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“Hell no! We won’t go! Hell no! We won’t go!”

The chanting was getting louder, coming up Telegraph and moving in the direction of the Berkeley campus. My apartment was only a block off Telegraph, and in the warm June air, the drone of the chanting sounded almost as if it were happening right outside my pad.

Antiwar activity had picked up in the last few months. It was funny. The fall before, the Johnson administration was talking about an end to the war in Vietnam by ’68. Then came the Tet Offensive in early ’68, blowing their prediction right out of the water. Instead of coming to an end, the seemingly endless conflict in Southeast Asia was becoming the longest war in American history.

‘I should probably be out there chanting with them,’ I thought. After all, they were playing my song. Here I was, of eligible age for the draft, with a lottery number certain to put me in olive drab the minute my draft board discovered I had flunked out of school. And hell no, I wouldn’t go.

Frankly, I didn’t really have anything against the war–as long as I didn’t have to fight it. The idea of slogging through hot jungles just waiting for someone to spring out of the bushes and kill me had no appeal. Two guys I knew from high school had already bought the farm, and I didn’t want to be the third.

By all rights, I should have been pro-military. After all, my dad was a West Point graduate. He had been commissioned in 1943, taking his commission in the Marine Corps (yes, you can do that sort of thing–and in the Second World War, it was fairly common). The old man loved war. He really lived for it. Then, at Iwo Jima, he lost his legs to a Japanese land mine. That ended his career real quick. In some ways, it ended his life. People I talked to who knew him before the war said he had changed a lot, and not for the better. Losing your legs would do that sort of thing.

By the time I came along, he was well on his way to becoming the grizzled war vet I grew up around. From the moment he wheeled himself into the house from his civil service job until the time he went to bed, I was weaned on a steady diet of duty to my country. ‘I should be proud to fight for my country,’ I was told countless times. It would make me into a man. Well, fine, but I wanted to be a man complete with two arms and two legs.

The final break between the old man and me was right after I had graduated from high school. That was when mom died, and she was really the only thing that held dad and me together. She had wanted me to go to college, but I really had no desire to do so. Now, dad wanted me to go enlist.

“You’re nothing but a sissy,” he told me from his favorite spot on the patio in back of our house. Mom’s funeral had only been two days before–her life cut short in a senseless auto crash. With mom gone, the old man had pressed hard to get me to enlist, knowing that without mom’s pressure, I wouldn’t go to college.

But I had crossed him. I had told him I wanted to be a commercial artist. I was a good sketch artist. In fact, my friends in high school had jokingly said I should hang out down at Fisherman’s Wharf and draw cartoons of the tourists for five bucks each. It was tempting, but I had a better deal yet. One of my classmates had a father who worked for an ad agency in the city. He got me a job as an artist, so my future looked pretty good even without college.

“I’ve got a good job lined up,” I told him, trying not to get mad. I was six-one and a hundred and sixty pounds, and I had lettered three years in football (as a wide receiver) and basketball (as a guard), so I was hardly a sissy.

“You’re gonna be one of those arty fairies,” he grumbled. “Hell, even college would have been better than this.”

We argued for a few minutes more, but it basically came down to the “you aren’t any son of mine” crap. I moved out that night and never saw him again. I suspect we were both happy about that. I know I was.

Life was pretty good for awhile. I had grown up in a small town in the Napa Valley, so San Francisco was a different world for me. I didn’t make much money, so I lived cheaply, but my prospects looked good. My employers liked my work, and they didn’t mind my doing a little work on the side to supplement my income. Then, there was the trust fund.

Two months after I got to the city, my grandfather died. My mother and I were his only two living blood relatives, and since mom was gone, he left everything to me. Everything consisted of more than a couple of hundred grand. It was left in trust for me. I could get $25,000 when I turned twenty-one and the balance when I turned twenty-five. There was an important exception, though. If I went to college (and gramps knew that was my mother’s fondest hope), I could start drawing the money early and still get the twenty-five grand at twenty-one. I didn’t, though. I wasn’t in any hurry to get the money, and I didn’t want to go to college, ‘so let the money ride,’ I thought.

Then came the war. Unlike other wars in our nation’s history, this one started slowly. Hell, it didn’t even seem like a war at all–just a few advisors and support personnel. Then, just before the start of my senior year of high school, the Gulf of Tonkin Incident occurred. The next thing we all knew, there was a war going on.

By the time I graduated from high school, the war was for real, but I came from an area where the Draft Board managed to fill its quota with mostly enlistees. I didn’t think much about it. Then, within three months of my graduation, the shadow of the draft loomed longer and darker.

I tried to get into the National Guard, but their quota filled quickly. I thought about enlisting in the Navy or Air Force, but it was the same story. I didn’t have a steady girlfriend, so getting married to stay out was out of the question. There was only one way I could think of to avoid the draft–I would have to go to college. It was either college or Canada, and I didn’t care much for cold weather.

It was then that I did something really stupid. Instead of going to one of the diploma mills which had sprung up around the country to service the baby boomers avoiding the war, I went to Cal Berkeley. I mean, I really didn’t want to go to college in the first place, so why pick a school with high academic standards? Why not go to some little Podunk school with classes as easy as those I had taken in high school?

The answer was simple. I loved the Bay Area. It was the center of the psychedelic culture of the sixties, and although I was fairly moderate in my use of recreational drugs, Berkeley was where it was at, man.

I actually did okay my first year. I stayed in the dorms, made a few friends, and took a general if easy course load–just enough hours to be a full time student, thus avoiding the draft. I carried a mundane C average and partied while less fortunate young men went off to Southeast Asia, many coming back like my father–if they came back at all.

My second year, I decided to live off campus. I rented a little basement apartment not far from campus and proceeded to turn it into my very own crash pad. Although I knew many guys my age who got into the drug scene in a much bigger way, I must have smoked one joint too many or scored one lid of acid too much, for at the end of my second year, I had a letter from the University informing me that my presence in their hallowed halls was no longer desired.

So there I was–potential cannon fodder. National Guard was still out of the question since their quotas were filled, and enlistments were at an all-time high, taking all the desirable spots, so the bloody finger of the draft and a one-way ticket to beautiful Southeast Asia were probably only days away.

So what did I do about it that summer afternoon? I did what every guy who has a phony ID and has just flunked out of college does–I went drinking with my friends.

“Tough luck, Terry,” Brad Sanford said over his beer. Brad had been my roommate in the dorms the year before. He and I had partied hardy, but he had managed to keep his grades just high enough to stay in school. Of course, the fact that he had elected to stay on campus instead of rooming with me off campus might have had something to do with it. He was taller and heavier than me, with almost black hair instead of my auburn shade. Like me, he sported long sideburns, longish hair and a bushy mustache. In other words, we were quite stylish for the sixties.

“Yeah, tough luck, man,” Tommy Montgomery echoed. Tommy was Brad’s new roommate. Unlike Brad and me, Tommy’s nondescript brown hair was a little shorter and he sported no facial hair. Some of the guys kidded him, saying he looked like a government agent. A few even thought he really was some kind of a government agent, sent in to check on anti-war activities, but Brad and I didn’t believe it. We reasoned that a government agent–if there even was one–would try to blend in better. Tommy was just a couple of years older–the true leading edge of the boomer generation–and his style was just a little more conservative.

“I gotta do something,” I moaned as our waiter brought us another round. “I hear Canada is real nice this time of year.” I shivered thinking of the cold weather. Better cold weather than a stone cold body.

“Yeah,” Brad agreed, “but I hear they’re getting really shitty about Americans going up there to avoid the draft. I’ve even heard they’ve let some US agents go up there and haul a few guys back.”

I hadn’t heard that, but it made sense. Hey, it was the sixties. Nobody in college trusted the government. We didn’t trust anybody over thirty. In fact, for most of us, twenty-five was sort of pushing the envelope. If somebody walked in the bar and told us that the US Army was using vampires and werewolves to kill babies at a secret site inside Grand Central Station, the majority of us would have believed it.

“It’s true, man,” Drew Keane chimed in. Drew was really our bad boy. He was the one we all went to when we needed pot or LSD. He seemed to have all the contacts we needed. He was about my size and actually looked a little like me. The main difference was that he had longish surfer-blond hair while mine was a reddish brown. And he lacked my drooping, almost red mustache. “I knew a guy who went to Vancouver a couple of months ago. He said two of his buddies got nabbed.”

“What happened to them?” Tommy asked.

Drew shrugged. “They put their asses in uniforms and shipped them off to ’Nam. They didn’t even put them through boot camp. I heard both of them were killed the first week out there. That’s what they do to them, man. They figure somebody’s gonna die, and it might as well be the draft dodgers.”

I shuddered. I didn’t know anybody in Canada. I’d be a ready target for the Feds. One day, I’d be strolling down the streets of Toronto or Vancouver and they’d come out of nowhere, haul my peaceful butt off to the war zone, and sit back and laugh until I got my ass shot off. No thank you, man.

“Hey, I know an Army recruiter,” Tommy said. “Maybe I could talk to him and get you in.”

“Maybe you didn’t understand,” I growled. “I’m trying to stay out of the Army.” Maybe he really was a government agent, I thought. How else would he know a recruiter? My eyes narrowed.

Tommy must have noticed, because he explained, “Hey, look man, he’s an old high school buddy of mine. What I meant was that if you enlist and get into the right specialty, you could avoid the war altogether. Three years in Germany as a Russian language specialist wouldn’t be bad, would it?”

“I don’t speak Russian.”

“They’ll teach you.”

“Are you sure you’re not the recruiter?” I asked. I actually liked Tommy, but he wasn’t giving me the kind of advice I was looking for. I wanted somebody to tell me how I could blend in when I made it to Canada.

“Hey!” Brad interjected, brightening suddenly. “I’ve got an idea. You can get married.”

“Getting married might not help,” Tommy said. “I hear they’re going to change the law. Being married won’t keep you out. You’ll have to have a kid, too.”

“Besides,” I added, “I don’t want to marry just anybody.”

“Oh, a romantic, eh?” Drew sneered.

I shrugged. “Not really, but the way I understand it, in California, my wife would get half of what I’ve got if we divorced. That would include a quarter of a million or so in my trust fund.”

“I didn’t know you were rich, man,” Drew said with a grin, suddenly interested.

“Hey, I’m not,” I explained. “The only thing I can touch until I’m twenty-one is college expenses–you know, tuition and living expenses.” I didn’t feel like telling them that even at twenty-one I couldn’t collect all the loot.

“But you’ll be twenty-one in a couple of months,” Brad pointed out.

“Sure, and by then, I’ll probably be slogging through the jungle,” I argued. “I don’t think I’ll be around to spend any of it.”

Three hours and countless beers later, the party broke up. Brad and Tommy headed back to the dorms while I staggered back to my place. Drew tagged along since he lived a couple of blocks from me. I was pretty morose for most of the walk. I knew I was going to be drafted. There was no doubt in my mind. I was eligible and as healthy as a horse. My dad if he knew, would laugh his ass off. Right now in Hanoi there was probably a bullet being cast that had my name on it.

“You’re really fucked, aren’t you, man?” Drew said as I shuffled toward my door.

“Wouldn’t you be?” I growled. I was feeling sorry for myself, and the beer hadn’t helped. I’d have a roaring headache in the morning and would probably be even more depressed.

“Yeah, I would,” he admitted with a sympathetic nod. “There’s no way I’d let them send me, man.”

“I’d get out of the country in a heartbeat,” I admitted. “But I’m afraid I’d be dragged back here from Canada.”

“There’s a way around it,” he whispered slyly.

“What?”

He dug into his shorts pocket and pulled out a weather-beaten business card. I looked at it as he handed it to me. It was for a place called the Sunshine Club down in North Beach. The black print on the neon pink background announced the card was good for one free admission–no cover, no minimum.

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “And how is this place going to solve my problem?”

“You remember Henry Williams?”

I frowned for a second. The name was familiar. Then it dawned on me. “Yeah, I remember him. He was a sophomore last year–a big black guy. He played a little football. Didn’t he flunk out?”

Drew nodded. “That’s right, he did, midyear.”

“Sure,” I went on. “He lived in the same dorm I did. He was a nice guy–not too smart though.”

“Right again,” Drew said with a smile. “He wasn’t a good enough football player for the Athletic Department to try to save him, so they let him flunk out. He came out of the projects too, so there was nobody back home to keep him out of the draft.”

“So what happened to him?” I asked, curious. Obviously, Drew had a point to make, and I wanted to know what it was.

“Henry made a little on the side, selling dope–mostly to guys on the team.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said, intrigued as I leaned against a tree to hear the rest of the story.

“By the time the draft caught up with him, he had saved a little money from dealing. Jack over at the Sunshine Club got him some fake ID’s and stuff. Henry’s living in Canada now, as free as a bird.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I was sceptical, but I wanted to believe. Given the choice of meekly accepting a possible death in a meaningless war or living the good life–or any life for that matter–in Canada, I would choose life every time.

I hate to sound defensive, but it’s tough for guys who didn’t go through that period to understand what was going through many of our minds. Our parents’ generation probably hadn’t really wanted to fight in World War II, but it was a popular war. Everybody who could wanted in, or at least it must have seemed that way. Then, a few years later after Vietnam, when Nixon ended the draft, it meant that most of the time, the only soldiers who would be at risk would be guys who volunteered. My generation was faced with the prospect of being forced to fight an unpopular war, and I think it made me and other guys feel a little crazy.

The funny thing about it though, was that years after the Vietnam War, many of us felt an odd guilt for avoiding it. I didn’t feel guilty about it, but I sure did feel stupid, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

“So how much does this all cost?” I asked. I tried to sound deliberate, but I think if Drew had said a million dollars, I would have signed the check and worried about how far it would bounce later.

“It varies,” he said noncommittally. “You’ll have to talk to Jack.”

“Okay, maybe,” I replied. Maybe if I didn’t sound too desperate, they wouldn’t overcharge me.

“Do it quick,” Drew advised as he got ready to walk away. He turned and threw me a mock salute. “The Army needs men.”

I had fully intended to mull it over for a few days. After all, there was no hurry. I still had a little living expense money left over from my spring draw on the trust. Maybe I’d even try to get a job, although not many companies were anxious to hire a guy they might lose suddenly to the draft.

My priorities changed though, when I checked the morning mail. There it was, in its official envelope. Even though I knew what it said, I opened it with trembling hands and read in horror the letter that would change my life: “Greetings from the President of the United States...”

The letter went on to inform me that I had been chosen to serve in the Armed Forces of the United States. Its tone was as if I had been selected the winner in the Irish Sweepstakes. Instead, I felt like I had been run over by a horse. I had exactly two weeks to report. I knew the drill. The minute I reported, I was theirs. Then, after ninety days of basic training, it would be off to–where?

Calm down, I told myself. It might not be so bad. There were plenty of guys assigned to bases right in the US. Or I might be sent to Germany. We had lots of troops there. Sure. I could be drinking beer and romancing some sweet young Frá¤ulein. There was nothing that said I would be sent to ’Nam.

However, when you’re holding your draft notice in your hand, the emotional side of your being tends to take over from the rational. Was I willing to bet my life on this? No, I wasn’t, I realized. I picked up the pink business card and stared at it. Maybe it was worth a shot. It couldn’t hurt to talk to this Jack, could it? My mind was made up. I headed for the nearest bus stop. I was on my way to North Beach.

If the hippie movement of the late sixties had a home office, it would be North Beach. Located in the northern part of San Francisco, it was quickly becoming the place everyone under thirty had to see. Flower children roamed the streets. There was rock music in the air, along with the faint smell of incense mixed with marijuana. Need a joint? Ask anybody. Even the cops just stood back and let it happen, saving their energies for breaking up a fight or restraining some dude on a bad trip.

Looking back on that day, the signs of the eventual decline of North Beach were everywhere. The winos and drug addicts roaming the streets of San Francisco, mumbling to themselves, were young then, serving their apprenticeships in a drug-induced fog. The clubs, their seamy exteriors hidden by psychedelic paints and banners, were smoky and dirty inside, smelling of stale beer and worse.

The Sunshine Club was a perfect example. It was dark inside, except for the small stage where two go-go girls were dancing to the music of the Stones, their tasselled bodices shimmying to the music in rhythm with their long dark hair. I wondered if they were on something, because they both seemed to be a little wobbly on their white thigh-high go-go boots, and neither of them looked very happy to be there.

“You got some ID, kid?” I turned to see a balding man, about forty, a cigarette dangling from his thin lips.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, reaching for my wallet. What student at Berkeley didn’t have a phony ID? “Hey look, I’m not here to drink. I’m looking for Jack.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked up from my ID. “Why do you want to see Jack?”

A crucial moment had arrived. If the guy thought I wasn’t what I appeared to be, I’d never get to see Jack. In fact, I realized, I might not even be safe. He looked at me closely, then at the ID again. Finally, he nodded. “Follow me.”

He took me down a long, brightly-lit corridor, cluttered with broken tables and chairs. At the end of it, he knocked on a nondescript wooden door and waited respectfully for an answer.

“Come in.” The voice from within was pleasant, almost friendly.

The office was comfortable and–for a change in that building–clean. A man of no more than thirty, long blonde hair tied back in a neat ponytail, stood behind the desk. There was a wide, friendly smile on his face which moved his bushy blonde mustache into a shadow of a smile. His blue eyes twinkled as he put out a long-fingered hand for me to shake.

“Vic Solo,” he grinned. “Like in Napoleon Solo. By the way, there is no Jack. That’s just our little code phrase around here. It lets us know you’ve been referred.”

I smiled. The Man from Uncle was one of my favorite shows. “Terry Miller.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “You’re the one Drew told me about.”

“Oh?” I hadn’t realized Drew was so intimately involved with this Vic and the Sunshine Club. My natural suspicions returned.

“Yes,” he went on easily. “I’ve helped a couple of Drew’s friends. Didn’t he mention that?”

“I guess it slipped his mind.”

He motioned to a seat, which I took. “Do you want something to drink?”

It was an unusually warm day in the city. “A beer would be nice.”

He leaned over to an intercom. “Julie, bring us two beers. Make it the Heineken.” Then he looked back at me, smiling. “Since Drew told me about you, I know you’re anxious to avoid military service.”

It was a nice turn of phrase. It sounded so much better than “dodge the draft.” It made it sound like some sort of investment program. I suppose, in a way, it was. I was investing in my life, trying to leverage it into something with a future.

Before I could reply, a very attractive black girl in a tight-fitting red dress entered, two frosty mugs of beer on her tray. She gave me a self-conscious smile and wordlessly placed the beers in front of us on Vic’s desk. I took a sip of the beer. It was great–not like the cheap, watery American brews I was used to.

“Yes,” I replied, licking the light foam off my lips as I watched the black girl leave the room. “In fact, there’s a complication.”

“Oh?”

“My draft notice came in the mail today.”

“I see,” Vic said professionally, writing a note on the pad in front of him.

“I’d like to get to Canada,” I went on evenly. “But I’m afraid I wouldn’t have much of a life there without some preparation.”

Vic nodded. “You’re right, of course. So many guys just drive for the border. The Canucks don’t want them, and so they drift around Canada until the Feds grab them or it gets too cold for them.” He shrugged. “Then they usually just end up in the Army no matter what. Did you know the government is just putting them in uniform and shipping them off to the war zone without any training?” He shook his head. “Most of the poor bastards don’t last long.”

Now, a lot of time has passed since that conversation took place, and I know now that what Vic was telling me was horseshit. Some guys ended up in jail for draft evasion; others changed their minds and joined the military. Some, I’m sure did go to ’Nam and died in the war. Most did not. How could I have been so stupid and naíve? Well, you had to be there. We got our news of the war in odd ways. The TV showed the drama of the war itself and the futile efforts of some of our politicians to end it, but we students were all convinced it was some kind of a plot against us. Kent State was two years away, but we didn’t need that to convince us that it was us (the students) against them (the government).

Our news–or at least the news we all believed–came from hushed conversations in the Student Union or by reading the Berkeley Barb, a rag that should have been on the shelf next to the supermarket tabloids. The Barb told of weird government plots straight out of a spy novel. Oh, it’s all funny now, but back then, we believed. When Vic talked of draft dodgers hauled off to Vietnam without the benefit of training, all I could do was nod my head in agreement. It had to be true because I expected it to be true.

Vic leaned forward. “I can take care of your problem. I can arrange for the draft to get off your back, and I can get you a new identity too. You’ll never have to worry about the draft again.”

This was sweet music to my ears. I wanted to believe his every word in spite of my vow to be sceptical. He was offering me the opportunity to go on with my life. I didn’t have to go into the army. I wouldn’t have to fight a war I didn’t even believe in. And there would be no price to pay–at least not a price beyond money. That brought me back to reality. My eyes narrowed. “How much?”

Vic gave me his patented smile again. “Only three thousand dollars.”

I did some mental calculations. I still had a little over a thousand in expense money. Maybe I could do this on the instalment plan. In two months, I’d have access to $25,000. I could pay the balance then. I explained all of this–including how the trust fund worked–to Vic. I didn’t tell him about the fact that I couldn’t access the whole thing, but Vic got the idea that there was plenty in the fund. Okay, I was barely more than a kid. I didn’t know better than to show my whole hand. If I had understood the stakes, I might have been a little more careful. But again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Vic rubbed his chin. “I don’t know, man. Why not just come back in two months when you have the money?”

“Because in two months, I’ll already be in the army,” I explained. “I want to avoid the draft–not desert. The Army is bad enough on draft dodgers, but I hear they’re really rough on deserters.”

Vic smiled grimly. “You’ve got that right. Did you know they have the right to shoot deserters down on sight?”

They didn’t, I know now, but I believed it then. I gulped.

“Look,” Vic drawled carefully, “I know you’re a friend of Drew’s. He asked me to take care of you. It’s against my better judgement, but maybe we can carry you. You can give me a down payment of a thousand–in cash. Then, we’ll collect the rest in two months when you turn twenty-one. But I’ll have to up the price by five hundred.”

Thirty-five hundred dollars to save my life? ‘Where do I sign up?’ I thought. I was very proud of myself. I thought I had cut a good deal. If only I had known... “It’s a deal.”

“Okay, I’ve got a plan, but it will take me a couple of days to work out all the details,” Vic explained. “Can you be back here in two days with the down payment?”

“Sure,” I said brightly.

“Good. Now I’ll need for you to get me all the information on the trust account so I can make all the arrangements,” he said. “We’ll meet back here in two days at two in the afternoon. Don’t let anyone know what you’re doing. The government has eyes and ears everywhere. They’d love nothing better than to shut this operation down.”

Sure, I gave him what he wanted. Why not? The way things were set up, I had to present myself in person at the bank to the officer handling the trust–a Mr. Hicks. Then, I had to give him the password I had created when the trust was activated. There was no way anybody but me could get at the money. Vic explained that he needed the information to set up things so I could access the money from my new home in Canada. A letter would authorize a deduction from my new Canadian bank account to pay the balance of Vic’s fee. And of course, I had no intention of telling anyone what I was up to. As Vic had said, the government had spies everywhere. I certainly believed that.

I left the Sunshine Club with the weight of the world off my shoulders. In two days, I would be free of the army and on my way out of the country. I wanted to tell the world, but Vic had impressed upon me the need for secrecy. “The government would love to find out about us and shut us down,” he had explained.

So it was a very happy Terry Miller who joined Brad and Tommy for a pizza and beer that night. They were both busy bitching about their summer class loads. Both of them needed to make up a couple of courses to stay on track in school.

“So why are you so happy?” Brad finally asked.

“Oh,” I lied, “I guess it just makes me feel good to know I don’t have to put up with school this summer.”

“You’ll be in school all right,” Brad warned. “Only your new school will be how to dodge bullets and clean latrines.”

Both Brad and Tommy laughed at that.

“Yuk it up guys,” I told them. “I have no plans to go into the army.”

“Going to Canada?” Tommy asked casually. ‘Maybe too casually,’ I thought.

“Maybe,” I allowed.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “Be careful, pal. Canada may not be the answer.” I shrugged. I wanted to tell them both what I was up to, but I took Vic’s words of caution to heart. What if one of these guys was a government agent? It didn’t seem likely. At least I was sure about Brad. I had known him too long–even roomed with him. Of course, the government could always be paying somebody like Brad.

Then there was Tommy. I hadn’t known him all that long, but he didn’t seem like the agent type. Granted, he was a little more mature than most of my other friends, but that didn’t make him an agent. ‘But he could be,’ I thought. I was sorry I hadn’t taken the time to know Tommy better. I kind of liked the guy. I wanted to trust him, but I couldn’t.

As I’ve said before, being eligible for the draft in the late sixties tended to make one just a little paranoid. I carefully changed the conversation. Nobody brought it up again.

I practically counted the hours until I could go back to the Sunshine Club. I didn’t have that much to keep me busy. I got the information on the trust account and got the thousand for the down payment and stuffed the ten one-hundred dollar bills into an economy-sized aspirin bottle in my medicine cabinet.

Then I spent the next day wandering around some of my old haunts in Berkeley. I even managed to get lucky. I met a young freshman coed, too young and fresh on campus to have figured out that just about anybody could have helped her to score some pot. I split what I had with her, and she spent the night with me.

Yeah, life was good. I had found a way out of the draft and gotten laid, all in the past twenty-four hours. In a couple of months, I’d have a goodly chunk of my inheritance. I’d wait out the war in Canada, maybe doing a little freelance art.

The day I was to meet with Vic, I decided to sleep in. After all, I didn’t have to be there until two. Because I had been avoiding my friends, I had not partied the night before and had actually gone to bed early. So I was actually alert when I heard the sound of someone pounding on my door early that morning.

“Who is it?” I yelled angrily, disturbed that my sleep had been interrupted.

“It’s Drew, man.”

Drew? What was here doing at my door. Sleepily, in nothing but my skivvies, I opened the door.

“Drew?”

He jumped inside. “Come on man, it’s time to go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Your appointment has been moved up. I’m supposed to take you there.”

For the first time, I began to realize Drew was a bigger part of the operation than I had thought. I had considered him just a friend with a contact who could help me. Now, I realized he was a part of the whole scheme. ‘Well, why not?’ I thought. It made sense. I mean, these guys couldn’t exactly advertise in the Yellow Pages. Maybe they found guys on campus who were against the war and got their help in recruiting draft dodgers. So what if they made a little money on the side? It was the American way.

“Let me get dressed,” I said. “Do I need to pack?”

“It’ll be taken care of, man,” he assured me. “Now get going. The Feds have been snooping around lately. They may be on to you.”

“But I didn’t tell anybody,” I protested.

“Just hurry.”

It doesn’t take long to throw on a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and some sandals. I didn’t even bother to shave. All I did was use some pit stop and run a comb through my longish hair. I got the cash out of the bottle and stuffed it in my jeans pocket. I was ready in five minutes.

Drew drove silently out of Berkeley as I catnapped. He cautiously checked his mirror a couple of times to make sure we weren’t being followed before finally turning onto the freeway. Once over the Bay Bridge, I was surprised when he didn’t turn off to go to North Beach.

“You missed your turn,” I told him.

He shook his head. “We’re not going to the Sunshine Club. The Feds may have made the place. Don’t worry–I know where I’m going.”

It turned out we were going to a small warehouse in South San Francisco. It was a rundown part of town–not exactly the area I would want to walk through alone, even in daylight. Most of the residents either worked days at Hunter’s Point, working on Naval ships being refitted there, or they worked nights at Hunter’s Point, sleeping during the day. The only people out on the streets during the day were usually up to no good.

As if by magic, the warehouse door went up and Drew drove on in. Vic was waiting there with two other guys. They were all dressed about like I was. None of us looked out of place in the seamy neighborhood.

“Any trouble?” Vic asked Drew.

“Not a bit,” he replied.

Vic visibly relaxed. He slapped me on the back. “Well, kid, you ready to go?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. I would be lying if I didn’t admit I was having second thoughts about this whole thing. I was about to give up my old life for something else. If I’d known then just how much of my old life I was really giving up, I would have run out the nearest door and not stopped until I was back in Berkeley, no matter how tough the neighborhood outside was.

“You got the cash and the pass codes and the letter?” he asked.

“Right here,” I said, pulling the letter and the pass codes out of my wallet and the money out of my jeans pocket.

Vic examined everything. Satisfied, he turned to the guy next to him. “Everything’s okay.”

Suddenly, the other guy grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my side. The guy Vic had talked to pulled a syringe out of his pocket and started toward me.

“Hey!” I yelled. “What the hell is going on here?”

Vic and Drew were grinning. It was Drew who answered. “We’re just giving you your new identity, man.”

He emphasized the word “man.” Why had everyone laughed when he did? That was the last thought I had, for as he plunged the syringe into my arm, the world almost instantly went black.

It was like a bad trip on LSD. The world returned in bits and pieces. It felt like I was in the back of a truck or something. I could hear the sound of tires on pavement and feel the slight bumping and swaying associated with freeway travel. I tried to move, but I was tied to some sort of bed. There were two faces looking down at me as I squinted, trying to get my drugged eyes to focus. One looked a little like Vic, and the other one looked a little like the black girl who had been in his office.

I could hear them talking, but I couldn’t quite make out the words. It sounded as if Vic said something like “He’s looking good.” Actually, it sounded more like “she” than “he,” but it had to be me they were talking about. My drugged mind thought it must have heard wrong.

Then the girl said something like “Is he all right?” Yes, she had said “he,” so I must have heard wrong.

Vic grinned. “Yeah. Everything is going just fine.”

I shifted uncomfortably, trying to wake up completely, but not able to do so. I felt... funny. It was hard to describe, but my body felt as if it was somehow different. No problem, man, I told myself. Drugs can do funny things to you. Yeah. Isn’t that the truth?

I woke up in the middle of a Disney movie. By that, I mean my eyes focused on an open window. Outside, in the warmth of a bright summer day, birds were merrily chirping from the limbs of a huge oak tree, and there were the distant sounds of farm animals. Horses? Cows? Probably both.

I looked around the room, still too weak to move. The room looked like what you would expect down on the farm. There were floral curtains on the white-trimmed windows, a simple pine dresser, a small table and chair with a mirror attached to the back of the table.

Where was I? I managed to move my eyes down. I could see my body, or what had to be my body, covered by a thin white sheet. But there was something wrong with what I saw. I wasn’t exactly in the habit of looking down at my own chest when I woke up, but being unable to move much, it was as good a target as any. My body looked somehow smaller than I remembered. But in spite of that, the sheet seemed to rise oddly, almost as if my chest was topped off with two...

No. It couldn’t be possible. I couldn’t have... I mean I shouldn’t have...

I tried to scream, but all that came out of my mouth was a weak moan, and even that didn’t sound right. It was much higher than it should have been. I wasn’t exactly a baritone, but since when was I a soprano?

The door opened suddenly, and I was greeted with Vic’s smiling face. “Well, welcome back to the land of the living, Terry.”

“Wha... wha...?”

“What have we done to you?” he finished for me. “I think that should be pretty obvious–even to you. Now, just relax and don’t try to move. I’ll explain what we’ve done when you’re up and around. Oh, and when you can get up, don’t bother trying to leave the room. The door and window are alarmed. Besides, it would be a nasty drop to the ground. You should start to regain control of your body in another hour or so. “’Til then, Terry.”

As he shut the door, I could hear him chuckle. The bastard! Yes, I knew what they had done to me–not how but what. I was now a girl. I knew it was possible. There was that Christine Jorgenson case back in the fifties, and I knew that a few places in the US were doing it now, or so I had heard. Had they operated on me? It was funny, but I remembered having my tonsils taken out when I was a little boy. My throat felt terrible when I woke up. But I didn’t feel terrible now–at least not physically. If I had just been through a major sex-change operation, I should have felt like shit.

Instead, I actually felt pretty good. There were new sensations, but none of them were physically unpleasant–with one exception. That exception was the feeling between my legs. My legs were closed, yet I felt nothing in between them. By all rights, I should have been squishing my prick and balls, but I wasn’t. There was nothing there–or at least nothing on the outside. I knew what that meant, and felt a sudden frustrating sense of loss. You take your equipment for granted, never really noticing it until you get hit there or it gets hard. But when it’s gone, you know. Believe me, you know. I’ve heard that when you lose an arm or a leg, there is this sensation that it is somehow still there. Well, when you lose your dick, it just ain’t so. Instead, I could sense rather than feel an opening where it should have been.

I looked again at the two mounds on my chest. I couldn’t make out their exact shape through the sheet, but they looked to be pretty large. If they were large while I was lying on my back, I hated to think what they would be like when I stood up.

I wondered what I looked like. Now, there I was, in a drugged stupor, unable to make more than small movements, worrying about how I looked. Was that a feminine response? That didn’t seem reasonable. If they had operated on me, I was still really male–deep down at least. My chromosomes would still be XY. Only the outer shape would have changed. But I had a sudden sense that they hadn’t operated on me. Feminine intuition? Yeah, sure.

I began to realize as I lay there unable to move much, that wondering what I looked like wasn’t a feminine reaction–it was a human reaction. As a guy, I wasn’t bad looking. I had my share of girls, and I had lost my virginity when I was fifteen. I guess I just wanted to know if I wasn’t bad looking as a girl. I pitied homely girls. The world wasn’t exactly kind to them.

After what seemed like an eternity, I began to get control over my body once more. It was a gradual process, starting in my extremities. I could feel my fingers and toes moving. What did they look like? Did I have delicate little flower petal toes and slim, fingers? I wouldn’t if I had been the victim of surgery, but I was still convinced that the answers didn’t lie on the operating table.

Next, I was able to move a little from side to side. I experienced for the first time the motion of breasts on my chest, swinging with authority with each shift of my body. How would I even be able to walk with those huge things sticking out? Then, I could feel the shift of my hips and ass. It was as if I had a pillow under my butt. Even though I couldn’t feel my waist, I was convinced that it was now much slimmer–a fitting compliment to my new breasts and hips.

As I began to move my head, I noticed that my hair seemed longer. Long hair was fashionable for guys in the late sixties, and mine was fairly long, but not that long. Again I realized, no operation would have changed the length of my hair. What had happened to me? Magic? No, I really didn’t believe in magic, but what else would explain what had happened to me?

The door opened suddenly. It was the black girl from Vic’s office. What had he called her? Oh yeah, Julie. “Okay, honey,” she said in a soft voice, as dusky as her skin, “it’s time for you to get up and start to learn to be a girl.”

“Don’ wan’ to...” I managed to mumble.

She shook her head in sad resignation. “It doesn’t matter what you want anymore, honey,” she said, barely above a whisper. “The sooner you figure that out, the better your new life is gonna be. You take it from me. You just do what Julie tells you and it won’t be too bad.”

I had always been a trusting soul. That was what had gotten me into the fix I was in. Now, somebody else was asking me to trust them. I didn’t know this girl, but something deep inside told me she was the only one in this entire mess that I could... trust? No, that’s the wrong word. She was the only one who I could depend upon–yes, depend was the word–to get me through this ordeal.

“Now come on,” she urged, gently wrapping her arm around my back. “Let’s get you out of bed and on your feet. You’ve got a lot to learn, and these guys aren’t going to give you a lot of time to learn it.”

“Learn?” I managed, holding on to her for support.

“Yeah honey, I already told you. You have to learn to be a girl–and don’t tell me you don’t want to. We’ve already been down that road.”

As much as I didn’t want to learn, I knew I would probably have to. Vic and his gang hadn’t done this to me for the fun of it. They had something in mind, but my stupefied brain was too scrambled to figure out what it was. I would just have to play along and do what I was told until I got my full mental faculties back.

‘But what if I couldn’t?’ I thought as I struggled to my feet. What if the same power that had changed my body had changed my mind? Hey, I was no genius, but I had always been a bright if naíve and unmotivated guy. What if they had given me the mental abilities of a moronic little sexpot, driven only by my sexual desires? Funny, I didn’t feel any sexual desires. And I didn’t feel any more stupid than I had been when I had blundered into this little trap. I would just have to bide my time, I realized.

I was glad for Julie’s help in walking. Even if I hadn’t been so groggy, I think I would have had a difficult time walking with my new center of gravity. As a man, my weight had seemed to be evenly distributed throughout my torso. Now though, the strange swinging of my breasts and my widened hips seemed to almost throw me out in an obtuse direction.

“Don’t worry, honey,” Julie urged, sensing my problem, “you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

I didn’t want to get used to it, I thought.

She walked me slowly over to a full-length mirror which had been out of my line of sight before. So for the first time, leaning against Julie for much-needed support, I saw what they had done to me. I wore nothing on my new body, so the entire tableau was laid out before me. There could be no denying what I was now. Any trace of my male existence had been wiped clean. Oh, I still looked a little like I had looked before. I could have been some long-lost twin sister. My hair could still be called chestnut, only it tended to lean more to the red shades than the brown. In fact, auburn would be a better description of it now. Also, it seemed to have more body and luster than I remembered, and it was noticeably longer, hanging down to my shoulders. My skin was still fair and my eyes were still blue.

Yes, I was still a Miller, but not the one I had been before this process had begun. I now had a face that could be called “cute.” I don’t know if I would have used the word “pretty,” but it was close. My blue eyes seemed slightly larger, yet softer, due to the shape of my eyelids. My nose was now curved and pert, instead of the larger, straighter one I had had before. My lips were fuller, and I couldn’t help but wonder perversely what they would look like accented by lipstick.

As I slowly gazed down my body, I saw my neck was now slimmer, supported by narrower shoulders. My breasts were large, but not huge, appearing to be about the size of my mother’s breasts. And why not? I was the daughter she had never had–until now. My waist was feminine, but not exaggerated, flaring into wide hips. A bit too wide? No, but I knew what some would call them: child-bearing hips. It caused me to shudder.

My arms and legs were hairless and slender–actually graceful. I looked at my hands. They seemed almost tiny now, with long manicured nails.

The legs were probably my best asset, I thought as dispassionately as I could. They were the sort of legs that men would notice. Encased in nylon and supported on high heels, they would be one of the first things any guy would be impressed with. No wonder women felt they were being watched all the time. From the front, they would notice my well-formed breasts, and from the rear, they would appreciate my well-formed ass and legs. No matter what the angle, I would be noticed. I didn’t want this, I thought, as I felt moisture forming at the corners of my eyes. I didn’t want this at all.

“Oh, don’t cry, honey,” Julie said with sympathy as I sat back down on the bed. “It’s not that bad, and you’re really very pretty. If you do what I tell you, it won’t be bad at all. Just look at me.”

“Y... you?” I stammered, sniffing.

She nodded in a most sisterly fashion. “Sure. You remember a guy named Henry Williams?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “He was a football player at school. Drew mentioned him just the other day.”

She snorted. “Drew–that little prick. I’d like to stick him with the same needle they got me with. See how he’d like prancing around in high heels. Ah, what the hell. The little shit probably wears ’em anyway.”

“So?” I prompted.

“Well,” she explained, “I’m Henry Williams. Or at least I was.”

They say misery loves company. It’s true. As I realized that Julie had been a guy too, it made me feel a little better. “So I’m not alone?” I asked slowly. Even after what had happened to me, it seemed unbelievable that this slim, attractive black goddess could have ever been a man.

“No, you’re certainly not alone,” she told me. “I’ve been this way for a few months now, and I’ve seen a couple of dozen guys changed.”

“But why?” I asked plaintively. “What possible reason do they have to do this to me... us? Aren’t there already enough girls in the world?”

“Sure,” she agreed, sitting down beside me on the bed. “But think about it. If you kidnap a girl and sell her, somebody might come looking. If you kidnap a guy who was trying to run away to begin with and change him into a girl, who’s to know? As far as everybody knows, you’re up in Canada right now dodging the draft.”

“But how?” I was becoming more terrified by the second. Kidnapped? Sold? This was part of a white slavery ring. I knew they existed, but I never thought I would have to worry about one. How much would I be worth? I wondered perversely. I shuddered at the idea.

She sighed. “They’ve got a drug. I don’t know where they got it. Maybe they developed it or maybe they stole it. In any case, it works. What happens is that it turns you into a female version of yourself. Actually, I think it goes a little further than that, because I’ve got two sisters who don’t look nearly as good as I do. So it must be designed to turn you into the best possible female version of yourself.”

“So this is that I would look like if I had been born female?” I asked, gesturing at my new body.

She nodded. “Pretty much, if you were lucky. Now let me tell you the rest. They’ll be expecting me to be teaching you how to be a girl. You know, how to use makeup and do your hair. Then they’ll turn you over to Penny for finishing. So just be quiet for now and ask the questions later.”

So I listened. It wasn’t a comforting story. Vic and his gang ran a typical corner candy store crime operation. With the Sunshine Club as a base of operations, they were into a little drugs and a little prostitution–nothing big enough to draw the attention of any of the large criminal operations in the Bay Area, but enough to be pretty profitable. Then, out of nowhere it seemed, they had come up with this miracle drug that had changed my sex. The rumor was they stole it from someone.

I was apparently a typical victim. It was somehow good to know that I had challengers for the title of Stupidest and Most Naíve Guy in the Bay Area. They would find someone like me who wanted to avoid the draft. They wouldn’t choose just anyone: they only wanted guys who had no other option but had the money to finance their flight and then some. Then they would take their up-front money, change them into girls, sell them, and rake in whatever other money their poor suckers had stashed.

“I still had almost fifteen thousand in an account,” Julie told me. “I made it supplying the team with drugs.” She had the decency to look a little embarrassed her former part-time career as a drug merchant. “They took me for three grand up front and then got the rest out of my account after they changed me.”

“Ow!” I yelled. She had started working on my hair as I sat at the little makeup table. When she thought about losing the money, she had tugged a little hard on it.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“So how come you weren’t... sold?” I asked with a little shudder.

“Vic took a liking to me,” she said simply. “He has a thing for black girls. You know the old saying: Once you try black, you’ll never go back.” In the mirror, I could see her grin. I actually had to smile at that myself. “So instead of selling me off, he decided to keep me for himself. Besides, black girls don’t sell for as much as white ones. There are sources for black girls in other parts of the world. Most of Vic’s customers are third world types who really get off at the idea of having some nice little middle class white American chick to bang. Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” I replied, my voice quaking, but Julie knew I was very, very upset. There was a real irony here. I had gone to Vic because I wanted to avoid slogging around in some Asian jungle and risk getting my balls shot off. Now, here I was, in great risk of going someplace like Asia anyway, only with no balls left to shoot off.

“Look, I’ll tell you a secret,” Julie said softly. “Deep down, Vic is sort of a soft touch. I hear you’ve got a big trust fund, so he’ll make plenty of money off you even without selling you. If you act real nice and don’t fight him, he’ll probably hold you back to sell to somebody pretty decent. There’s some out there, I guess–guys who take care of their women. Why, if you play your cards right, in a couple of months, you may be shopping for new dresses in Paris with your own American Express card. It’s been known to happen.”

That sounded okay in an odd way, but Vic wasn’t going to be very happy when he found out that most of my trust fund wouldn’t be available until I was twenty-five–almost four years away. Sure, he could get his hands on the $25,000 I was to get at twenty-one, but no more. I’d be lucky if I didn’t end up serving girl to some little tin pot strongman in some unpronounceable country I had never even heard of. I was going to have to figure out some way to get away, or my little feminine goose was going to be cooked.

But how long did I have? When this whole mess started, I was two months away from my twenty-first birthday. That was when the shit would hit the fan–when they found out they couldn’t get all my money. I had apparently been out for a few days, so I had maybe six or seven weeks to go. I doubted if I would be sold before then. They needed me, just in case something went wrong at the bank. But once they had my money–or at least, the money they could lay their hands on–I’d be sold in a heartbeat.

“Now,” Julie said with feigned brightness, “let’s get you dressed. You must be cold.”

Actually, I was, but I still hadn’t asked for any clothing. I knew the nature of the clothes they would have given me, and I wasn’t wrong. Julie handed me a pair of pink panties, silken to the touch, and supported my still-weak body as I put them on. A bra followed, matching the panties in color and cut to accentuate my breasts. Part of me was happy to have my sex covered by these items, but another part of me realized that I would probably have to wear similar garments for the rest of my life.

Or would I? Was there a way back to manhood. I casually asked the question, only to have that tiny thread of hope cut with her reply. “No, I understand it’s one way only,” she told me. “Apparently, it latches on to the Y chromosome and makes it mirror the X chromosome. Then, it sets off a chain of events in the body that causes the change. It’s pretty rough on the body. You looked like a mess while you were changing. That’s why you sleep through most of the process.”

“So how long was I out?” I asked as casually as I could as she slipped a neon pink mini-dress over my head.

“About ten days,” she told me. “It’s an amazing process. Your body gets all the energy it needs from elements of your male body. Did you know you’re about five inches shorter than you used to be?”

I shook my head, feeling the auburn tresses wafting along my neck. I hadn’t known for sure, but I had suspected. That would make me about five-five or five-six. At least I wasn’t some little dainty five foot tall flower.

Julie tugged at the dress to make sure it fit right. It rode high on my new thighs and was tight all over. The sleeves were fairly long, coming almost to my slender wrists, but the neckline plunged to nearly the top of my nipples. There was no denying that I was all girl.

“Hike your skirt and sit on the bed,” she said. “I forgot your pantyhose.”

She then instructed me on how to slide the hose up my legs. I at last knew how a sausage must feel inside its casing. They seemed to retain heat as well, making my crotch feel warmer than it should. Or was it something else that made my new sexual equipment feel so warm? I hoped not. It had to be the pantyhose. I prayed it was just the pantyhose.

Go-go boots were next. They were pink and shiny and matched in hue the dress I wore. They had a heel of perhaps two inches, and I wobbled as I tried to stand in them. I wondered if the dancers I had seen at the Sunshine Club were transformees as well. They had also seemed a little unsure in their go-go boots. Maybe I was the next feature attraction at the Sunshine Club. I’d rather die first, I thought grimly to myself.

“Now, the finishing touches,” Julie muttered. “Hold still.”

Before I could realize what was happening, I felt a sharp pinch on my right earlobe.

“Ow! What the hell are you doing?”

“Ladies shouldn’t swear,” she said lightly. “I’m piercing your ears. Now hold still or it’ll hurt worse.” There was a pinch on my left ear as well.

Moments later, I had been given the full treatment. I had earrings, but only small studs instead of the more popular hoops of the times. Nothing bigger until my lobes had a little chance to heal, Julie explained. I wore a thin gold chain necklace. At its center was a round peace symbol, dangling down over my full breasts. Fitting for a draft dodger, I supposed. Cosmetics of the sixties were usually quite pronounced, and Julie had done a masterful job. My lipstick and long, shaped fingernails matched my dress, and my eyelids had taken on a smoky look, with long lashes which fluttered as I watched the entire picture with a mixture of horror and fascination.

“Not too bad, Terry,” Julie commented critically. “I’ve seen better, but you’re up there with the best. I suppose it should be Teri with an ‘i’ now instead of T-e-r-r-y.”

“I suppose so,” I admitted. At least I had a name which didn’t sound too bad on a girl. I could see why they had changed Henry to Julie. Henrietta didn’t seem like much of a name to be stuck with. “So do I get a new ID or something now?” I asked.

She shook her head ruefully. “I wish. No, girls like you and me only get as much identity as our owners want. Vic didn’t give me anything–not even a last name. I’m just ‘Julie.’ I’ve got no driver’s license, no Social Security card–nothing. You see, that’s why I do what he tells me. Without Vic, I’m nobody, and bad things happen to people like that.”

I could see her point. What better way to keep a woman in virtual slavery than to make sure she lacked proper identification? If I were to escape and go to the police, they would never believe that I was Terry Miller–a man. Instead, I would be pegged as one of the thousands of runaway girls who flocked to California to ‘find themselves’ only to be dragged into the drug culture and a life on the streets. They would just figure I had burned my brain out on one of dozens of available drugs. I’d end up in a psychiatric hospital someplace until I was “evaluated.” Then, I’d be thrust back out on the street to live my life as best I could. That would leave me with a promising future of blowing guys for lunch money.

These dark thought started the tears again.

“Don’t cry, honey,” Julie said solicitously. “You’re gonna ruin that makeup. You need to look nice when they come tonight.”

“When who comes?” I asked. Was I to be sold already?

“Oh, just Vic,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He likes to check out all the new girls.”

“Check out?” I repeated warily. I had terrible visions of what that innocent phrase might entail.

Julie laughed, “Oh, nothing like that, Teri. You’re a virgin and you’ll stay one until you’re sold. Virgins are worth extra money–particularly ones like you. They’ll make up some story that you were raised in a conservative Midwestern family and never had a serious relationship. They’ll tell you what the story is, and you’ll follow it.”

“What happens if I don’t?” I asked a little defiantly. I felt a little more confident knowing I wasn’t going to have to put out for Vic–or anybody else for that matter. At least not until I was sold.

“Then, honey,” she said ominously, “you’re in for big trouble. Remember when I told you Vic was into prostitution before he got the drug?”

I nodded.

“Well, he still is,” she explained. “One misstep and you’ll be out on the street, your head full of drugs, turning tricks for the man.” She opened the door, but before closing it added, “Give it a chance, Teri. I kinda like you, and I’d hate to see you out on the street like that.” The door shut behind her.

So I was alone with my thoughts. Julie had promised I would only have to remain dressed like I was until Vic had seen me. Then, she had promised to try to bring me more casual clothes. She had impressed upon me the need to keep Vic happy, but I doubted if I would be able to do so long term. Oh sure, I could play the happy little nymphet, learning how to be the best girl I could be, but in the long run, Vic would be displeased. In six weeks, when he or one of his men went to the bank to get my money and found out that most of it would be out of reach for another four years. There would be hell to pay. I’d probably end up in one of Vic’s brothels, blowing guys for twenty bucks each.

Damn! That thought had actually made me... horny? Well, maybe not horny, but I could feel a tingle between my legs and at each of my nipples. Did it mean I was turning into a qu...? No, I guess I couldn’t be considered queer if I was attracted to men now. Mentally, though, I wasn’t attracted to men at all, but my body didn’t care about that. It was like the feeling you get when your stomach says ‘no, I’m full,’ but your mouth says ‘gee, that would taste good.’

Back to business, though. I guessed I really didn’t have much of a choice. If I fought what had happened to me, I would take crap from the first of it. Come to think of it, I would still be a virgin if I gave blowjobs. That would probably be my fate if I displeased Vic and his men–that or worse. There was also anal penetration. I shuddered. Until that day, I had never realized how many ways there were to debase a girl. I had never had to worry about it before.

No, my only chance of getting out of this whole mess with a remaining shred of dignity was to try to be the best little girl I could be. I’d be cheerful, submissive, feminine, and all the other things I detested. Then maybe–just maybe–they’d let down their guard long enough for me to get away.

Of course, once I got away, what could I do? I would be a young, pretty woman with no funds and no identity. The authorities would be no help. Or would they? The police might not help, but how about the military? No, I told myself sadly, the military would be no help either. If I told them who I was, they would just assume that I was some love-struck girl trying to help her boyfriend–the real Terry Miller–get out of the draft. I was suddenly reminded of the old song, made popular by the Chad Mitchell Trio lately, called the Draft Dodger Rag. It started out ‘Sarge, I’m only eighteen, I’ve got a ruptured spleen, and I always carry a purse.’ Well, I was a little over eighteen, and my spleen was fine, but it looked like I would have to spend the rest of my life carrying a purse.

My thoughts were interrupted by the click of the door lock. I stood up guiltily from the bed where I had been sitting, thinking, almost as if I was frightened that whoever was coming had been reading my thoughts. It probably worked to my advantage though, for my eyes were undoubtedly wide and beautiful and my painted lips were open in a wide, feminine “oh.”

It was Vic, followed closely by a leering Drew. Vic actually gave me a friendly smile when he saw me.

“Teri,” he said, sounding like the Vic I had first met, “you look absolutely fantastic. Doesn’t she look fantastic, Drew?”

“You’re a good looking babe, Teri,” Drew said with a grin that spoke volumes about what he would like to do to me.

Vic waved his hand. “Turn around, slowly... slowly.”

“Nice ass,” Drew commented. I could feel my face redden as I turned. I was glad my back was to him to the son of a bitch couldn’t see how he had embarrassed me. And I had thought the asshole was my friend!

When I had turned back to face them, Vic said, “I like the outfit. Maybe we could use you at the club for a while. Of course, you’d have to promise to behave yourself. Can you behave yourself, Teri?”

I didn’t want to sound too effusive, so I just replied, “Do I have a choice?”

“Oh, you’ve got a choice, babe,” Drew said, barely disguising the menace in his voice. “You can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“What my young friend is trying to say,” Vic broke in, “is that the more you cooperate, the more privileged life you’ll lead. I’m sure Julie told you what this is all about.”

He waited until I had nodded before continuing, “Then you can see that by cooperating with us, we can all profit. One way or the other, we’ll get your money, and we’ll get a good price for you. But if you’re a good girl, I promise you I’ll do my best to sell you to someone who will treat you right. Just think–you might actually end up a lot better off than you would have been as a man. Being someone’s pretty young mistress wouldn’t be a bad life. Some of our clients have actually married our girls. One is even expecting her first child.”

I must have winced, for Vic went on, “Oh yes, you have all the plumbing now. You’ll begin to ovulate in a few weeks. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, or so I’m told.”

“Vic, maybe we could keep this one,” Drew said suddenly. Vic looked surprised as Drew explained, “Well, I mean you have Julie. I kind of liked the way this one turned out. I mean, when I knew him as a guy, I never expected him to come out looking this good.”

Vic smiled. “Well, Drew, anything is possible.” Then, turning to me, “Would you like that, Teri? You and Drew would make an attractive couple. Maybe I should consider it.”

I hated Vic for what he had done to me, but I despised Drew. I had thought Drew was my friend, but he turned out to be my Judas. I would make love to every wino on lower Broadway in Oakland before I’d let Drew lay a hand on me. Drew missed it. His eyes were too fixed on my breasts, but Vic saw how I felt, just by looking into my eyes. I had a feeling that cooperating with Vic would keep me away from Drew, so I’d do my best.

“Well, I’m sure you’re tired, my dear,” Vic said solicitously. “We’ll let you get some rest. Your training will start in the morning.”

With that, he turned to leave. Drew followed, taking time only to give me a sly smile over his shoulder. As the door closed behind them, I nearly collapsed on the bed.

Julie entered the room a few minutes later. She had a white feminine nightie in her hand and a smile on her face. So much for casual clothes. “You did fine,” she told me, sitting beside me on the bed. “Vic likes you. He thinks you’re a ‘spirited colt who’ll take to training’ as he says.” She grinned. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be fine.”

As she started to rise, I put out a hand on her hand to stop her. “Julie, why are you helping me? Is it just part of your job?”

She looked at me sadly for a moment before replying. “That’s part of it,” she replied softly. “I’d be lying if I told you otherwise. But...”

I squeezed her hand. “Julie, you can tell me. I’ve already come to think of you as a friend. Right now, you’re my only friend.”

“Well,” she began slowly, “I’m black.”

She stopped for a moment, forcing me to smile and say, “I noticed.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think you really understand what it means to be black. My great grandfather was born a slave. Family legend says he told all his children to work hard, or they’d be slaves–in deed if not in word. So we’ve always been a hardworking family. My grandfather started a little grocery business. Then my father built it into a small chain of grocery stores back in the Midwest. I was supposed to go to college and go back home to take over the stores.”

“But I thought you came out of the projects,” I said. “At least that’s what I heard.”

Julie shook her head. “No, that’s the story I told everybody, because I was too embarrassed to tell the truth. The truth is that my family found out about my drug habit. They cut me off entirely when they found out I was dealing. Now, my younger brother will run the stores when he finishes school. I managed to stay in school with the athletic scholarship, but I didn’t have what it took–on or off the field. The drugs had done their damage to me. So I flunked out. There wasn’t anyone back home who’d have anything to do with me. I was draft bait.”

“But wouldn’t your drug use have disqualified you for military service?” I asked naívely.

Julie grinned. “You know, Teri, I think that’s why I like you. You’re so damned innocent. The Army doesn’t care. They need bodies. There’s ways around the drug use clause. They just induct you and tell you what they’ll do to you if they catch you using them on Army time. Hell, half the troops in ’Nam probably use drugs, and the other half are probably thinking about it.”

I knew she was right. I mean, if drug use was enough to get you out of the Army, what did I have to worry about? But I knew they would have taken me anyway. “So you found Vic.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “It was that little prick Drew who set me up. He’s Vic’s best salesman. And why not? He hangs around Berkeley, takes a few classes, drinks a few beers with the guys, and reels in the fish. That’s what I was, too–a fish. They took all the money I had stashed for my getaway and turned me into Black Beauty here.”

“So how did you end up staying with Vic?” I asked softly.

“Remember what I told you about slavery?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Well, being sold is being in slavery. When I woke up in this new body, the effects of the drugs I had taken as Henry were all gone. That’s one of the side effects. The process washes all the bad shit out of your system, leaving you in perfect health. I guess in a way, they did me a favor. I woke up thinking clearly for the first time since starting drugs in high school.

“Anyway, I started thinking about what had happened–and what was about to happen. I was about to be sold, just like my ancestors were sold over a hundred years ago. It was like everything had come full circle. I wouldn’t mind the sex-change half as much if I could be free. So I sidled up to Vic. It didn’t take long for me to figure he had a thing for black girls. The next thing I knew, I was his girl.”

“Well,” I commented, “it sounds like things worked out okay for you.”

She looked at me, stunned. “Okay? Okay?” She laughed nervously. “Why honey, it’s been a lot of things, but not okay. I’m still a slave. I gotta make Vic happy all the time, or I’ll be out there on the auction block just like my ancestors. Oh sure, I fooled myself for a little while, but not too long. We’re all slaves when they get done with us. Some just lead more pampered lives than others.”

With that, she began to cry. I could think of nothing to say, and just held her for a while.

When Julie got herself back together, we were even closer. It was almost as if we were brothers–or rather, sisters–despite our different skin colors. She helped me get ready for bed, carefully explaining all the important evening ablutions–taking off my makeup, wiping after I peed, and so on. In other words, she gave me a crash course in the things little girls begin to learn when they’re barely old enough to walk. By the time I climbed between the covers, I was too tired to think much about the short, frilly garment covering (just barely) my body. I fell asleep without another thought.

“Time to get up.” It was Julie’s voice.

I rolled over, feeling my new breasts roll as a wave. “What time is it?” I muttered.

“It’s seven,” she told me. “Come on, you have a full day of training ahead of you. Time to go to how-to-be-a-girl school. I wanted to introduce you to your instructor before I left.”

“You’re leaving?” I asked, suddenly worried. Julie had quickly become my anchor in a sea of troubles.

“Got to,” she replied simply. “Vic wants to get back to the city. The work of making men into women is never done.”

“So when will I see you again?” I asked, donning the bra and panties she handed me.

A sad look crossed her face. “I don’t know, honey. We may never meet again. I just work here, you know.” Then a little brighter, she added, “Look, don’t worry. Penny’s your instructor. She was my instructor, too. She’s real nice–and a real girl, too! You just do what she tells you to do and you’ll be fine.”

I sighed. As much as I had come to like Julie, her primary advice always seemed to be to do whatever someone else told me to do. It seemed as if that was going to be the story of the rest of my life.

With Julie’s help, I was soon ready to meet my trainer. Julie helped me get the makeup right, with only an occasional helpful pointer. She then got me into a satiny button-up blouse, an Apache tie in blue paisley around my neck in lieu of a necklace, and a tight denim miniskirt. There was even a matching pair of denim go-go boots. ‘Oh well,’ I thought, slipping into them, ‘at least they weren’t pink like the ones I had worn before.’

Penny–if that was her real name–was as nice as Julie had told me. I had halfway been expecting an Amazon in leather cracking a whip with her every order, but apparently I had seen too many sleazy movies. Penny looked like the proverbial girl next door, about my age, with dark blonde hair, light, natural makeup, wearing an outfit not unlike my own, only with a pastel green skirt and heeled sandals instead of my go-go boots. I envied her that touch. Her sandals showed more leg, which I wasn’t sure I wanted to show, but they looked a lot cooler.

She waited silently while Julie and I hugged and cried a little at losing each other. I knew it was the blasted female hormones kicking in that were making me cry, but I really did feel like I was losing part of my family.

“Okay now,” Penny said in a bright, perky voice. “Let’s see what needs to be done to turn you into a proper young lady.”

I don’t really want to go into all the details of my training. Although a pleasant woman, Penny was a willing member of Vic’s gang. She might look like the girl next door, I realized, but a good part of it was an act. As the week went on, I began to learn in bits and pieces what had brought her to this job. She had been a good actress in high school back in the Midwest someplace. That had encouraged her to head to California, like so many other young girls. In Los Angeles, she found–as many girls did–that there were few opportunities for young actresses without contacts. She managed a few walk-ons, but her ‘career’ quickly degenerated into waitressing and finally, prostitution.

Her innocent features had led her to a new acting role. Vic, her employer by then, had noticed how her schoolgirl appearance came through even the degradation of her prostitution. He encouraged it, and soon, she was one of his most popular girls. So when the drug, which I found they called “Morph,” became available, Penny was tapped to do most of the training.

“No! No! No!” she yelled at me as I sat down, trying to demurely straighten my skirt. “Not like that!” she insisted, motioning me out of my chair. “You look as if you’re trying to pull down your Jockey shorts instead of straightening a skirt. You don’t tug it so dramatically. You pull it gently... like this.”

She sat down gracefully, her right leg crossed perfectly over her left, as she lightly pulled her short miniskirt down to cover perhaps another inch of leg. That was my problem, I realized. I really had been trying to pull my skirt down too far. I didn’t want any of my legs to show when it came right down to it. If I could have figured out how to pull my skirt all the way down to my ankles and still cover my sexy little ass, I would have done it.

I had been in Penny’s not-so-gentle care for over a week. In that week, she had endeavored to teach me all the things little girls learn over the years from their mothers. I tried to be a good pupil, but I was never a particularly quick study. And deep down, under the auburn tresses and ample breasts and ass, I still felt like a man in drag.

That isn’t to say that I wasn’t changing. It was impossible to be immersed in femininity for days on end without becoming a different person. My new skin seemed to need softer clothing–the silkier the better. My long hair required attention. Balancing on heels of every imaginable size had changed the way I walk. Tight skirts had shortened my stride. Loss of strength had changed the way I lifted and carried items. I no longer thrust out my chest since the breasts now there would be accented. In short, over a week of training that included constant comments from Penny about the way I moved and how I talked was changing me into another person. How could it be otherwise?

When I had first met Julie, I had never imagined that she had ever been male. The way she moved and the way she spoke denoted a person who had been a female all her life. I now understood how that could be, because it was happening to me. But the other aspect of being female was more ominous. I was beginning to act more like a girl, but I didn’t feel like a girl–at least not in my mind. Julie was a girl down to her last thought. I had gotten to know her well enough in a short period of time to realize that. What had changed her to that degree? What had allowed her to accept her new sex so well? Would the same thing happen to me? It probably would, I realized. After all, I had a female body and female hormones. Maybe the best thing to do, I thought as I tried to please Penny by gently tugging my skirt, was to go with the flow. Somehow though, that just didn’t seem right.

No matter what my embedded male mind told me though, I apparently did well at girl school. After two full weeks of training, Penny was ready to reward me.

“Well, open it,” she told me.

I stared at the small box in my hand. The paper was a metallic silver with a dainty pink ribbon wrapped around it. ‘How feminine,’ I thought, carefully opening the package by untying the bow. This too was a test, I knew. As a man, I would have ripped off the paper as quickly as possible, but I now knew that wasn’t ladylike. I was starting to hate that word.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” I said when I finally saw my gift. There was another word I wouldn’t have used before, but it was becoming more natural to me. The package contained a gold dinner ring with a small diamond-like stone in it.

“I thought it would look good on you,” Penny smiled, slipping it past my long, red nail on the ring finger of my right hand. I hadn’t worn a ring before, and I was surprised at how easily something with such a small circumference could fit on my feminized finger.

“Thank you, Penny,” I said with my best feminine smile.

“Now, this doesn’t mean we’re engaged,” Penny cautioned. We both giggled at that.

Yes, I was–what was the old expression?–as feminine as a hairpin. I had no choice. Unless I could convince my captors that I had given into them completely, their guard would be up constantly. When the day finally came that they tried and failed to get all of my money, I needed to be long gone. Pretending to accept my new role completely was my only chance.

Penny turned suddenly and spoke to the two-way mirror behind her. “Well, what do you think?”

I had always been aware of the mirror, but over my days of training, it had just been another fixture in the room, as unremarkable as the dinner table or the chair or the makeup table or any of the other props in the training area. I had tried not to think that there might be someone back there watching my every move. Now, I realized that this had, indeed, been another test–one I hoped I had passed with flying colors.

“She’s perfect!” Vic’s voice came from the doorway. Vic entered with a huge smile, followed by his puppy dog Drew, whose smile was no less wide but menacing none-the-less. “Penny, you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

I smiled a smile I didn’t feel. It was almost natural for me to do so now.

“Turn around, Teri, so we can get a good look at you,” Vic said.

Obediently, I turned gracefully. Penny had me dressed in a black velvet evening dress. It was almost knee length, showing off my slim legs encased in diamond-patterned dark hose, my ankles accented by glossy black four-inch heels. My hair was styled up, showing off my small gold hoop earrings and the gold necklace encircling my neck above a drastically plunging neckline. I looked like James Bond’s wet dream, I was sure.

“It’s a shame we can’t... you know,” Drew stumbled, obviously forgetting himself, enraptured as he was by the vision of femininity who stood before him. God, what a sleaze!

I knew what he was trying to say. He thought it was a shame that this gorgeous girl couldn’t be transported directly to the sack. But that was a no-no, thank God. My training had thankfully been done without any sexual exercises. Oh, I learned the textbook versions. Penny had drilled me with half a hundred techniques, all probably learned from experience in her former career. If forced to do so, I could have probably gotten off a guy three days dead. I reminded myself that if I didn’t escape, I would soon learn firsthand the techniques I could now recite by heart.

“We have a surprise for you,” Penny told me, ignoring Drew completely. Apparently real women didn’t think any more of Drew than we newly-created ones did.

“Oh?” I became suddenly nervous. Starting with my transformation, I had had enough surprises to last me the rest of my life.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “You’ve done so well here that Vic has decided to let you dance at his club in Sacramento.”

In my time on the farm, I had learned that this was actually considered a reward. Transformed girls were taken to one of Vic’s legitimate operations and used as go-go dancers until a buyer was found. While not exactly a reward in my eyes, it was probably better than sitting around the farm waiting to be sold. It explained why the dancers I had seen at the Sunshine Club seemed to be a little awkward in their high-heeled boots.

“That sounds... great,” I managed to say, not very convincingly. Then I realized that if I was ever going to be able to escape, it would be during the trip to Sacramento. I had to be ready for any opportunity. It would probably be my only chance.

An hour later, I was ready. Penny had allowed us to dress casually. ‘Us’ included me, a stunning blonde whom Penny called Melanie and a shy Oriental girl with a somewhat boyish figure whom she called Sue Lee. We were all transformees, we realized, but other than an introductory nod, we said nothing to each other. I think we were all embarrassed. I know I was. I had been duped and transformed at the cost of my manhood. I’m sure Melanie and Sue Lee felt the same.

Both the other girls had opted for jeans and long sleeve buttoned blouses and black flats. I suppose it was, in their minds, the most masculine-looking attire they could find. It hardly disguised their beauty though. If I had been male, I would have been instantly in lust with either of them.

I had chosen a different look. I wore a tie-dyed tube top and no bra (of course) which bulged provocatively. Girls my size shouldn’t wear tube tops, I told myself. There was too much danger of falling out, but I wore one anyway. I wore jean cutoffs which clung so tightly to my waist and ass that they appeared to be painted on. What a different feel from men’s cutoffs! Finally, I wore a pair of low-heeled sandals, the lowest heel I could find, which allowed my painted toenails to peek through.

Okay, I looked tarty as hell, but there was a method to my madness. Somewhere along the trip, I planned to make a getaway if I could. I wanted to be wearing an outfit that would be sure to get me picked up if and when I needed a ride. Without a purse or an ID, my sexy body might be my only ticket to freedom. I only hoped I hadn’t overdone it. After all, I didn’t want to get raped. I was perfectly happy to leave all of those sexual techniques in Penny’s lectures where I had found them.

“Shall we go, ladies?” Drew asked sarcastically. Oh great, I thought. We get a pig for an escort. I was starting to understand the type of men women had in mind when they had recently come up with the expression “male chauvinist pig.”

The driver was a big guy I had seen around the farm but never talked to. I never did learn his name. The Oriental girl was pushed into the big nondescript white Ford sedan next to the driver. Then Drew climbed in the back with the blonde on one side of him and me on the other.

So we were ready to go. It meant that there were two guards for three girls. Had we all been in a mood to try to get away, we might have been able to do it with a little coordination. However, I didn’t get any indication that either of the other girls planned an escape. ‘And why should they?’ I realized. They had been transformed and trained and were awaiting sale, as was I. The difference was that whatever Vic had stolen from them was really there to steal. Their best chance of a reasonably happy life was to do what they were told and hope for a good buyer. When Vic found out that most of my trust money was going to be out of his reach, I would be the subject of his wrath, no matter how good a girl I was now. No, I couldn’t blame the other two girls for being so submissive. If I were in their shoes, I would probably have done the same thing.

The countryside we were driving through looked very familiar. It consisted of low-lying hills and broad expanses of cropland. Along the edges of the hills, I could see dark green rows of what had to be grapes. We were close to my home in the Napa Valley. It looked a little like the countryside around Petaluma. If so, we would probably catch 101 and head south for a few miles. Then, we would swing east, skirting the north end of the Bay Area before angling a little north again towards Sacramento.

My chance of escape came early. It was just as well: I was becoming more nervous by the minute. If it had taken longer, I would have probably been shaking too badly to run. Besides, although we were only a few miles from the farm, Drew was already using every excuse he could think of to touch the blonde and me.

“You girls will enjoy Sacramento,” Drew said with a mischievous grin. “The club sees a lot of action with all the lobbyists over at the capitol. In fact, aren’t you from there, Sue Lee?”

The Oriental girl didn’t look back from her seat in front. Instead, she lowered her head and gently murmured, “Yes.”

“Well, that’s great!” Drew said with no sincerity whatsoever. “Maybe you’ll see some of your old high school buddies. Of course, they won’t recognize you with those great tits and all, will they? What would they think if they knew you used to play starting halfback on the football team?”

Sue Lee was beginning to cry gently.

“Give it a rest, Drew,” the driver growled.

Drew smiled. “Just having a little innocent fun. Now Melanie back here,” he went on as if the driver had said nothing, “won’t have any problem at all. She liked boys even when she was a guy. Blowjobs ought to be easy for her, don’t you think?”

Melanie just looked down at her lap, her face reddening.

“She’s kind of like you, Teri,” he continued. “Not the gay part, of course. In fact, I’m looking forward to going after a couple of girls you knew on campus. You won’t be needing them anymore. But as I was saying, Melanie is kind of like you. She has a trust fund from her grandmother, and you’ve got one from your grandfather. Which one do you suppose is bigger? Did you know I get five percent as a finder’s fee?”

Oh great, I thought. It was bad enough that Vic would be on my case. Now I had to find out that Drew had a financial stake in the deal, too. They’d probably both take me into a dark room and fuck me blind when they found out about the limited dispersal from the trust.

“I’m stopping for gas,” the driver announced suddenly. “If anybody needs to pee, this is your chance.”

“I don’t want them out of the car!” Drew insisted.

“Look,” the driver said, “I’ve done this before. If they don’t go now, I’ll end up cleaning up somebody’s seat when we get there. They never seem to understand how small their new bladders are.”

“Oh, all right,” Drew said reluctantly.

We pulled into a small, dirty station of some off-brand I hadn’t heard of before. The driver got out of the car to stretch. “You take ’em to the can,” he told Drew.

“I can’t watch all three of them,” Drew protested.

“So take two first, then take the last one.”

“Why not one at a time?” Drew asked.

The driver sighed. “Because it would look damned funny and it would take too long.”

“Oh, all right,” Drew mumbled, taking me by the arm and pushing Melanie out.

“But I don’t have to go,” I protested. I really did need to, but I didn’t want to be away from the car.

“Last chance,” Drew warned me. I shook my head, so he motioned for Sue Lee to follow him.

I watched from side to side, trying to figure out what to do next. Vic was out of the picture, Melanie and Sue Lee in tow on their way to the restroom. The driver was busy stretching and doing what he really had wanted to do–light up a cigarette. He had moved away from the pump while the attendant filled the tank.

They were really convinced we were too timid to do anything. I think Melanie and Sue Lee were, but I wasn’t. I knew if I didn’t get away at that very moment, I was on my way to a womanly hell. The keys–they were still in the ignition. The driver must have thought there was no reason to take them out. I was alone in the back seat, but by the time I could get out of the car and run to the front seat, he’d be on me. That meant I had to do it another way.

I moved quickly, before I lost my nerve. Before the driver could figure out what I was doing, I dived from the back seat to the front, nearly cracking my head on the steering wheel. I started the engine with my right hand and threw the car into gear, giving a silent prayer of thanks that the transmission was an automatic. Then, with my left hand, I jammed the gas pedal to the floor.

I was rewarded with the low growl of the car engine and the sound of tires squealing away on the asphalt. I felt something bump the door–probably the driver trying to get in, I realized. I jerked the wheel to the right with my right hand, scraping one of the canopy supports with a sickening screech of metal on metal.

At last, I had a moment to get turned over. I practically bruised my left boob getting upright, but I managed, just in time to feel the car bounce as the driver leaped onto the trunk lid. I slammed on the brakes, causing his momentum to carry him up the rear window and over to one side of the car.

I could hear Drew yelling from the door of the service station and the attendant screaming about spilled gas. I had probably ripped the gas hose out of the pump when I took off. I didn’t know if they had guns. I hadn’t seen any, but that didn’t mean anything. I pushed the accelerator, my butt practically off the seat to reach it since I hadn’t had time to adjust it. In another heartbeat, I was free!

My mind was still churning as I drove away. How long would it be before Drew and the driver got help? Which direction would it come from? Would they dare call the police? Probably not, but the first cop who saw me would find something suspicious about a car driving down the road with a gas hose attached to it and a long scrape along the passenger side. Besides, I realized looking over at the gas gauge, the car really had needed gas. It was nearly empty. I was sorry now that I hadn’t let the attendant fill a little more of the tank before I had ripped the hose right out of his hand.

For that matter, where was I going to go? Who would believe me? My dad? Hell, even if I could get him to believe me, he’d probably laugh his ass off over what had happened to me. The police? Who was I kidding? The police wouldn’t believe me either. My friends? Yes... my friends. I had to get back to Berkeley. I’d get to Brad. Brad knew me better than just about anyone else in school. I would figure out a way to make him believe me.

The problem was I didn’t have enough gas to make it into Berkeley. I probably could get twenty more miles out of the car, if I didn’t push it. I had no money, no credit cards, and no identification. I could try a self service station, I thought, and skip before paying. Of course, I would probably be picked up by the police before I got five miles.

I didn’t get a chance to find out how far the gas would take me, though, because about five miles down the road, the car picked up a sudden pronounced wobble. It was my front wheel, I realized. When I had scraped the canopy support, I must have hit it hard enough to bend the axle. I was about to lose the entire wheel.

There wasn’t much traffic, so I limped along for another mile or two, but at last, the power steering failed as well, and with my weaker girl’s muscles, it was all I could do to control the car long enough to make a safe stop by the side of the road, narrowly averting a drainage ditch.

I got out and looked at the front wheel. The tire was nothing but shredded rubber, cut to ribbons by the wheel. The wheel itself was at an odd angle, maybe at a fifteen-degree tilt. I had been lucky to get the car stopped when I did. Otherwise, I could have become a highway statistic.

So I was suddenly back to Plan B. I had worn an outfit designed to help me if I had to thumb a ride. Well, that time had come. I would have to be quick about it. Vic’s men had had time to call the farm, so they were probably only fifteen minutes behind me. Highway 101 was only a couple of miles away. If I could get a ride quickly, I would be able to lose myself on the busy highway. They wouldn’t have any idea what car had picked me up.

So the first order of business was to catch a ride. I had never hitchhiked before, but I had seen plenty of people doing it. Most of them got passed because they looked as if they would kill the driver and steal the car the minute they got the chance. I knew my odds would be much better. I was a sweet young thing, dressed well, although a little scandalously, with an obviously disabled car at the side of the road. My only worry was that the first guy to pick me up would expect a form of payment for the ride that I didn’t particularly want to pay.

I got lucky, as I have found good-looking girls tend to get. The very first vehicle going in the right direction was approaching me at a low rate of speed. At first, I thought it might be Vic’s men, slowly looking for me along the road. I nearly panicked, but then I saw it was a VW bus, a few years old and pretty beaten up. It had been painted a bright yellow with a black peace symbol boldly painted on the front of the van.

Slowly, the van came to a stop a few feet from me. Inside, I could see a couple of representatives of what was rapidly becoming known as the Counter Culture. The driver wore round steel frame glasses, and with his beard, he looked a little like John Lennon. There was a girl sitting next to him, a wreath of pink and white flowers on her long, straight blonde hair. There were two more guys in the backseat who looked a lot like the driver–only one had no beard and the other was a blond version of the driver. The sound of sitar music–‘something by Ravi Shankar,’ I thought–was blaring through the car radio.

Once the van stopped, the driver leaned out the window. “Hey, peace sister! Car broke? Bummer, man.”

I scurried to his window. “Yeah,” I said. “And I gotta get to Berkeley. I’m supposed to meet my... boyfriend.”

“Yeah, bummer,” the girl said over the driver’s shoulder. “I can dig it.”

“Look,” I said, trying to sound as weak and helpless as I actually felt, “can you give me a lift?”

“No prob, sister,” the driver said. Suddenly, the back door swung open. The blond guy hopped out and made a servile motion for me to get in, a huge smile on his face. I’m sure his eyes were twinkling, but I couldn’t be sure. His line of sight was aimed right at my breasts.

As I climbed in, I was assaulted by the sudden smell of pot. I looked in the back of the van. It was loaded down with musical instruments. It seemed my rescuers were a band.

“Angus, babe,” the dark haired guy in the backseat said as I sat down beside him. He gave me the peace sign two fingers extended in a vee. “Peace and love, babe.”

“And I’m Randy,” the blonde guy said as he got in beside me and closed the door. “Jake’s the driver and the drummer, and that’s Mary Lou next to him.”

Mary Lou turned around and gave me a big toothy smile. “Hi!” she said.

“Hi,” I replied as we started back down the road. “I’m Teri.”

“Where you going?” Randy asked over his shoulder.

“Berkeley,” I replied, somewhat hesitantly. After all, if they dropped me off somewhere and ran into Vic’s people, they might tell them my destination. As it turned out, I needn’t have worried.

“Groovy!” Mary Lou laughed. “So are we. We’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I asked. Berkeley was only a couple of hours away, even with a sixty mile per hour speed limit on 101. We’d be there by mid-afternoon.

“Yeah,” Randy explained to me. “We just finished a gig over in Petaluma. We wanted to do a night under the stars, you dig? Then tomorrow we go on to Berkeley for our next gig. We’re the Mad Hatters. Maybe you’ve heard of us?”

I gave him a slight smile and a shake of my head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, nonplussed. “You’ll hear a lot from us just as soon as we get a record contract.”

“Yeah, man,” Angus agreed, pulling a joint out of his shirt pocket and lighting up. “You will.”

Actually, this was working out all right, I thought to myself. I was wedged in between two pretty good-sized guys, so even if Vic’s men did start looking for me along the way, they were likely to miss seeing me from a moving car. And the band seemed nice. In keeping with the times, they were laid back, nonjudgmental, and most importantly, not the least bit curious as to what I was doing out by the side of the road with a dead car and a burning need to get to Berkeley. At last, things were starting to go my way. For the first time since I had felt the needle go into my skin in that dark warehouse, I was beginning to feel like I had at least a little control over my life.

‘My life,’ I thought as we drove down 101 in a cloud of marihuana smoke. ‘What would my life be if I succeeded in staying out of Vic’s hands? Even if I got Brad to believe me, what difference did that make?’ Brad wasn’t the Man From Uncle. He couldn’t waste the bad guys and get me a new life. I still had the little problem of no legal identity. Mr. Hicks at the bank knew what Terry Miller looked like, but he wouldn’t recognize Teri Miller. That meant I couldn’t access my funds.

I was starting to realize why so many of Vic’s victims gave in and just let the whole thing happen to them. I mean, what choice did they have? Without money or any legal identity, life on the streets would be tough. Then what? Prostitution? I shuddered. It was an option I never seriously wanted to consider.

“Hey, sweet thing,” Randy said, putting an arm around my shoulders, “what’s wrong?”

Wrong? Wrong? Oh, nothing was wrong. In the last few weeks, I had just flunked out of college, been drafted, gotten my sex changed, and was being chased by white slavers. What could possibly be wrong? I didn’t say that though. I just replied, “I guess I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” Well, it was the truth if something of an understatement.

“Ooh, serious action!” Angus said, taking a deep drag on his joint. “Hey, you want a hit? It’ll make you feel a lot better.”

I was no stranger to marijuana. Few of my contemporaries at Berkeley were. If I had been Terry, I would have probably said, “Thanks, dude,” and toked away. As Teri, I had never tried a joint. Something had changed when my body was remolded. Pot just didn’t sound like a very good idea. Besides, I was probably getting a little high just from the smoke in the car. Even with the widows cracked to keep us from getting too hot, there was a definite haze in the car.

I shook my head. “No thanks, Angus.”

“Hey!” Randy said. “That’s cool.”

“You don’t smoke pot?” I asked him, surprised.

“Not until after sundown,” he clarified. “The day was made for wine.” He produced a wineskin from beneath his feet, took a swig, and passed it around the car.

I did take a drink of wine, though. God knows I deserved it. I needed something to calm me down. So that’s how things were as we ambled on toward Berkeley. Drive a few miles, take a sip of wine, listen to a little Zappa, Beatles, Stones, and so forth on the car’s tinny but loud radio. By the time we were ready to stop for the day, I was pretty mellow. I don’t know if it was the wine, the smoke from Angus’s joints, or just the feeling of relief I got from getting away.

Whatever the reason–or reasons–I seemed to have to forgotten temporarily about all of my problems, and I was perfectly happy to have Randy squeezed up next to me, our bodies close as the hand he had put around me shoulders dropped down and was now gently cupping one of my breasts.

My physical and social contacts with men had been very limited since my transformation. Of course, I had seen Vic and Drew and their henchmen, but other than Drew’s feeble attempts to touch me in the car, I had yet to come to grips with the whole boy-girl thing. I was used to being the aggressor. Like most guys, my style had consisted of making moves until I was told to stop. The problem was that I was now on the receiving end of the process, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it.

Pragmatically, I didn’t want to piss any of the band off. I needed them for transportation and camouflage. And to be completely honest, I kind of liked Randy. That is to say, if we had both been guys, I would have liked him as a friend. But I wasn’t a guy, and unless another miracle of science occurred, I never would be one again. So how was I to react to him? I wanted him to stop, didn’t I? Didn’t I?

To be honest, I wasn’t sure. It felt... safe–yes safe is the right word. Here I was, a sweet young thing, made up and dressed like the girl I had become, and I needed to feel safe. The feeling of a big strong arm around my slender body made me feel secure for the first time since I had awakened as a girl. And to be one hundred percent honest, Randy wasn’t a bad looking guy.

Okay, there, I said it. Just try having female hormones coursing through your body for a few weeks. I’ll guarantee that guys will start to look pretty good. And Randy didn’t look bad at all. I sort of liked the way he held me, and when his hand snaked to the bottom of my breast, I began to wonder what it might be like to have him really play with them. I felt my nipples extending, and was glad that the bra kept him from seeing how hard they were becoming. There was an odd feeling between my legs as well, almost as if I was having a phantom erection. Only instead of getting harder, it was almost as if the space between my legs was getting warmer and moister, as if it were softening to receive...

“What do you think, Teri?” It was Jake, interrupting my thoughts. I suddenly realized that I was walking along a grassy area, snuggled closely to Randy.

“What?” I asked in my fog.

Jake waved his arm, indicating a series of tents and old cars and vans nestled under a grove of trees. “This is the Peace Now Commune,” he said proudly. “We’re gonna stay here tonight. Everybody here is really mellow, man.”

“Yeah, Teri,” Randy said. “You’ll really like it here. You can share my tent.”

I must have given him an odd look, because he said, “Hey, don’t worry Teri. Everything’s cool. No funny business.”

I visibly relaxed and was rewarded with another of his winning smiles.

As it turned dark, I was treated to an evening of entertainment, commune style. There must have been fifty or sixty people camped out there in the trees. I understood from Randy that the land was owned by some antiwar guy who was trying to get the land declared a ‘No Draft Zone.’ He had encouraged an intrepid band of hippies to camp out there, even going so far as to build some outhouses and a crude shower that diverted water from a nearby stream. For food, they mostly grew their own, or chipped in with a little cash or whatever they had to barter with. I learned that our evening’s accommodations had been paid for with a couple of jugs of wine, a few ounces of maryjane, and a couple of packs of Zig Zag papers–enough to roll a substantial number of joints.

The food was actually pretty good, but since as a guy, I was strictly a burger and fries type, I decided not to ask what was inside my roll. It certainly wasn’t meat–that would have offended the vegetarians in the group. To wash it down, we drank a little more wine, although I insisted mine be watered down a bit. I was still starting to feel the effects of it.

When dinner was finished, Angus found a group of cronies to sing protest songs with while Jake and Mary Lou wandered off, hand in hand, to the back of the van. That just left Randy and me. We were lying back on the cool grass, listening to the soft din of conversations around the camp. My head was on his chest and his arm was wrapped around my waist.

“Wanna take a shower?” he asked suddenly.

I sat up and looked him straight in the eye. “I thought you agreed there’d be no funny business.”

“Hey, I meant it,” he said sincerely. “It’s just it’s a coed shower, and I thought we could save a little water that way. I mean, the regular members of the commune do it all the time.”

I could really use a shower, I realized. My weeks of training had left me used to smelling like a flower most of the time. Now, whatever perfume and body powder I had used that morning had worn away, and I had no change of clothes. I knew I’d be smelling a little ripe by morning.

On the other hand, I was shy about my new body. I had not voluntarily shown it to any man, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to start now.

“Come on,” Randy urged. “If I makes you feel any better, we can turn our backs to each other. It’ll be–you know–like, private.”

The shower was down by the stream–a walk in the dark I didn’t want to make alone. ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘Randy hadn’t raped me yet.’ I sighed, “Okay, let’s go.”

Randy got in the water first while I watched from the high bushes where I had disrobed. He didn’t have a bad body, I found myself thinking as he sauntered unconcerned over to the little concrete pad that formed the floor to the shower. It was the first time I had seen a male body nude since my transformation, and my thoughts were mixed. Part of me looked at his dick, swinging freely as he walked, and thought that there was no way I was ever going to let any guy ever stick something like that in me. The other part of me kept wondering what it would be like. Strange feelings were awakening in me. There seemed to be an aching loneliness emanating from between my legs. I sought to stifle the feeling, but it persisted.

“Hey, come on, Teri, the water’s great,” Randy coaxed. I watched, frozen, as the weak stream of water cascaded off his chest, beads of water clinging to his chest hairs like diamonds in the soft moonlight. I gulped. Either I had to go through with this or run away, and I had done enough running for one day.

I walked with a confidence that I didn’t feel. Good to his word, when Randy saw me coming out of the bushes, he turned away from me, although I was sure the moonlight had given him at least a glimpse of my naked body. I actually felt an unexpected flush of pride, realizing I must have been an enticing sight, like some forest nymph emerging from her leafy sanctuary.

I got under the water and turned my own back to Randy, but not before I caught a good look at his tush. I seemed to be drawn to it in a way I had never expected. ‘How much of who we are is determined by the body we wear?’ I thought to myself as I let the cool water run over my body. I shivered as the stream of water leached the heat of the day from my skin. But was that the only reason I was shivering? I couldn’t be sure.

Then I felt the contact. He had backed up a step, or maybe I had, and our asses touched, just for a moment. It was like an electric shock through my body.

“Sorry, babe,” Randy said calmly.

“It’s okay,” I returned with a calmness in my voice I didn’t feel. This had not been a good idea. I was like a five-year-old playing with a loaded pistol, only in this case, the loaded pistol was my very female body, and I lacked the experience of even a five-year-old in playing with it.

Was I still a little high from the wine and the pot smoke that had wafted through the air much of the day? I don’t know–maybe. I think it was a different kind of high that caused me to turn around. As if answering some telepathic call, Randy turned around too. I looked up into his eyes, then down at his swollen manhood. My arms of their own accord wrapped around his neck as he lifted me from the back of my legs. I spread them willingly, feeling something hard between my legs.

We remained like that, rubbing against each other until I felt a small sharp pain. As the pain died, I became aware of something filling my emptiness. Then, there was no pain–only pleasure...

When I woke up, I was nestled in Randy’s arms. We had made it back to the tent, but I could scarcely remember walking back. I was still euphoric. The female orgasm was like nothing I had ever imagined. Since my transformation, I had been reluctant to play with myself. It would have been an admission that I had accepted being a woman, which I had not. But the orgasm had felt as natural as anything could be. It relaxed me so much, I just drifted in its warm embrace. I had gone to sleep in Randy’s arms without a care in the world.

That isn’t how I woke up though. I woke up with a slight headache from the wine, wondering what the hell I had done to myself. I looked at Randy, sleeping peacefully beside me. It would be easy to blame him, I thought, but it wouldn’t be right. He had just reacted as a man. The problem is, so did I.

A woman, I was coming to realize, views sex differently than a man. Oh, both desire the physical pleasure, but since the woman bears the risk of pregnancy, she usually wants a long-term commitment, or at least the opportunity for one. A man, on the other hand, sees the opportunity and takes it. I suddenly remembered the little coed I had screwed–the last girl I had made love to as a man. What was her name? I really couldn’t remember. She had just been an opportunity. Did she remember my name? Probably. Did she have second thoughts the next day when the acid high was gone? Probably. Was she on the pill? I hoped so, but I really didn’t know.

Another dark thought crossed my mind. I wasn’t on the pill. Could I be pregnant? Oh my god...

“What’s wrong, babe?” Randy asked, gently trying to pull me closer. “You’re all tense.”

I was tense all right. I had screwed up big time. Like I said, I had been thinking like a man. I saw the opportunity for sex and I took it. I had to be more careful, or I would end up an unwed mother–not a pleasant prospect for a girl with no money and no identification.

“How about a little quickie?”

Oh no, I wasn’t that kind of... girl. I mean, I had been the night before, but that was then. This was now. “Uh... not now Randy,” I managed to mumble.

“Sure, babe.” The arm around me dropped. ‘Thank god Randy was basically a decent person,’ I thought as I scrambled to my feet, adjusting my top so it hid a little more of my breasts and slipping on my sandals.

We got a late start but still reached the Berkeley campus about noon. I found myself giving the band a tearful farewell. Jake just waved goodbye, but Mary Lou gave me a warm sisterly hug. It really felt weird to have her breasts pressing against mine. What felt even weirder was that it didn’t feel sexual. I mean, we were both just girls. Angus mumbled something, but he was already stoned. Mary Lou assured me they’d have him on his feet when the band opened that evening, but I wasn’t sure. Randy just smiled. I smiled back, then impulsively gave him a big hug and a warm kiss on his lips. When I let go, he just smiled and said, “Be well, babe.”

“You too, Randy. Peace and love.”

“Peace and love.”

Then they were out of my life just as quickly as they had appeared. I felt suddenly empty, standing there on the corner of the campus as I watched them drive away. It seemed at that moment as if Teri was always destined to be saying goodbye to the only people who meant anything to her. First, there had been Julie, whom I never expected to see again, and then there was the band. Most of all, there was Randy.

I still regretted having sex with Randy, but I had to admit that it felt good. I knew I was now a heterosexual girl. Hugging Mary Lou had proven that my new body didn’t have any sexual interest in girls. But Randy had felt right. Well, it was for the best, I realized. I was going to be stuck as a woman for the rest of my life, so I might as well be a normal one. What the hell, I would probably meet some nice young guy, get married, and have a house full of children. Life could be worse.

But first, I had to get to Brad. Of all my friends, he knew me best. If I could convince anyone of my true identity, it would be Brad. Maybe together we could figure out something to give me a formal identity. With an ID and a little money, I could get far enough away from the Bay Area that Vic and Drew would never catch me.

I was taking a chance, I realized, as I crossed the campus to Brad’s dorm. Drew might not be the only one of Vic’s men on campus. Or for that matter, Drew could have easily beaten me back to campus, looking for me as I made my way to the dorms. Well, it was a chance I had to take though. Brad was my best hope.

I felt odd, going into his dorm. The University had loosened up the rules on women and men in each other’s dorms, but it still felt strange to walk into the lobby of his dorm and have a dozen pairs of eyes turning to look at me. I had lived in that dorm as a male. I even saw among the crowd a few familiar faces. Yet now, here I was–a girl. I looked a little worse for wear, I was sure. I hadn’t touched my makeup in over twenty-four hours, and my clothes were not exactly at the peak of freshness. I had borrowed a comb from Mary Lou, so my hair was in place, but it could have used a bit of help. Still, my tight top and short, tight shorts gave all the boys a show they’d remember for awhile. I could feel my face redden as I rushed to the stairway.

I just hoped Brad was in. I couldn’t stand the thought of being a lone female in this man’s world. I felt helpless. I was beginning to understand how women felt all the time. I was one of them now, and would be forever, and this was how I would feel for the rest of my life.

I knocked on Brad’s door, surprised at how soft the knock was with my smaller, weaker hand. There was no reply. Still, he might be there, I thought. Maybe he was taking a nap, or...

The door opened, but it wasn’t Brad. It was his roommate, Tommy. “Yes?”

Tommy had always been a little bigger than me, but now he towered over me. Funny, I had never noticed before, but he was a good-looking guy. Only a couple of years older than me, he appeared much more mature. With his shorter hair, he looked more like a young executive than a college student.

“Can I help you?” he asked politely.

“Oh... uh, hi, Tommy,” I stammered. “I’m looking for Brad. Do you know where he is? When he’ll be back?”

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded. “He went home for the weekend. He won’t be back until late Sunday night.”

I had lost track of days. It had to be Friday, and Brad often went home on the weekends. Home was Fresno, and over spring break, he had gotten pretty serious about a girl going to Fresno State. That was just great. I had no place to go and no money. Maybe I could track down the band...

“How do you know me?” Tommy asked bluntly. “I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”

“Oh...” I started to reply. ‘Think fast Teri,’ I told myself. I didn’t really know Tommy well enough to trust him. The only times I had ever talked with him had been with Brad, and he had been content to let Brad and I carry the conversation. “I... uh... Brad introduced us.”

“I think I would have remembered you,” Tommy said. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the room before I could even react. Slamming the door, he loomed over me. “Now who are you?”

“I... I...” was all I could say, backing further into the room as I tried to shake his grip.

“Are you working for Vic?” he asked harshly.

Vic?

“What... how do you know about Vic?” I managed.

“So you are working for Vic!” he said triumphantly, his grip tightening on my arm.

“No, Tommy,” I cried, my arm hurting. “I’m Terry–Terry Miller.”

The grip loosened. “Terry?”

“I just spell it a little differently now,” I said by way of an understatement. “It’s T-e-r-i now.”

“Terry?” he said again.

I was relieved that he seemed to believe me, but I was alarmed that he believed me so quickly. And he knew about Vic. What was going on?

“It’s a drug that caused this,” I explained quickly.

He nodded. “So they do have Morph.”

My mouth opened in surprise. “You know about Morph?”

He nodded. “You escaped from them, didn’t you?”

It was my turn to nod.

He grabbed my arm again, only this time not as hard. “Then we have to get you out of here. This is one of the first places they’ll think of to look.”

I had no choice but to do what he had suggested. I was in increasing danger every minute I stayed on the campus. I wasn’t sure who Tommy was, but he apparently was no friend of Vic’s. And as the old saying went, the enemy of my enemy was my friend.

We walked out of the dorm and over to the parking lot where he had a car. To anyone who might be looking for me, all they would see was a young student on his way to class, his girlfriend, her arms wrapped closely around him and head on his shoulder, at his side. Tommy had given me a blue Berkeley T-shirt that was so big on me, it looked like a short dress. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it didn’t have to last long.

Tommy’s car was a nondescript Ford Falcon, white and with a few rust spots common to all older cars in a seacoast environment. I gratefully slumped down in the passenger seat as we drove away from campus. In minutes, we were on the freeway, heading south.

“Who are you, Tommy?” I finally asked when we were safely away from campus. “And where are we going?”

He actually grinned at me. “You know how some of the guys kidded me and said I was probably a government agent?”

I nodded slowly.

The grin got wider. “Well, I am.”

He told me the story as we turned west, over the Bay Bridge toward the City. “Do you remember the explosion and fire in that chemical research facility down in San Jose last year?”

“You mean the one where they suspect some antiwar protesters of blowing up a chemical warfare factory?” I asked. “Didn’t they arrest somebody for that?”

“They did,” he agreed, “but all they got were a few antiwar protesters who had blown the whistle on the facility and hired somebody to do the break-in. The real criminals–the ones who broke in and blew the place up–have never been caught.”

“And that’s where Vic comes in,” I surmised, surprised at my own leap of logic. But I was right.

“Exactly. The antiwar group paid them to get in and start a little protest fire, but Vic and his people found out what was really going on in the facility. Scientists there had been playing around with hallucinogenic drugs. They found by modifying them, they could not only alter the perception of reality: they could alter reality itself. By combining it with what we know about genetic structure, they were able to postulate a drug that would physically alter the human body. The result was Morph.”

“So I can be changed back?” I asked hopefully. I had wanted a miracle. Could it be that this was it? No such luck, I discovered, as Tommy continued.

“I’m afraid not. Morph is a dead end. The scientists were hoping to develop a drug that would allow agents to change their identities as easily as growing a beard. You take the drug and a few days later, you’re someone else.”

“Well, I’d say it worked on me,” I pointed out.

“Yes,” he agreed, “it works, but in the process, it destroys the Y chromosome. The only change it can make is to turn you into a female equivalent of yourself. The good news is that it tends to pick a highly desirable female equivalent. You’re very attractive, as I’m sure you know, and very healthy. Watch the libido, though. It tends to heighten that as well.”

I gulped. I hoped Tommy didn’t notice. “So I’m stuck like this?” I knew the answer. Tommy’s explanation of Morph was close to the one Julie had given me.

“I’m afraid so,” he admitted. “Any further use of the drug would have only minor effects on you–if any.”

“What sort of minor effects?” I asked cautiously as we got off the bridge and headed into the city.

“Oh,” he speculated with a mischievous grin, “maybe bigger boobs or a stronger sex drive–stuff like that.”

“No thanks,” I grimaced. I looked down at my breasts. They were a C cup. I shuddered as I thought of what it must be like to be a D cup–or larger. As for the sex drive... well, that was quite strong enough, thank you very much. And it wasn’t just Randy I was thinking of. I had already noticed that Tommy was a nice looking guy–even if he was a government agent. That brought up another line of questioning, one that had me worried.

“Tommy, is part of your job arresting draft dodgers?”

To my surprise, he laughed, “No, not at all. And if you’re worried about yourself, I don’t think the draft is interested in you anymore. We had a tip that Vic was using Morph to change men into women to avoid the draft, but his people have been too slick for us. We’ve been looking into women who appeared out of nowhere with new IDs, but nothing checks out.”

“That’s because the women never resurface,” I told him. I then explained the whole white slavery business to him, including my own situation. I also told him all about Drew. It turned out he hadn’t a clue that Drew was Vic’s number one campus representative.

“That explains why we never found any of the women. And I never suspected Drew. I wonder if he knew who I was,” Tommy said as we pulled up to the main gate of the Presidio.

“An Army base?” I asked, worried again.

“Don’t sweat it,” he explained. “I’m an Army officer. You’re just here for your own protection. I’ve got to tell you, all that crap you and the other guys believe about the Army is just plain stupid. It was all I could do sometimes just to keep from laughing. Just relax. No one is going to harm you, and we may be able to help you. We can get you an identity.”

“Why would you do that?” I asked as we pulled through the gate.

“Well, it’s better to give you a new identity than to explain why a guy suddenly became a girl,” he reasoned. Then, with a smile, “Either that or we’ll have to shoot you.”

“Tommy!”

We ended up at the infirmary, which was Army talk for a hospital. I’ve never been able to figure out why the military can’t talk like everybody else. But no matter what name it was given, it was a hospital.

Tommy hadn’t had time to call ahead, so our sudden appearance caused quite a stir. Within fifteen minutes with impressive military efficiency, I had a room of my own, an Army guard the size of a tank outside the door, and two girls in Army uniforms taking my measurements and asking me my preferences for everything from toothpaste to tampons.

Then with Tommy at my side, I was whisked into an examining room where a woman doctor who wore the military insignia of a Major on her lab coat introduced herself as Dr. Weaver. She was taller than me and a little lanky, a touch of gray in her short, straight blonde hair. She shooed Tommy out of the room and ordered me to strip.

“Everything?” I asked shyly, although I had been wearing the stuff for so long I was ready to peel it off and burn it.

“Everything,” she confirmed. Then, grinning, she added, “Don’t worry. There’s nobody here but us girls.”

Oh sure, I thought silently as I pulled off my clothes. As I finally stepped out of my panties, Dr. Weaver just stood there with her mouth open.

“If I didn’t know better,” she began, “I’d swear the boys in Intelligence were playing a nasty joke on me. You mean to tell me you used to be a man?”

“I’m afraid so,” I admitted. “Not much chance of being taken for one now, is there?”

“Hell, I’d give up my next two promotions to look as good as you,” she said. She examined my breasts by putting her fingers under one and lifting it slightly. “Firm and all natural. I’m sure genetic tests will show you’re a perfect XX chromosome female. Even though I read the report on Morph, I never imagined it would be so thorough. Get up on the table.”

And that’s how I ended up with my very first pelvic exam. She poked and prodded me with clinical detachment. I found myself very grateful they had provided me with a woman doctor. Having a man poking around in there would have been too much of a reminder of my night with Randy.

“Hmm,” she muttered. “No hymen. Have you had sex?”

“Uh...” I considered lying, but I think she already knew the answer. “Yeah, I did. Just once.”

“Did you use any protection?”

I knew how dumb this would sound, but I had to admit, “I really didn’t even think about it.”

She folded her arms and looked at me sternly. “You know, they say a girl isn’t really a woman until she’s had a period, had sex with a man, and delivered a baby. To hit two out of three, you’d better hope for a period. When was your last one?”

“I haven’t had one yet.”

“And how long have you been female?”

I wasn’t sure. I had been unconscious when I was transformed. When did the clock start ticking? I had been awake as a girl for a little over two weeks. I explained all of this to the doctor as I sat up on the table.

“Then we can expect your period in the next couple of weeks–if there is one,” she warned.

I cursed my own stupidity. How could I have allowed myself to have sex with Randy? No matter what my body had told me, I should have resisted. Now I could be pregnant.

“I’m going to put you on birth control pills,” she decided.

“But that won’t help if I’m...”

“Pregnant?” she finished for me. “No of course not, but it might prevent a little accident in the future.”

I blushed and began to protest, “But I’m not going to do that again. I mean, I just...”

“You just did what comes naturally,” she countered. “And you might do it again. You know, contrary to what you think now, you might decide to have sex on a regular basis. There’s no reason why you can’t.”

I didn’t respond to that, but I silently realized she was right. When I was male, I had enjoyed sex. My brief encounter with Randy had taught me that sex could be as enjoyable–if not more so–as a woman. Once I had come to grips with the fact that I would remain female for the rest of my life, and that it wasn’t queer to have sex with a male, no matter what the residual maleness of my brain told me, sex as a woman seemed perfectly natural. But my needs had changed. As a male, I sought only to satisfy my physical needs with sex. As a woman, I craved more.

Maybe that’s why there are female whores by the ton but so few male ones servicing women. It’s supply and demand. Most men would gladly have sex with many women and wouldn’t dream of charging them a nickel. Most women though, want more out of sex than physical gratification, and the men who can’t fulfil those needs are forced to pay for their pleasure. It didn’t speak very well of my former sex, I realized.

Back in my room, I continued to think about how much I had changed. What was it Dr. Weaver had said? There were three things that made a girl a woman: her period, sex with a man, and having a baby. Well, one out of three wasn’t bad. I just hoped the second one was not having a baby. How ironic. How could I have ever dreamed a few short weeks ago that I would be admiring my female body covered only by a cheap hospital gown the doctor had given me while I wished for my period?

I didn’t have much time to think about it though. The two Army women had returned from a shopping trip at the Base Exchange. They had apparently been given a blank check, for they came into my room giggling like schoolgirls, their arms weighted down with packages.

“I hope we got the right sizes,” one of them, a short brunette with a cute little round face said. “Brenda here is about your size, but she’s got smaller boobs.”

“I do not, Samantha!” the other girl, a blonde with short hair said, sticking out her tongue.

This was really the first time I had been exposed to other girls in such a casual environment. My training had been aimed more at how to walk and talk around the man who would be my owner. I had been taught to be feminine and demure. Nothing had prepared me for the casual banter around other women. I was pleasantly surprised to realize that it wouldn’t be all that different from being a man. It only took a few minutes for me to learn how to join in their conversation.

They told me I had a meeting with the brass in an hour, so they concentrated on some of the more appropriate meeting attire. To my disappointment, there were no slacks in the sacks they had brought me–only skirts, blouses and dresses. Still, I realized, the Exchange wasn’t exactly Macy’s. There had been a limited selection in my size.

We settled on a cream-colored button-up blouse and a knee-length tan skirt. Once pantyhose and a pair of conservative two-inch brown heels were added, I looked as if I could have been one of the civilian secretaries I had seen in the infirmary when I was brought in.

“They didn’t have much of a jewelry selection,” Samantha told me as she helped me adjust a slender gold necklace. “But at least I was able to get you some earrings that look okay with that.”

They did, too. They were just simple gold hoops, but they were smaller than the ones I had been wearing and looked good with the outfit. They had even gotten me a cheap Timex with a gold band. I looked down at the tiny numbers on the watch. No wonder it seemed like women were always late. We couldn’t read the itty bitty numbers on our watches.

I did the makeup myself. Penny had trained me in the application of makeup, but of course, she had gone in for the really sexy look. I found it was not much trouble to understate the makeup a little bit for a more professional look. I was determined that if I were to talk with the brass, I would look like an intelligent woman and not some brainless tramp.

My brawny guard acted as my driver. The sun was setting as we pulled up in front of an office building on the base. I got out and started to go into the building, but my guard gently held my arm and whispered, “Wait.” Unsure why, I stopped. Then I saw two soldiers standing at attention in front of a flagpole which was flying the American flag. Suddenly, through a loudspeaker attached to the building, a trumpet sounded. The soldiers, including my guard, snapped to attention. I stood quietly with my hands at my side. Then, they each saluted as the trumpet played the Star Spangled Banner. I found it oddly moving. Here I was, a former man who had lost my sex attempting to stay out of the Army, moved nearly to tears by the simple beauty of the ceremony. Had I been wrong in my assessment of the military? I had assumed that it consisted of fierce warmongers leading unwilling troops. Thus far, I had seen no evidence of either.

We met in a small conference room where Tommy was already seated. As he rose to greet me, I was struck by how handsome he looked in his Army uniform with his Captain’s bars. He pulled out a chair next to his and asked, “Have they finished with the poking and prodding?”

“I hope so,” I said. “I feel like a lab rat.”

He grinned. “In a way, you are. We had only used Morph on lab animals. You’re the first person to try it that we’ve had the chance to talk with.”

“Then I’ll be kept here for a long time,” I ventured, suddenly worried again.

Tommy shook his head. “No, we can’t keep you any longer than you want to be kept. As I promised, we’ll get you identification and let you go. You might want to wait a day or two though, until we’ve had a chance to round up Vic and his gang.”

“Is that what this meeting is about?” I asked.

“Yes.” Before he could say more, an Army Colonel entered suddenly, flanked by two young Captains. They each took seats at the table. Tommy had snapped to attention when they had entered the room, and while still standing, took the opportunity to introduce me to Colonel Baxter.

“Miss Miller–do you mind if I call you ‘Miss’?” Colonel Baxter asked pleasantly.

‘Well,’ I thought, ‘if the shoe fits...’ However I replied, “Please just call me Teri.”

He nodded. “Very well–Teri, we need to know whatever you can tell us about Vic Solo and his gang. If we move on them quickly, we might have a chance to nab them before they can do any more damage. Will you help us?”

“I’ll do anything I can to help,” I replied sincerely. The happiest moment of my life would be the day this man slapped Vic in irons, or whatever the Army did with its prisoners. I knew I’d like to have a few moments alone with him. I could imagine him hog-tied while I gleefully approached him with a syringe full of Morph.

I told them everything I knew. Colonel Baxter and Tommy asked most of the questions, while the other two officers either furiously took notes or ran messages out to other officers who waited by the door. We were there for over two hours, talking about every detail I could remember about the Sunshine Club, the warehouse, and the farm.

My voice was almost gone when an officer ran in, giving a note to Tommy. He scanned it quickly, then looked up at the rest of us. “A team just hit the Sunshine Club,” he explained. “It’s closed. Apparently Vic and his people moved out yesterday.”

“Did they find anything?” Colonel Baxter asked.

Tommy shook his head. “Nothing. As nearly as we can tell, it was just a meeting place. Their main operation is somewhere else.”

“Where?” I asked. “The warehouse? The farm?”

“I don’t think so,” Tommy said slowly. “Vic is cautious. Look how he gave you a fake contact name. Then he had Drew pick you up early and drive you to the warehouse. No, he’s probably pulled out of the warehouse and the farm. His whole gang has gone to ground by now. We’re right back where we started.”

No, I thought. As long as Vic and Drew were out there, I wasn’t safe. They would find me somehow, even if the Army helped me get away. They would want to make an example of me. As long as they were out there, I was in danger. I think Tommy knew it, too. He was looking at me as if trying to decide how to break the news to me.

“Wait a minute,” I said thoughtfully. “There may be something we can do.”

“What?” Colonel Baxter asked. “He’s gone to ground. We don’t know where he is or how to flush him out. Until more men start disappearing, we won’t have a clue where he’s hiding. And men are disappearing every day to avoid the draft, so we won’t even know which missing men he’s tricked. We don’t have enough men to cover all the possibilities.”

“I know,” I replied, “but I don’t think he’ll pass up a quarter of a million dollars.”

That got their attention. “Go on,” Colonel Baxter prompted.

“My trust fund,” I explained. “Vic still doesn’t know that there’s only twenty-five thousand available right now. He still thinks he can get it all by having someone pretend to be me. He has the codes and everything, thanks to my stupidity.”

“Yes, but he also knows you’ll be telling the authorities about that. Even if no one had believed your story, they would be checking out the bank on your birthday,” the Colonel pointed out.

“Unless they think she never got to the authorities,” Tommy broke in. Now, it was Tommy who had our attention. “We can plant a story in the media. We can fake Teri’s death. Vic is cautious, but a quarter of a million dollars is a big prize. It might be enough to tempt him into taking a chance.”

Colonel Baxter thought for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s do it. It may be the only chance we have.”

Reading the papers the next morning was enough to send chills up and down my spine. The front page of every paper in the Bay Area had a very realistic drawing of my new face along with a headline that screamed something like “Unidentified Girl Found Dead.” Then, underneath was a subhead that said something along the lines of “Broken Body Raped, Beaten.” I think what bothered me the most was that it could have ended that way, if it hadn’t been for Tommy.

“We found the band,” Tommy told me from across the table. We were having breakfast in the same meeting room. I had been summoned an hour before, so I threw on the same outfit I had worn the previous night. A simple breakfast of coffee, orange juice and sweet rolls was laid out in front of us.

I thought about how genuinely comical it must have been when several shorthaired Army Intelligence agents confronted Jake, Randy, Mary Lou, and especially Angus. “Did they agree to help?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, grabbing a particularly gooey sweet roll. “At least, all of them but Angus.”

“Angus wouldn’t help?” I asked, puzzled.

“Not exactly,” Tommy said with a grin as he bit into the roll. “Angus just didn’t exactly remember you. It seems he gets that way sometimes. Mary Lou said she’d get him straightened out and explain who you were and tell him to forget you.”

That was a relief. If the band had spotted that drawing of me in the papers, they might have freaked. By just being the good people they were, they could have wrecked our entire ruse.

Colonel Baxter rushed in, nodding to Tommy and me as he grabbed a roll. “Good work, Captain,” he said to Tommy. “The picture is in all the morning papers.”

“Yes, and it’ll be on all the TV newscasts tonight,” Tommy said proudly. “If Vic and his gang are anywhere in the Bay Area, they’ll figure Teri is dead.”

“Keep up the good work,” the Colonel said, rushing back out the door.

I was genuinely impressed. “Tommy, how did you handle all of this anyway?”

He smiled. “Don’t ask. If I told you, I’d have to kill you. And I’d rather take you out to dinner.”

My mouth flew open. “Are you asking me out on a date?” Funny, but a part of me wanted him to say “yes.” Although I had known Tommy casually for months, it was only in the past few hours that I had gotten to know who he really was. He was handsome–yes, my mind had really started to notice that sort of thing. And he was forceful. He took charge easily. With his boyish good looks and keen mind, it was easy to see why he had been chosen for what was obviously an important mission. I found myself wanting to spend a little more time getting to know him.

“Well, I suppose I am,” he said. There was that nice smile again. “Do you think it would be wrong?”

“Wrong?” I repeated. Then, slowly, “No... I don’t think so. But what about...?” I wanted to ask what he thought of the fact that until recently, I had been male, but I didn’t really want to ask him that. I wanted him to think of me as who I was now. After all, it was who I was going to be for the rest of my life.

He seemed to know what I had been about to say. He put a finger to my lips. “Let’s not even talk about that. It isn’t really important, is it?”

I smiled. “I suppose not.”

Actually, when I took a moment to think about it, it wasn’t really important. I might have been born and raised as a male, but I certainly wasn’t one now, no matter what my memories told me. And I would have had to be a fool to be oblivious to the changes in my mind that my new body was making.

I was actually looking forward to the evening with Tommy. After all, Terry Miller’s date with the banker was still several days away. In the meantime, I was going to be cooped up on the base so there was absolutely no chance anyone would see me. They had moved me to guest quarters, so I was comfortable. I was both surprised and pleased they had at least given me permission to wander around the base. They figured no one would associate me–a living, breathing girl–with the poor dead girl whose picture had made all the papers.

In typical feminine fashion though, I noted that I didn’t have a thing to wear. Tommy, it turned out, was taking me to a little party at the Officer’s Club. Most of what Brenda and Samantha had gotten me to wear consisted of whatever the Exchange had in my size. If I was going to be a party girl, I needed something more appropriate. I had asked my guard to find Brenda and Samantha for me.

“I don’t know who you are,” Brenda told me conspiratorially when she was summoned, “but I have a feeling whatever you want, the brass will go along with.”

I knew she and Samantha realized I was part of something big. They read the papers and watched TV like everybody else. While a casual observer might not draw a connection between me and the ‘dead girl,’ Brenda and Samantha were a part–albeit a small one–of the intelligence organization. They knew I was part of a large operation. But I was also a young woman, just like them. The idea of getting the right outfit for me was a little bit like helping Cinderella get ready for the ball. It appealed to their romantic streaks. Within minutes, they were on their way to talk the Colonel into allowing them to go downtown to get me something to wear to the party–all at the Army’s expense, of course.

That left me alone in my room. More than once that day, I questioned my actions and even my thoughts. It was really the first day I had had to myself since my transformation. Every other day, I had either been a captive or fleeing captivity. Since as a captive I had been forced to spend most of my waking hours training to be the concubine they had created me to be, this was really my first time to establish who I was to be.

It would have been natural, I suppose, to rebel against my fate and my recent training. I could have demanded jeans and baggy shirts, wrapped my breasts tightly to prevent them from showing, eschewed makeup, and cut my hair in a short, boyish style. To say that such actions hadn’t crossed my mind would have been a lie. But I also felt such actions would, in fact, have been the lie. I was a girl, and no amount of denying it would have made me any less a girl. Oh, I planned to spend many days of my new life in jeans and without makeup, but not all of them. In fact, not even most of them. I would have to build a new life for myself, and that life would have to include all the skirts, jewelry and makeup every other woman experienced in her life.

There was another aspect of my actions which was more disturbing to the kernel of masculinity which remained buried within my being. In that small room where Terry still lived, I remembered what it was like to make love to a woman. I remembered the heady feeling of blood rushing into my penis, stiffening it with passion and resolve. I remembered the triumphant joy which rippled through my strong, male body as a girl sighed and spread her legs beneath me. I would never forget the exhilaration of climax as a part of me shot into a writhing partner. No, I would never forget these things, and the thought of spreading my own legs in anticipation still caused me more than a moment of discomfort.

But in spite of that, I was becoming attracted to men. Randy had been a fling, spurred on by wine and the secondary pot smoke. Now though, with no stimulation from drugs or alcohol, I found myself noticing men–all men. Some, like the procession of guards at my door, were big and strong, varying from handsome to brutish. Others, like Colonel Baxter, exuded a decisive masculine maturity. I looked at them all, tiny fantasies of what it would be like–what they would be like–drifting across my mind.

Then there was Tommy. When I had been a guy, Tommy Montgomery had just been another guy. He was a little more mature than the rest of us, and his hair was a little shorter. He had, we had thought, just a couple of years on us, but all that didn’t mean much to us. But now, I wasn’t a guy any more, and Tommy wasn’t just another guy. He was... well, handsome. His fairly short brown hair wasn’t unstylish now–it was neat. His clean-shaven face wasn’t just out of vogue–it was smooth and kissable. His strong male body wasn’t just the kind you wanted on your side in a touch football game–it was strong and protective. His quiet manner wasn’t just that–it was gentle. In short, I found myself becoming attracted to him. Was it wrong? Not anymore.

Brenda and Samantha had me worried, taking their own sweet time to get back to me. I even felt my stomach becoming a little upset in anticipation. When they did arrive back though, I saw that their time was well spent. They had gotten me an outfit that Tommy was sure to like. It consisted of the essential ‘little black dress,’ dark patterned pantyhose, and three-inch heels. They had even found a new necklace with a small sapphire hanging from it, and sapphires set in gold for earrings. None of the stuff was cheap. ‘I must have set the Army back a fair amount,’ I thought. Not a bad haul for a draft dodger.

So it was a very sexy girl who presented herself to Captain Tommy Montgomery that night–maybe a little too sexy. Brenda and Samantha had their own ideas as to how much skin I should expose. The dress was quite short and the neckline plunged dangerously. When I first put it on, I thought that when I had been a groomsman at my cousin’s wedding, I had worn a cummerbund that covered more territory. Any misgivings I had quickly dissipated though, when Tommy saw me.

“Wow!” There was a gleam in his eyes. If he had any lingering thoughts about my former sex, they ended in that gaze. “Teri, you look fantastic.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I said lightly. He didn’t, either. He wore a dark blue pinstripe suit, a white shirt, and a stylishly wide red tie. It was conservative, but tasteful. Tommy was indeed a handsome man, I thought.

I had never been in an Officer’s Club, so I didn’t know what to expect. I needn’t have worried. It was basically just a nightclub–a little on the old-fashioned side, but a nightclub nonetheless. Some of the officers had chosen to wear dress uniforms, but the vast majority were in civilian clothes.

“Some of these men look a little old to be officers,” I whispered to Tommy as we were seated.

“Some of them are retired,” he told me. “The club is a good part of their social life.”

“They look so normal,” I said without thinking. That got a laugh from Tommy. My face reddened as I tried to recover. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” he assured me. “Look Teri, back at school, the antiwar crowd tried to fill everybody’s head with so much crap. What did you think? That we’d be a bunch of hulking monsters carrying bayonets in our teeth and looking for someone to kill?”

I flushed some more. “No, not exactly, but the war...”

He nodded more seriously. “Oh yes, the war. Think about this, Teri. Armies don’t start wars–politicians do. We just fight them. The average soldier, volunteer or draftee, has a family somewhere and he doesn’t want to be away from them. He fights not because he agrees with the war, but because he agrees with his country and what it stands for. And he fights to protect that family of his.”

“But I don’t think our families need any protection from Vietnam, do they?” I said sarcastically.

To my surprise, he agreed. “Nope, you’re right. They don’t.”

I was puzzled. “Then why fight them?”

He shrugged. “That’s a question you’d have to ask our politicians. That’s the way things work in this country.”

“But,” I argued, “if the Army doesn’t believe in the war, why fight it?”

“Some in the Army do agree with it,” he corrected me. “If somebody did a survey, it would probably turn out to be a substantial percentage. But even if the whole Army disagreed with it, we’d still have to fight it.”

“Why?”

“Those politicians again,” he told me. “Remember what I told you. Civilians tell the military what to do. Are you familiar with the Chad Mitchell Trio?”

I brightened. “Oh, yes. They’re one of my favorite groups. Given my situation, I was just thinking about Draft Dodger Rag the other day. It’s by Pete Seeger.”

He smiled. “Nope, it’s by Phil Ochs, but I can see why the song is of interest to you. But do you remember another number on that album? It starts out, ‘You’re paid to stop a bullet’.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, thinking of the next line. “‘It’s a soldier’s job they say’.”

He nodded. “‘So then you stop the bullet’.”

Then together, we said merrily, “‘And then they stop your pay’.”

I laughed with him, then said agreeably, “I see your point.”

That ended all talk of the war. From there, we started talking about the Chad Mitchell Trio. It turned out Tommy was almost as big a fan of theirs as I was. We bemoaned the fact that Chad Mitchell was no longer with the group, now renamed the Mitchell Trio. Chad’s replacement was an unknown guy named John Denver, who didn’t seem to be too bad. Still, we both missed Chad.

Then the conversation drifted into our personal lives. I told him about my background, being careful to keep the references to being formerly male out of the conversation. Of course, Tommy was well aware of who I had been, but we were both able to pretend I had always been Teri Miller. We both seemed to want to maintain that fantasy. I was glad for it. I had been physically sick at my stomach half the day, and I was certain my nervous anticipation about the date had been the cause.

Tommy came from a surprisingly similar background, but his father had been more fortunate. “He served in Europe with Patton,” he told me. “He said Patton was the best soldier he had ever seen from West Point on.”

“Did he stay in the Army after the war?” I asked, playing with the dinner on my plate. I wasn’t very hungry. The upset stomach refused to go away.

Tommy nodded. “Yes. He just retired a year ago as a Major General. He works for AT&T now in their Military Sales Division.”

So here I was, having a wonderful evening with a man who represented everything I had learned to be against. He was a West Point graduate like his father, and he planned to make the Army a career. Yet instead of some wild-eyed military fanatic, he was just a nice guy. I learned a valuable lesson that night–one that had been long in coming. I learned that things are a lot more complicated than many people imagine. Soldiers don’t all favor war, the people you think are your enemies are often really your friends, and thinking back on Drew, the people you think are your friends might just be your enemies. I resolved that Teri Miller would never accept the simplistic solutions and concepts which Terry Miller had. It appeared that Morph had changed more than my sex. I seemed to be able to think things through better as Teri. Maybe it was the sex change, or maybe I was just growing up.

I still felt a little crummy, but I was enjoying the evening. I was meeting some of Tommy’s friends and liked them. I found his friends’ wives and girlfriends to be a bright, personable lot. I was even initiated into the group trips women always seem to make to the restroom.

“I’ll tell you, Ann,” one of the wives said to me once we were in the restroom, “I think Tommy really likes you.”

“Do you think so?” I asked, flushing just a little. Tommy and I had agreed my new name would be Teri Ann Greer on my new ID. Greer was my grandfather’s middle name, and Ann was my mother’s name. He had warned me he would introduce me as Ann at the party so no one would associate me with the missing Terry Miller. If Vic had a contact on the base, the presence of an unknown cute girl named Teri might get back to him. We were reasonably sure Vic didn’t have any agents on the base, but it didn’t hurt to be extra careful.

“I’m sure of it,” the woman said with confidence. “He’s quite a catch, too. Did you know he was in the top ten percent of his graduating class at the Point?”

I hadn’t known, but I wasn’t surprised. Actually, as I made my way back to Tommy, I wondered what he could possibly see in me. Maybe he had decided to take me to this party just for old time’s sake, I thought. Surely he could do better than to have to date a girl who hadn’t even been a girl a few weeks before.

I sighed, remembering similar feelings my senior year in high school–sexually reversed, of course. The girl I had taken to the Senior Prom was from one of the more prominent families in my hometown. She was attractive, had a fantastic personality, and was great in bed. I remembered wondering what she saw in me. It was a great relationship, but short lived. She went on to college back east that fall and I never saw her again.

Now, here I was, with the same misgivings, only now I was the girl, wondering for the life of me what Tommy saw in me. I guessed the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Like that girl back in high school, Tommy was from a prominent family. He was certainly attractive to my new female eyes. His personality was indeed, fantastic. Was he great in bed? I didn’t want to think about that.

Actually, I did want to think about it, I realized. My taste for making love had been whetted by the experience with Randy. I had begun taking birth control pills as Dr. Weaver had ordered. I had resigned myself to a life in skirts and heels. Why shouldn’t I seduce Tommy? The only reason I could think of was the lousy little stomach ache that had refused to go away. It was even sending out pain to the rest of my abdomen, and I was starting to feel like someone had kicked me in my left kidney.

“Are you okay?” Tommy asked as I arrived at the table.

“Sure,” I lied. “Don’t I look okay?”

“You just looked like your back was bothering you,” he explained.

I smiled. “Probably just the heels. I’m still not really used to them.”

The band had started playing. It was the Sinatra song, Strangers in the Night. Tommy smiled. “Maybe you just need some practice. Dancing might help.”

I hesitated. I didn’t really know how to dance as a woman. Penny hadn’t taught me that. Still, I supposed Tommy would have to lead. I would just have to try to anticipate him. It shouldn’t be too hard, I thought. Besides, something inside me longed to hold him. “Okay.”

It took a moment for me to get it right. At first, I wanted to put my right arm around him. Then, I realized I would have to hold his left hand with it. His own right arm went around my waist and I felt myself being pulled into his body. At the last second, I remembered to put my left hand on his shoulder. Then, look at me, Ma. I’m dancing! I’m dancing!

I remembered suddenly the old Disney films, like Cinderella when she’s at the ball dancing with the handsome prince. As a male, I always thought that was pretty corny. Now, here I was, in my short, black cocktail dress, balanced on high heels in the arms of a smiling, handsome man. I suddenly knew how Cinderella felt. And then, like in Cinderella, the clock suddenly struck midnight.

Only instead of a clock striking, it felt like something struck me right in the back. There I was one minute, dreamily contemplating what it might be like to be in bed with Tommy, and the next minute, all I could think was who had knifed me in the kidney? I nearly stumbled and fell.

“There’s something wrong,” Tommy said, his arm around me as he led me unsteadily off the dance floor. “I’m taking you to the infirmary.”

I didn’t argue with him. We stopped only long enough to get my purse. Then we were on our way. Tommy had asked the club managed to call Dr. Weaver, so with any luck, she would be waiting for us. What was wrong? I wondered. Was this some after-effect of the transformation? Had something gone wrong? I was nearly in tears as we drove to the infirmary.

Dr. Weaver was waiting for us. It turned out she had the duty that night anyway, so we needn’t have worried. She shooed Tommy out of the examining room and looked me over. The pains seemed to be subsiding–maybe just because I was a little more relaxed with the doctor there.

“Is it serious?” I asked. I had visions of my entire body coming apart. Maybe Morph did that. I didn’t want to die. I was just getting to the point where I was starting to enjoy being a girl.

“No, not really,” she laughed. “You’re just starting your period.”

“What?” I practically yelled. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You mean I’m going to feel like this every month?”

She shook her head. “No, probably not. I suspect this one is a little worse just because it’s your first. You’re a little old for puberty, so I imagine it will settle down. Even if it is bad, a lot of women experience pain one month but not the next.”

“Why is that?” I asked, suddenly curious. If I was to have a woman’s body for the rest of my life, I needed to know everything I could about it.

“You have two ovaries,” she explained. “Each month, you’ll have a period, but only one ovary will be involved. The next month, the other one will. So you might experience more discomfort with one than the other. Now, did your training back at the farm include sanitary napkins?”

“No,” I sighed, relieved. “I guess they were waiting for this to happen first.”

“Well then,” she said with a grin as she produced a box from under the counter, “let me introduce you to our friend, Mr. Tampon.”

I felt as if someone had jammed a two by four between my legs. I resisted the temptation to walk bowlegged when I went back to meet Tommy. I just kept telling myself that half the people in the country had to put up with this nonsense. If they could do it, so could I. I thought back about what Dr. Weaver had said about the three things that made a girl a woman. Well, two out of three wasn’t bad. At least they were the right two. I certainly didn’t want to be pregnant.

“What did the doctor say?” Tommy wanted to know, rising when he saw me. There was a worried look on his face.

“I’m okay,” I muttered. “It was just my... you know.”

“What?”

“My... time,” I stammered. “I mean my... my... period.” The last word was practically whispered.

He laughed. The big dumb clod actually laughed. If I were bigger, I would have killed him.

“It’s not funny,” I growled petulantly.

He put his arm around me, still chuckling. “I know it’s not. I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought–I mean we thought–that it might be something serious. I’m just relieved to know you’re okay.”

I actually giggled a little myself. “We probably did look pretty funny,” I agreed, “considering the outcome.”

“I really am sorry,” he said more seriously. “You’ve gone through so much these last few weeks. I can’t imagine what it has been like for you.”

“Actually, it hasn’t been all that bad,” I told him honestly. “I mean, I could do without periods and all, but I don’t feel as odd as I thought I would. All this... girl stuff actually seems normal. I guess it’s like losing a limb,” I explained, thinking of my father and his reaction to losing his legs. “You can either mope around, feeling sorry for yourself, or you can get on with your life and make the most of it you can.”

“I didn’t really know you that well as a guy,” Tommy admitted. “Being with you here this last couple of days, it’s hard for me to think of you ever being a guy. I hope you don’t mind.”

He was looking down at my face, his arm still around me. I found myself inching up until my face was directly in front of his. “No,” I said softly. “I don’t mind.” Impulsively, my lips touched his lightly. “I really don’t mind at all.”

I didn’t get to see much of Tommy for the next few days. He had to fly to Los Angeles since there was a rumor that Vic had surfaced there. It turned out to be false, but it still took several days to investigate. That was actually fine with me, because those were not good days for me. I was beginning to understand why women had a reputation of being out of sorts during their periods. I felt like shit. Oh, I was up and around, but I felt like I had an irritating case of the flu. I hoped Dr. Weaver was right and that my future periods wouldn’t be so intense.

Dr. Weaver continued to examine me. It seemed as if every day someone had a new question about the results of Morph. Since I was the only victim of the drug they could contact, most of the research involved my being the lab rat. In a way, it was valuable time for me. My captors had been more interested in making sure I would be compliant and feminine at all times. They had ingrained feminine behavior in me to a degree I would have once not thought possible. But they had all but ignored many other aspects which Dr. Weaver had been able to help me with.

I was curious about my body. Men seem to lack curiosity about their bodies. They either function or they don’t, and when they don’t they see a doctor–sometimes. Women, on the other hand, seem more in tune with their bodies. I think it’s because they realize how truly remarkable their bodies are. They are really little factories for the perpetuation of the species. Like many factories, they seem to require more fine tuning–wipe after urinating, watch out for bladder infections, palpitate those breasts, and the list goes on and on.

So from Dr. Weaver, I began to learn all the things I would have learned at my mother’s knee if I had been born female. She was a good and patient teacher, being both a doctor and a mother. She had raised two girls on her own as a single parent, and I found myself almost considering her the mother I had lost. She gave me some books to read and made time available to answer my many questions. As a result, I almost didn’t miss Tommy.

Almost.

I was still a babe in the woods when it came to dealing with men as a woman. I liked Tommy in a way I would never have dreamed possible before my change. But again, I had little experience to go by. In spite of my little incident at the Officer’s Club, I found myself looking back on that night with longing. I kept wondering, what would have happened if I hadn’t started my period? That question became the source of many fantasies during the time he was gone.

Then, on the fifth day since Tommy had left, there was a knock on my door. I was lying in bed, reading one of the books Dr. Weaver had given me. I wore no makeup and had on only an Army sweatshirt and a pair of cut-off jeans shorts. I was expecting no one, so I had gotten about as casual as I had often done as a man. So I was duly embarrassed when I opened the door and saw Tommy standing there.

Actually, he was dressed about the same way. The main difference was that he was wearing tennis shoes. “Hi,” he said with a grin.

“Uh... hi,” I managed. “When did you get back?”

He shrugged. “A couple of hours ago. It turned out to be a false alarm. Now, we think he’s still holed up around here.”

“So the operation is still on?” I asked. If Vic had been caught, there would be no reason to stake out my bank on my birthday. With him still on the run though, it once again became the best plan.

“Yes,” he said. “The Colonel wants to talk to us about it in the morning. In the meantime, I thought you might like to get a bite to eat.”

“I’m not exactly presentable,” I objected. But I wanted to be with him. I really did.

“Hey, you look fine.”

“I’m not wearing any makeup.”

He grinned. “You could have fooled me. You look better without makeup than most women look with it.”

Why did I suddenly feel warm and fuzzy all over? I couldn’t help but smile. “Give me a minute,” I said, hurrying to the bathroom for my lipstick and to spend a couple of minutes on my eyes. I had been a girl just long enough to know that even if I looked good without makeup, I’d look a whole lot better with it.

Most military bases have two bars for officers I discovered. The first is in the main part of the Officer’s Club. It tends to be a little on the formal side–or at least it was in the sixties. Somewhere close by though, there’s a more informal bar where an officer can walk in dressed in gym gear and grab a burger and a beer. That was where we ended up that evening.

The bar was dark with a haze of smoke. About half the tables were filled, small conversations just barely audible over the sound of a song by the Supremes blaring out of the jukebox. As we ordered burgers and beers, I felt almost as if I were back in college again.

“You’re looking better,” he commented as our beers were delivered.

I gave a stage smile. “I’m all better now–for another month anyway.”

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Teri,” he said, taking a sip of cold beer. “You seem to accept all of this so naturally. Even though I met you before the change, it’s hard for me to imagine you were ever... different.” Always the Intelligence Officer, he was careful not to talk about my transformation too clearly, even though there was no one really within earshot of our booth.

“Sometimes, it’s hard for me to imagine it, too,” I admitted. It was true. Even though my womanhood was only a few weeks old, it seemed as if I had always been this way. They say if you want to learn another language, you have to immerse yourself in it. Well, I had been immersed in femininity, so I guess I had learned how to be a woman.

“I hope I’m not offending you,” Tommy ventured. “I mean, I...”

“Oh, you didn’t offend me,” I said quickly, unconsciously placing my small hand over his larger one. “I mean, it would be kind of silly for me to try to act like... I was, wouldn’t it? This is me now, so I have to get used to it. And I really don’t mind it.”

“You don’t?” he asked carefully.

I shook my head and smiled. “Not really, no. There’s some things I don’t like, like the last few days, but I guess I can get used to them.” Then I joked, “At least it got me out of the draft.”

He laughed, “It did that.”

There was something important I wanted to bring up to Tommy, and now seemed like the best time. “Tommy the... operation?”

“Yes?” he said, the laughter stopping.

“I want to be a part of it.”

“You are a part of it,” he pointed out as our burgers arrived.

“No,” I clarified. “I don’t mean part of the meetings. I want to be there–in the bank when it happens.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he said slowly.

Oh no, I thought. Here it comes. Well, I had wanted him to be protective, hadn’t I? The problem was I had had several days to think about the operation. I was sure Vic would be there, and I wanted to see him take a fall. I wanted to look in his eyes when they hauled him away. I wanted him to know whose idea it had been to nail him at the bank. I wanted him to know I was alive, and had helped bring him to heel. Nobody was going to stop me from being there.

“Why not?” Try and get out of this one buddy, I thought. After all, this was the sixties. I might have to be a woman, but I wasn’t going to be some little simpering hothouse plant. Right on, sister!

“Well...” Tommy began slowly, obviously trying desperately to come up with something I might buy, “...they would recognize you. You might blow the whole operation.”

“But you’re going to be there.”

“Well... yes,” he allowed.

“And what if Drew is there?” I pointed out. “He knows you. Aren’t you afraid that might blow the whole operation?”

“That’s different.”

Male logic, I thought. What an oxymoron. “How is it different?”

“It just is,” he pronounced, tearing into his burger.

“I’m going,” I said, tearing into my own with equal vehemence.

“You’re not.”

We ate our burgers in silence. The funny thing is, I didn’t want to be mad at him. I liked Tommy–I liked him a lot. But he was treating me like a... like a woman. Oh shit, I was a woman. ‘Damn, this was getting complicated,’ I thought.

He walked me back to my quarters in near silence. We had said little to each other except for what was required. As I started wordlessly to go in the door, he held me back with a soft grasp of my arm.

“Teri, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I just... well, I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

I was ready to argue with him. I wanted to tell him whether I got hurt or not really wasn’t any of his business. But on the other hand, I wanted it to be his business. I wanted him to care about me. I wanted...

“Am I forgiven?”

I sighed, stretching up to kiss him gently. “I guess so.” I wanted so badly to ask him in and show him how ready I was to accept his apology, but I didn’t. Some of me was still mad at him. I never used to be so confused when I was male, I realized. “Well, good night.”

“Good night.” Was that disappointment I heard in his voice? I hoped so.

‘Okay, so I had forgiven him,’ I thought when I closed the door behind me. But I only did it because I wanted to catch him off guard. I was going to be a part of the operation and be in that bank no matter what. ‘The nerve of him,’ I thought, ‘treating me like a helpless little girl.’ Well, this was the sixties, and if I had to be a woman, I was going to be a sixties woman. Sisterhood is powerful! Burn the bra! Well, maybe not quite that far. As long as I had to walk around with boobs on my chest, I had learned that wearing a bra had its advantages.

The question was how to convince him. I couldn’t just go to Colonel Baxter. I suspected he would be as much of a chauvinist as Tommy was. In fact, I would have to convince them both that I could be a valuable part of the mission. After all, what if Vic sent one of his other people? I had seen more of them than anyone else involved in the mission. I might be able to finger someone quickly. But how to convince them? Anything I said to them would just sound like Lucy trying to talk Ricky into letting her perform at the club. It took me a couple of sleepless hours that night, but I came up with a plan.

I waited until a couple of days before the mission to put the plan into play. I had attended a meeting with Colonel Baxter and Tommy, putting some final touches on the operation. We had decided Tommy would direct the mission from the bank operation manager’s office where he could view the security cameras. He would have four agents on the floor, three posing as bank auditors and one as a guard. No one from the bank except the operations manager and his superiors would know what was going on, just in case Vic had a contact in the bank. The details settled, I was dismissed while Tommy and the Colonel continued on in a meeting with the actual team.

They had expected me to go back to my quarters, but it was time for me to put my plan into action. Once again, I had enlisted help from Brenda and Samantha. I didn’t tell them why I was doing what I was about to do, but they agreed to help just for the fun of it. I had remembered that Brenda was about my size, so I had borrowed a uniform from her. Samantha had a phony nametag ready for me, and in an unoccupied office, they transformed me into Private Nancy Russell.

They had purchased a wig for me, giving me dark blonde hair instead of my usual auburn color. The wig was gathered into a tight bun. We played with my shape as well. Brenda did indeed have smaller breasts than I did, but rather than reduce the size of my breasts, we instead padded out the hips and waist a little bit and let the whole uniform jacket and skirt out. Changes in eye shadow, blush, and lipstick were all kept within military standards, and colors were used that were more appropriate on the blonde I had now been changed into. A final touch was a pair of glasses. Fortunately, they had only a minor correction in them, and that was for distance, so I was still able to read with them on. The glasses had brown plastic frames. I thought they looked terrible, but they did the trick.

I saluted my image in the mirror. “Private Nancy Russell reporting for duty,” I said to the stranger in the mirror.

“Try to pitch your voice down and speak softly,” Samantha suggested. “With any luck, all you’ll have to say is ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’.”

“I hope so,” I said. I didn’t think they’d recognize me. I could barely recognize myself.

We had gotten Colonel Baxter’s secretary to play along with the impersonation. A rather independent woman herself, she was more than happy to help me teach her boss a little lesson–namely that it was never wise to underestimate the determination of a woman.

It was actually kind of fun once I got into the swing of things. I floated through the office performing small tasks given to me by the Colonel’s secretary. It was ironic, I thought to myself as I performed my tasks. I had tried so hard to stay out of a uniform. Now here I was, voluntarily wearing one–with a skirt no less! Some draft dodger I had turned out to be.

I had several occasions to interact with Tommy and Colonel Baxter during the day. They were so engrossed in planning the operation, they scarcely noticed me. Brenda and Samantha had duties which kept them in the office, so they were able to enjoy the charade as well. There were a lot of knowing smiles and glances throughout the day, but neither of the men I was trying to fool noticed.

Finally, just before lunch, the Colonel asked Tommy in my presence, “Do we have a full description on this Penny who did Teri’s training at the farm?”

“I think so,” Tommy said as he shuffled through a stack of papers. “I can’t find it, though. Shall I call Teri?”

It was time to shake them up. I had been sent for coffee, so I handed a steaming mug to Tommy. “Her hair is dark blonde,” I told him. “Like this,” I added, touching my wig with a smile.

He nearly dropped the coffee. “How did...? Teri? Is that you? What are you doing?”

“Proving a point,” I said confidently. I noticed I had the Colonel’s attention, too. “You see, one advantage of being female is it’s so easy to change my appearance. You didn’t recognize me, did you?”

“I would have,” he countered. “You couldn’t have fooled me very long.”

“Tommy, Tommy,” I said shaking my head. “I’ve been fooling you all morning. I’ve been in here half a dozen times and you never noticed.”

“What’s this all about, Captain?” Colonel Baxter asked.

“She wants to go on the mission,” Tommy told him. “I told her it was too risky and that she might be recognized.”

The Colonel looked at me carefully. “Teri, why is it so important for you to go on the mission?”

I sighed. “Well, the obvious point is that it’s my money that’s being used as bait. I have a financial interest in this.”

“But that’s not your primary reason,” the Colonel stated.

“No sir, it isn’t,” I agreed. “Vic tried to ruin my whole life. He changed me into a girl and planned to sell me into virtual slavery. I owe him one. I want to be there at the finish.”

Colonel Baxter gave me a strangely fatherly look. Come to think of it, his secretary had told me he had a sixteen-year-old daughter. “Are you that unhappy being a girl, Teri?”

I looked at him, then at Tommy. There was a pained look on Tommy’s face, and I realized that how I answered that question could affect our relationship from there on. “No...” I said slowly. “I never would have wished this on myself, but I’m not unhappy. I mean, I had planned to be a commercial artist, and I can do that as well as a woman as I could as a man. I just feel... used. Vic tried to use me, and I didn’t like it. I can handle being a girl. What I can’t handle is knowing Vic is out there somewhere.”

The Colonel sat at the head of the conference table and motioned me to sit next to him. “Teri,” he began in that same fatherly tone, “I can’t allow personal feelings to get in the way of the success of this mission. We’ve been lucky so far. Vic is a small-time operator. If he had the vision or the contacts, Morph would be in the hands of the Russians or the Chinese by now. They’d break the stuff down in their labs and make more of it. Everything we know about Morph was either stolen or destroyed in that lab explosion. Even the men primarily responsible for the drug died there.”

I think that was the first moment I really realized what the operation was all about. Vic’s white slavery operation was of little interest to the Army. I had been thinking too small. I had been thinking about what Vic had done to me. If the secrets of Morph left our shores, who knew what damage the drug could do? Like it or not, I was in the middle of a war no less serious than the one being fought in Vietnam. Another irony, I thought to myself.

Still, I wanted to be there when they nailed Vic. Whether it was for personal reasons or because I could help, I wanted to be there. “Sir,” I began again, “I can add value to the mission without additional risk.”

“Explain,” he ordered, his expression unchanging.

“While I was being suckered and trained, I had an opportunity to see a lot of Vic’s men. I’m the only one in this operation who has seen them. If they’re in the bank, only I will know them.”

The Colonel looked up at Tommy. “She has a good point there.”

Tommy sighed in exasperation. “Sir, I’ve been over that with Teri. While it’s true she’s the only one who could recognize them, they might recognize her.”

“I think she’s proven she can handle that problem,” the Colonel said with a thin smile.

“Yes, sir, but...”

The Colonel rose. “Very well, Teri, you’re in. But in deference to Captain Montgomery’s concerns, you will be kept out of the line of fire. Is that satisfactory?”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by “the line of fire,” but I was in! I was very pleased with myself, but I noted Tommy looked very unhappy. The Colonel left the room, leaving Tommy and I alone. I was afraid I had embarrassed him somehow. Had I been so intent on my own goal that I had somehow created a problem for him? I had better make it up to him quickly, I decided.

I put my hand on his arm. “Tommy, are you all right with this?”

He stared at me for a moment with a look of something akin to disgust. I nearly cringed, but finally stood my ground. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this might be?” he asked, his gaze softening only a little.

“I’ve faced danger before,” I reminded him.

“Yes, but this is different.”

“How is it different?” I asked softly. Oh, how I wished he’d smile at me!

“It isn’t necessary,” he explained. “I don’t want to put anyone in danger unnecessarily. I particularly don’t want to see you in danger.”

My heart was beating faster. I stood directly in front of him, staring into his eye. “Why particularly me?” I asked, hoping I would like the answer.

It took considerable time in coming. It was as if he was uncertain how to say it to me. Was it because of who I had been? Or was it because of who I was now?

“Teri,” he began slowly, his face thankfully softening until there was a definite look of concern there, “in the short time we’ve been together, I’ve become very attracted to you. I hope you’re not offended by that. I mean, since you used to be...”

“A man?” I finished for him, my confidence returning. “Yes, I used to be one of those, but I’m not one anymore. So let’s not even talk about that. This is what I am now.”

“And this is what I’m attracted to,” he said a bit easier. “You’re very attractive, but even more importantly, you’re very strong. I get so tired of girls who act weak and helpless.”

“Then you should be glad to have me on the mission,” I pointed out.

“In a way I am,” he admitted. “I just don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

I put my arms gently around his trim waist. “Nothing will happen.”

“Uh...” he stammered, “we probably shouldn’t be doing this. You’re dressed like a Private, and officers aren’t allowed to fraternize with enlisted personnel.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” I asked sweetly. “Are we fraternizing?”

There was the smile. “Well, it looks like it.”

I was the person I had become. I knew who I was, and I knew what I wanted. “Then we’d better go back to my place so I can get out of this uniform as quickly as possible.”

Tommy was bright, but it took him a moment to realize what I had just said–but only a moment.

And he was as wonderful as I had hoped he would be.

Sadly, he didn’t spend the night. I demurely covered my naked body with a sheet, propping myself up on one arm. “Going someplace, soldier?” I said in a low–and I hoped–sultry voice.

“Love ’em and leave ’em–that’s my motto,” he grinned, stepping into his pants. “Seriously, though, we have a full day tomorrow.”

“We do?” I groaned, letting the sheet fall ‘accidentally.’

“Now don’t try to tempt me,” he said in mock seriousness. “We need to be at the bank by nine.”

“But the mission isn’t until the next day,” I pointed out.

“That shows how much you know about intelligence operations,” he said. “Vic’s people may already have someone watching the bank. We need to look natural. If six strangers converge suddenly on the bank on your birthday, they’ll be suspicious.”

“And one extra day will prevent that?” I asked.

“You’re the only one who’ll be there one extra day,” he pointed out. “The rest of the team has been in place since last week.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, almost angrily.

Tommy looked rather sheepish. “Well, we didn’t want you trying to muscle in on the operation. Now that you have, you’ll have a different role. We’ll put you in as one of the secretaries.”

I slid out of bed, naked as could be, and slid my arms around Tommy. “Do I get to be your secretary?” I asked coyly.

“I wish,” he sighed. “No, I’ll be in the operation manager’s office. We’ll give you a couple of letters to type so it looks as if you belong there. By the way, the other members of the team are posing as bank auditors. Well, not all of them, I guess. We’ve also replaced the bank guard.”

“You’ve thought of everything,” I said, truly impressed.

“No Teri, I haven’t,” he said. I looked at him curiously as he continued, “When you think you’ve thought of everything, people get hurt–maybe even killed. Just play your part and be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to anyone on the team, but I especially don’t want anything to happen to you.”

That earned him a serious good night kiss.

When he was gone, I went back to bed, still naked. I’m not sure why I did. I had never slept in the nude as a male, and I doubted if I would do it often as a female. But that one night, I did. I think it was because I wanted to look down and see my breasts heaving, their nipples still a little enlarged. And I wanted to be able to reach down and feel the bushy warmth between my legs. No, I didn’t plan on playing with myself. After a few hours with Tommy, it would have been anticlimactic. I just wanted to remind myself that this was all real. If someone had told me when I was still male that I would someday be a woman and be happy about it, I would have either laughed at him or decked him. But here I was, happy as could be. I’m sure there was a smile on my face as I drifted off to sleep.

The bank was impressive. The main branch of Bank of America in Oakland, the building had stood for at least forty years. The wealthy and near wealthy had banked there for generations. Inside, it looked like a bank, complete with marble floors waxed to a bright shine and dark wood which ran throughout the lobby.

It was the day of the operation. I had served my apprenticeship the day before, learning how to pretend to be a secretary. Mostly, I had just been taken around the bank to familiarize me with the layout and the bank employees. Now, dress rehearsal was over. It was the day of the performance, and I must admit to a little opening night–or morning–jitters.

Tommy ushered me quickly back to the operations manager’s office that was to be the command post. He didn’t even look like Tommy. He wore a conservative gray suit and a wig of brown hair mixed with gray and a false moustache to match. It was funny. As conservative as banks were, the Army was more conservative. The wig was necessary, not only to disguise the true color of his hair, but its length as well, since his natural hair had been too short. No wonder we had all suspected Tommy of working for the government when we were at Berkeley, and his real hair had been longer then than it was now.

All of us on the team had been costumed as if we were part of a Hollywood production. Our bank guard fill-in wore, of course, the standard guard uniform, and there was nothing about the rest of the team in their bank auditor suits and skirts that looked out of place.

Me? Well, I was dressed about as conservatively as I had ever been since my transformation. Penny had insisted on short, tight, sexy clothes, and Samantha and Brenda had bought much the same for me. Now though, I was the conservative bank secretary, my blouse white, crisp, and anything but revealing. My beige skirt hung to just below the knee, conservative and demure. My pantyhose were a neutral shade, and my two-inch pumps brown and sensible. I wore the same dark blonde wig and glasses I had worn when I had fooled Tommy and Colonel Baxter. My own mother wouldn’t have recognized me. Come to think of it, even without my disguise, my mother, were she still alive, would never have recognized me.

I was shown to a desk near the operations manager’s door, in full view of Mr. Hicks’ desk in Trust. Although I had known the elderly Hicks for years, having been introduced to him by my grandfather, I was sure he’d never recognize me when he came in. Hell, I didn’t even recognize me. In fact, the day of my rehearsal, he had been in and out of the bank. The notice he did give me when he saw me was the same notice I would have expected from a younger man. ‘Why Mr. Hicks,’ I had thought mischievously to myself, ‘you old lecher, you.’

I had been introduced as a temporary substitute for the secretary who regularly sat at this desk. She was out of the bank for a few days’ training. I felt very strange sitting at that desk. I was a secretary–or at least acting like one. The regular occupant of the desk had also been a woman, so there were little feminine touches–a flowering plant, a picture of two small children, and a box of Kleenex. To any casual observer, I looked as if I belonged at the desk. I placed my purse underneath the desk and waited for Tommy’s instructions.

“Here are some letters to type,” he said, handing me three handwritten documents. Thank god they weren’t shorthand. I wouldn’t have had the foggiest notion how to read that. “Just type them and answer the phone. There’s a message pad in the center drawer. They’ll be asking for Mr. Dawson. Just tell them he’s out of the bank today and take the message. If they ask for Mr. Jacobs, buzz me.”

“Who is Mr. Jacobs?” I asked. “You?”

“For all practical purposes, yes,” he replied. “It’s really a code phrase though. It means we have someone suspicious coming into the bank.”

That meant we had more resources out on the street. I wondered how many people were involved in this mission. However many there were, it showed how important this operation was. “What happens when I’ve finished typing these?” I asked. “I do know how to type, you know. I was third in my typing class in high school.”

“Good for you,” he grinned. “Maybe you can be my secretary when all of this is over. In answer to your question, just type them again. Look busy.”

“Thanks,” I growled. Well, I had asked to be on this mission. What did I expect to be doing? Standing guard with a machine gun? As Tommy disappeared into the office, I sighed and began typing.

My typewriter was a new one, so I had fun playing with it for a while. In high school, we had learned to type on old Underwoods, but the bank had spared no expense. I had a brand new IBM Selectric with one of the little balls instead of the stroke arms. What was the joke? You really had to have balls to type on the new IBMs. I smiled to myself. There was another irony for me. It was a sweet machine. All you had to do was barely touch the keys and the print magically appeared on the paper. What would they think of next?

As the bank opened, we got our first surprise of the day. Mr. Hicks was not at his desk. Then, another man sat down at Hicks’ desk. At the same moment, the intercom buzzed. “Can I see you in here, please?” Tommy’s voice asked.

In the office, Tommy was watching the bank lobby monitor with another man, mid-forties with balding brown hair. Tommy introduced him as Mr. Dawson, who I was to say was out of town. Obviously, the operations manager was in for the day.

“That’s Sam Gordon,” Mr. Dawson told us. “He works at one of our other offices. He backs up Mr. Hicks.”

“So he’s all right then?” Tommy prompted.

“Sure,” Mr. Dawson replied. “Let me see why he’s here today.” He dialled an extension, spoke for a few minutes, then hung up. “Mr. Hicks called in sick today. Apparently their boss called Sam in to take over for the day.”

Tommy and I looked at each other with the same worried look.

“Is there something wrong?” Mr. Dawson asked, suddenly worried himself.

“There might be,” Tommy allowed. Then, to me, “Have you ever met this Sam Gordon?”

I shook my head. “No. I’ve only met Mr. Hicks.”

Tommy was on the phone in a heartbeat. “Get a couple of men into position at...” He asked Mr. Dawson for Mr. Hicks’ address. When he had repeated it on the phone, he added, “Don’t move in until we give you the word. Nothing has happened here yet, so we need you to stay back. Okay?” Apparently, he got the answer he wanted, for he hung up the phone and returned to the monitor.

“You don’t believe Mr. Hicks is out sick, do you?” I said, low enough so as not to be heard by Mr. Dawson.

“No,” Tommy replied, equally quiet. “Either Solo’s men have kidnapped or killed Hicks. It’s possible they just wanted someone in his place today who wouldn’t know you, or this Dawson may be on Solo’s payroll. Be careful out there.”

I nodded and returned to my desk.

I began my job of impersonating a secretary. That consisted mostly of typing those few letters over and over until I nearly had them memorized. Typing with longer fingernails had presented a small challenge, but I soon found that by arching the pad of my fingers up slightly, they didn’t catch on the keys. One more small mystery of femininity was solved at last.

Tommy buzzed my extension after about an hour, just to tell me his men had found nothing at Hicks’ house. There was no sign of a struggle or forced entry. It was possible he really was sick and had gone to the doctor. Or maybe he had decided to play hooky that day and had just called in sick. Maybe he was up in the hills right now with a basket of wine and cheese, a young blonde at his side. I giggled to myself at the thought of stiff old Hicks on such an outing. Then again, he had given me an appreciative look the day before.

They say that most dangerous occupations consist of hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. I don’t know about that, but I do know that by the time it was nearly noon, I was bored out of my skull. Maybe they weren’t coming. Maybe they were too worried that somehow, Army Intelligence would put the whole picture together. Maybe they hadn’t noticed the news story about my ‘death.’ As my mind churned through dozens of maybes, two familiar figures walked through the door.

I wouldn’t call it a moment of terror, but I felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. I was coming through the door. It wasn’t really me, of course, but just for a moment, I found myself wondering if Morph could change someone into me. As ‘I’ drew closer, I could see that the imposter’s hair had been dyed to match mine, and that he wore a phony mustache. I knew who it really was–it was Drew. On his arm was Julie, looking very unhappy at being there. The two of them marched right up to Mr. Gordon and introduced themselves. I strained to hear what they were saying, but they were out of earshot.

My god, I suddenly realized, there had been no warning from our outside spotters. ‘Of course,’ I thought, mentally kicking myself. Drew didn’t look like himself, and none of us had expected Julie to be there. In fact, I was the only one on the team who knew what Julie looked like. The couple simply didn’t match the profile. Quickly, I called Tommy.

“What is it?” he asked, sounding almost as bored as I had been a few minutes before.

“They’re here–in the bank,” I told him softly, hoping my voice didn’t carry any better than theirs did.

“What? Who’s here?”

“Vic’s people,” I told him. Who did he think I was talking about? President Johnson? “Drew and Julie are over at Gordon’s desk right now.”

Mr. Gordon looked very professional from where I sat, much as Mr. Hicks had looked with me. Drew wouldn’t have bothered with the disguise if Mr. Gordon was working with him. I wondered why Julie was there. I had thought she was like me, a helpless victim just doing what she was told to do. Did this mean she was more than she seemed to be? I doubted it. As Vic’s girl, he had probably just sent her along to make sure Drew was a good little puppy dog. She was probably supposed to be his extra eyes and ears as well, looking for a trap, such as the one we had set. What would she do, I wondered, when the action started? I hoped she did nothing. I liked Julie and didn’t want to see her get hurt.

Tommy had apparently gotten the word to all of his people. I saw the guard casually turn away from the front entrance, looking more at the row of desks where Mr. Gordon unwittingly occupied Drew and Julie. The three ‘auditors’ were on the move as well, the woman on the audit team looking as if she was going to the restroom, but stopping short of her goal just out of Drew’s sight. The two men pretending to be auditors walked casually toward my desk, but I knew at the last minute, they would veer off.

Julie noticed them, I realized, but she said nothing. Apparently, Vic had trusted her too much. This was her chance to break away from him, and I was sure she realized it. Unfortunately, Drew noticed, too. He looked around, trying to appear casual. The desks between him and me were unoccupied, their regular occupants at lunch. So as luck would have it, his gaze rested on me.

He gave me a cold, calculating look, but not one of recognition. I was just another cute secretary to him. But I could be something else to him, I realized with sudden alarm–a hostage. I started to get up from my desk, to move into the office with Tommy, but I was too slow. Drew bolted from his chair without warning, lunging for me, throwing me against the desk. Even with the additional padding of female hips, I yelped in pain as I caught the corner of the desk.

“Just back away,” he demanded to Tommy’s people, “or Blondie here gets it!” If it weren’t for the cold steel of a pistol barrel tucked menacingly under my chin, I would have laughed and accused him of watching too many cop shows. The sad fact of it all was that if they kept coming, I just might get it, I realized.

Tommy’s people halted where they were. I heard the door to the operation manager’s office open, but Drew heard it, too, pulling me around so he had a view of the door as well as Tommy slowly stepped through. I could almost feel the evil smile I knew must be on Drew’s face when he said, “Well, Tommy boy. So we were right about you all the time. You are a fed.”

“Army Intelligence,” Tommy clarified, trying to keep his voice calm. “We’ve got the bank surrounded. Give up now and help us get Vic. We can make a deal.”

Drew snorted, “Yeah, sure. Julie, get over here!”

Obediently, she moved to his side, but not before she had a good look at me. She recognized me, I realized suddenly. What would she do? If Drew realized who he had as a hostage, my chances of survival went down a notch. I doubted if I was very popular with Vic and Drew. After all, I had screwed up their operation real good. To my relief, she said nothing.

Something had to happen quickly, while Drew was still off balance. A thought suddenly went through my head. The problem with taking a hostage was that you had to protect that hostage or you were exposed. That meant I could struggle with little fear of being harmed too much. I had seen the same cop shows Drew had probably watched, and I knew the power of a well-placed high heel. For the first time in my short life as a woman, I was happy I was wearing them. I stomped down on the exposed top of Drew’s foot with all my weight.

It didn’t exactly go as planned. I was hoping he would release me, but instead, he yelled in pain, stumbled back, then grabbed me again. There was feral anger in his eyes as he pulled the gun back around toward me. So much for protecting your hostage, I thought in terror. The son of a bitch was going to shoot me!

Then Drew let out another yelp as Julie jumped right behind him. My murder forgotten, he turned toward Julie, trying to raise the gun, but his arm failed him. He fired once, the bullet lodging loudly but harmlessly into the wood of my desk. “You bitch!” he managed to say to her with effort.

“It takes one to know one, honey,” she told him, a satisfied smile on her face as Drew dropped to the floor unconscious. Then, she turned her attention to me. “Teri honey, are you okay?”

I gave her a sisterly hug. “I’m fine. How about you?”

“Never better,” she said with a grin, looking down at the unconscious Drew on the floor. There was an empty syringe in her hand. “Vic told me to keep an eye on lover boy here,” she said with a nod at Drew. One of Tommy’s men gently took the syringe from her hand as the rest of the team gathered around. “But in a few days, he’s gonna be lover girl.”

“It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” I laughed.

Tommy interrupted us. “Look, ladies, I hate to break this up, but we need to find Vic.”

“I’ll help you,” Julie volunteered. She quickly gave the team directions to a warehouse in Oakland not far from the Army Terminal.

Tommy drove while Julie and I caught up on what had happened. It turned out Vic had panicked when I got away. It had never happened before, and although I had been sure no one would believe me, Vic knew it was only a matter of time until I was turned over to the Army. He pulled out of the Sunshine Club at once and was ready to leave the country when the story of my ‘death’ appeared. Vic and his people never dreamed I would be able to get in touch with the Army so quickly, and if it hadn’t been for Tommy, I wouldn’t have done so. So they decided the story was true and that they were probably safe, but just to make sure, they remained hidden. Drew’s foray to the bank was their first attempt to surface since my escape. It was a costly one.

Drew had been chosen for the mission because he looked a little like me. They had kidnapped Hicks, drugged him, and left him asleep in a motel room in Alameda where he would sleep off the drugs in about twelve hours. I was relieved they hadn’t killed him. So with Hicks out of the way, Drew would have been able to pass as me since Gordon had only an old photo to verify my identity.

Although Drew was Vic’s most trusted lieutenant, that didn’t mean much. Julie had been sent along to make sure he came back with the quarter of a million dollars they expected to get. If Drew tried anything funny, Julie was to give him the syringe of Morph she had finally drilled into his ass when he was busy fighting me.

“There was no way I was going to miss poking that little weasel,” she laughed as we sped toward the warehouse. “Even if he had done what Vic told him to do, I planned to slip him the Morph and try to get away. Your escape was sort of an inspiration to me. I thought I’d give it a try.”

“I wish you had succeeded,” I told her a little sadly. Although she had become my friend, I knew there were a number of crimes she could be charged with, starting with dealing drugs when she was still Henry.

She patted my hand. “Don’t worry, honey. I know what I’ve done, and I’m ready to pay the price. It’s funny, but I think the Morph actually changes your mind along with your body. I think a lot straighter as Julie than I ever did as Henry.”

“She’s right, you know,” Tommy called out to us from the front seat.

“She is?” I said, surprised.

“Yes,” he went on. “Morph selects an attractive appearance from a number of potential genetic alternatives. It does the same thing with your mind. Haven’t you noticed, Teri?”

Now that he mentioned it, I realized he was right. Terry Miller had been gullible, unorganized, and if the truth be told, a little on the cowardly side. Teri Miller, on the other hand, was brighter, more personable, and willing to risk her own safety when needed. In fact, the more I thought about Terry Miller, the more pleased I was that I would never have to meet the guy. He didn’t seem like my type.

We got to the warehouse a little late. An intelligence unit had been dispatched from the Army Terminal, only a couple of minutes away. Vic and three of his henchmen had resisted, and none had survived.

“Did you find anything in the warehouse?” Tommy asked while Julie and I stood with him.

“Find anything?” the officer in camouflage gear who had been in charge of the one-sided skirmish asked. Apparently, he wasn’t briefed on Morph. Come to think of it, few people probably were.

“Yes,” Tommy confirmed. “We’re looking for some canisters–the small medical variety. Or maybe you found some syringes.”

The officer shook his head. “You’re welcome to look, but these guys didn’t have anything with them except weapons. The blond guy had these in his pocket.” He held up a pair of airline tickets made out to a Mr. and Mrs. Paxton Martin. They were for First Class tickets for a flight to Brazil, which I later found out had limited extradition to the United States at that time.

When the officer left, Tommy looked at Julie. “If you help us, I think we can get any charges against you reduced or dropped. What do you know about this? Did he ship the Morph ahead?”

But Julie shook her head. “Look, I’d love to help you in any way I can. I hated Vic for what he did for me. Maybe if you guys got your hands on the Morph, you could study it and find a way to change me back. You’ve got to believe me, though, I didn’t know anything about the tickets. It looks as if he was going to eliminate his own gang and try to get out of the country with me.”

“He must have really cared for you,” I offered.

Julie laughed a very tired laugh. “Cared for me? The bastard only cared for himself. I was wrong, Teri. I should have done what you did. As I told you when I met you, I was just as much a slave when I was with Vic as I would have been if he had sold me. I was just a toy for him to stick his dick into. He would have gotten tired of me, too. There’s a lot of good looking black women in Brazil.”

An agent led Julie away. There were actually tears in my eyes. She had suffered the same fate as I in being transformed. She didn’t deserve to be prosecuted.

Tommy put an arm around me. “Don’t worry, the Army doesn’t want to let the existence of Morph get out. We’ll hold Julie for awhile and then let her go. I’m just sorry we didn’t find the Morph.”

“Me too,” I said nearly whispered, leaning against him.

Tommy looked abashed. “I never thought of it, but Julie was right. Without a sample of Morph, we can never find any way to change you back.”

I looked up into his eyes. “Silly, who says I want to change back?”

It took him a moment to realize why I had said it. When he did, he smiled and held me tight.

It took another month to clear everything up. According to Julie, Vic and Drew were the brains trust of the gang. With Vic dead and Drew transformed and in custody, any remaining gang members had scattered to the four winds. Agents tried in vain to find any trace of a shipment that Vic might have made to Brazil. It was theorized that he had taken the remaining Morph–if there was any–and shipped in to South America where he would start another operation. But no evidence of such a shipment was ever found.

So no trace of Morph was ever officially found. I say officially because I always wondered what happened to the small sample which must have remained in the syringe after Julie stuck Drew with it. According to Colonel Baxter, there wasn’t enough left of it to do any good. Well, I might not have gotten A’s in chemistry, but I was sure they wouldn’t have needed very much to determine Morph’s composition.

It didn’t really matter to me, though. I was becoming accustomed to being a girl. It wasn’t so bad once I had gotten the hang of it. The more I got to know Teri, the better I liked her, especially since she was me.

Drew proved no help. When he woke up, transformed into an elfin blonde, complete with large breasts and a voice so melodic that when he–she–spoke, it sounded as if she was singing, something had happened to her mentally. She just couldn’t accept what had happened to her, so she retreated into a world of her own. Julie said it had happened before, usually to someone like Drew–a chauvinistic bastard who thought women were a lower form of life. ‘Well, now she got to see what it was like,’ I had thought grimly, although I had few complaints. And what complaints I did have became less important as time went on. I actually thought Drew got off lightly. In a mental ward, she would probably be safe. Had she been sent to a women’s prison as she so richly deserved, I had no doubt that her appearance would have made her a favorite among the other prisoners.

Speaking of prison, as Tommy had predicted, Julie got off without any charges being issued against her. Her full cooperation had been sincere and helpful. She had even managed to snag a young black intelligence officer whom she eventually married.

Good to their word, the Army released me and gave me full identification as Teri Ann Greer, the identity Tommy and I had cooked up. I didn’t use it much though. In no time at all, I became Mrs. Tommy Montgomery. Apparently, Tommy liked Teri a lot more than Terry, too.

In some ways, my marriage to Tommy was the ultimate irony. I had done my best to dodge the draft. Now, suddenly I was the wife of a career Army officer. I was destined to spend much of my life around the very thing I had lost my masculinity and nearly my life trying to avoid.

Tommy’s a Major now, well on his way to a successful career as an officer, a husband, and a father. Yes, a father. We waited four years to start a family. The idea of being pregnant was a fearsome one for me, but I eventually reconciled myself to it. To be honest, it wasn’t as bad as I had thought it would be.

So here I am now, holding our baby daughter as I wait in the wheelchair outside the hospital for Tommy to bring the car around to pick us up. As I was sitting there, the nurse by my side, I looked down at our little girl, remembering what Dr. Weaver had said to me about when a girl becomes a woman–when she has had her period, sex with a man, and delivered a baby. Well, three out of three wasn’t bad.

The End

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Draft Dodger Rag
(written by Phil Ochs)

I’m just a typical American boy from a typical American town
I believe in God and Senator Dodd and even keeping old Castro down
And when it came my time to serve, I knew better dead than red
But when I got to my old draft board, buddy, this is what I said:

Sarge, I’m only eighteen, I got a ruptured spleen
And I always carry a purse
I got eyes like a bat, and my feet are flat, and my asthma’s getting worse
O think of my career, my sweetheart dear, and my poor old invalid aunt
Besides, I ain’t no fool, I’m a goin’ to school, and I’m working in a defense plant

I’ve got a dislocated disc and a racked up back
I’m allergic to flowers and bugs
And when bombshells hit, I get epileptic fits
And I’m addicted to a thousand drugs
I got the weakness woes, I can’t touch my toes
I can hardly reach my knees
And if the enemy came close to me
I’d probably start to sneeze

Chorus

I hate Chou En Lai, and I hope he dies, but I think you gotta see
That someone’s gotta go over there, and that someone isn’t me
So I wish you well, Sarge, give ’em Hell, kill me a thousand or so
And if you ever get a war without blood and gore
Well I’ll be the first to go

Chorus

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Draft Dodger Rag versions on YouTube:

• Phil Ochs
• Pete Seeger
• Chad Mitchell Trio

Rhymes for the Irreverent–Chad Mitchell Trio