, sitting on the bench across from me, was a mother and father and their newborn baby. And from the looks of it, it was feeding time.

I'm not a huge fan of babies. They're cute and all, but they just seem so weird and alien. The fact that Evan wanted kids someday and I didn't was one of the few major things we disagree about. Evan is alarmingly domestic. Actually, come to think about it, the way things were going now Evan would probably be the one getting pregnant and giving birth. I don't think I'd mind quite as much if that was the case. In fact there was something about the mental image of my boyfriend with a swollen belly that I found satisfying on a level I honestly wasn't yet prepared to deal with.

Both of these parents were surprisingly young looking. They were probably in their late twenties or early thirties. The wife wasn't hot so much as she was beautiful, which was a refreshing change of pace around here. You could tell that she had probably been one of the local sluts at some point - her upper ear was pierced in a number of locations, and you could just make out the hint of her tattoos peeking out from under her dress - but despite that, she had a kind of peaceful nurturing vibe: long, simple hair, long white dress, that sort of thing. She looked very motherly. This idea was driven home by the fact that she also had the biggest pair of tits I'd ever seen. Bigger than mine or Evans, that was for sure. They looked heavy though, and kind of pendulous. The damn things were hypnotic.