Every now and then, I find myself answering the question: how are Marquis Dolls created? This is usually in one of those late-night conversations, after the initial bursts of sexual desire have been slaked by several bouts of high-energy fucking, and there is a pause for rest and recuperation before a more leisured approach to sex commences - one that I, at least, can keep up all night.
The conversation inevitably starts at the point where my extra bits - the second sexual opening in my chest, between my breasts, and the leather-like skin on my arm and legs. My companion - or one of the male ones, at least - will then comment on my flat and muscular stomach and, even more so, on the strength of the internal muscles between my legs. He will undoubtedly have appreciated this particular part of me several times by now!
It amuses me to explain that I have strong muscles inside me because I have nothing else - none of the female Norm's reproductive organs, no womb, no ovaries. Clearly, we cannot give birth ourselves, not having any of the necessary biological equipment. And that's when The Question is asked.
In fact, we Marquis Dolls are born to Norm mothers, or at least were when births were still allowed without a special licence. So my mother is a Norm, of course. She had a lot of money back then, and bought the genetic modifications
which make me, well, me, at a time when such changes were fashionable. She tells me there was quite a fad for designer babies in those days - "at the birth of modern medical science," she says - and many women elected for radical genetic variations in the womb.
I still see Mom on fairly frequent occasions, when I have the money to travel; her business interests, not to mention her immensely active social life, means that she's not often able to visit me. She is an elegant and sexy lady, and certainly manages to get all the lovers she wants.
Mom maintains a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, and likes to entertain a great deal. Indeed, the orgies and swinging parties she hosts occasionally make the high-circulation subscriber blogs and society zines. She had invited me to one of these glittering events, as she often does, and on this occasion I had decided to attend.
My excuse - as if I really needed one - was that I still have several trips left on that Metro pass I had acquired a few days before, and the tickets were only valid until the end of the month.