When Annabelle arrived home from work that evening, it had felt like any other day. The reality however could not have been more different for draped over the sofa in her living room was the person that was going to change her life.
With bright blonde hair and the mother of all hourglass figures, she certainly didn’t strike Annabel as someone who could possibly be of any significance. She looked barely twenty and was dressed like she was about to go out clubbing than to go out changing people’s lives.
“Who the hell are you?” asked the startled Annabelle. “and what are you doing in my apartment?”
The girl just smiled at her first of all. “My name is Lulu.” she replied, “And I’ve got a story to tell.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you broke into my apartment.”
“You’re a reporter, one of the best I could find. I want you to listen to my story and to let the world know that my kind exist.”
Annabelle couldn’t help but scoff at that response. “Bimbos? You mean like the giggly no brained blonde sluts that like to wear pink?”
“You really shouldn’t believe the stereotypes.” smiled Lulu, “There is more to bimbos, true bimbos I mean, than you would ever believe.”
“Oh so you’re saying you also all like to discuss the artwork of Max Beckmann over a glass of 92 Latour?” replied Annabelle sarcastically.
“Well personally I find Beckmann’s use of twisted images and colours to portray the horrors of war through biblical figures to be hauntingly tragic, I wouldn’t be drinking a 92 Latour though, 1992 was an awful year for Bordeaux.” Lulu watched in amusement as Annabelle’s jaw fell open in surprise at her response before adding, “Like I said, don’t believe all the stereotypes. Just because I’m a bimbo, doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
“Then what does being a bimbo mean?” asked Annabelle who was now starting to become semi-interested.
Lulu got to her feet and made her way over to Annabelle, “I’ll show you.” she said before grabbing a pair of scissors that were lying on the drawer beside Annabelle.
For a moment, Annabelle was worried that the girl was about to try and attack her. Her fears were soon put to rest though as the girl started hacking away at her own hair, clumps of perfect blonde hair fell to the ground making the previously perfect looking girl suddenly look like she had just lost an argument with a lawnmower.
Annabelle stood in the living room, shocked at what she had just seen. A split second later this shock turned to dumbfoundedness as before her eyes, Lulu’s hair reverted to its original style. The hair she had cut off was still lying on the floor, yet she had also instantaneously grown a replacement head of hair.
“This is what it means.” declared Lulu, “There is a difference between a bimbo and some air headed slut that likes to fuck. You saw what happened to my hair just now, the same would happen if I dyed it or even tried to change style. I can only ever look like this.”
“But why?” asked Annabelle, now completely hooked by what she was witnessing.
“Because nobody is born a bimbo, you are turned into one. I wasn’t born this way and I certainly never used to look like this. I was changed.”
“That’s ridiculous, how can anybody change who you are?”
“There’s a number of ways really, magic is one, hypnosis can be another. With me, it was drugs.”
“Yes drugs, the work of a scientist named… well we’ll get to that later. The fact of the matter is that any girl can end up like me in the wrong set of circumstances and it is time for people to know our story. Or my story at least. And I want you to write it for me. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes, of course!” blurted out Annabelle, “It would be an honour. Just come by my office say tomorrow a…”
“It has to be now.” stated Lulu. “I’ve already been here too long, we do the interview here and now or not at all.”
Annabelle was too consumed with personal interest, let alone professional, to be able to turn this story down. Therefore she was more than willing to accept her demands.
“Fine, we’ll do it now. Just let me get my tape recorder.”
“Thank you,” replied Lulu, “I knew you would hear my story.”
Ten minutes later, Annabelle was ready. She was sat in an armchair with notebook in hand, tape recorder placed on the coffee table in front of her and Lulu still sprawled over the sofa across from her. It was time to begin the interview of her career.
“So,” began Annabelle, “Where do you want to begin?”
“I want to start with a simple question.”
“Okay, what do you wish to ask?”
“How old do you think I am?”
“Umm, I don’t know. Nineteen? Maybe twenty?”
“I’m forty two.”
“What!” choked Annabelle in shock, “But you don’t look a day over twenty.”
“That’s because I am nineteen years old.” replied Lulu matter of factly.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s like I told you, I wasn’t born a bimbo. I became this way twenty three years ago. When I was nineteen years old.”
“You’re trying to tell me that you’ve looked just like that for over twenty years?”
“Exactly, I was born in 1967, yet maintain the body of a horny young teenager. There’s nothing I can do about it either. If I cut my hair, it grows back. If I smoke a cigarette, my lungs remain clear. If I cut myself, my skin will heal without a scar.”
“Are you telling me you can’t die?”
“No Annabelle, I am very much mortal. A lethal blow for you would be equally lethal for me. The only difference is that I will always revert back to this state of perfection once the injury has healed.”
“That’s incredible.” responded Annabelle, awestruck. “I mean not for you obviously, you must hate it. But its still incredible.”
“It is enough to drive the average mind insane. It is a twisted irony that a bimbos mind is so full of pep and optimism that we alone are able to endure such a fate and we alone are the only ones who suffer it.”
“I couldn’t imagine whether that is a curse or a blessing.”
“Over the years you come to think of it as both. When I first got turned all I could think about was sex and a desperate need for gratification. I had the IQ of a genius but my mind was foggy with ditzy language, giggles and a total inability to think clearly about anything other than sex and how to get it.
“It took years to finally gain some control of my mind, to break free of the shackles of ditziness. I can now think with what I would quantify as about eighty percent clarity and can sometimes go up to three days before the desperate need for sex consumes me. I had to fuck three guys before coming here, just to make sure my mind would be at the optimum sharpness in order to tell you my tale. But enough of what I am now, there is plenty of time to get round to that. My story starts with who I was before…”