Only A Baby Machine -- Part 10, Adaptation to a New Reality

Part 10, Adaptation to a New Reality. --Pansy is all-female now, but Geoerge still lives within her head. Will he survive the arousal of new emotions?

November 30
-- On the afternoon of Pansy’s big evening, she had been laundering diapers. They were all clean, and she was folding the warm, sweet-smelling cloths when Conchita entered the laundry room. “You’re all done, Pansy. You’d best get cleaned up now.”

“But the laundry… It’s not all folded yet.”

“There’s only a few left, and one of the other girls’ll finish up. You got to have some time to make yourself presentable.”

Pansy didn’t need to ask what for. She had thought of little else since Conchita had dropped her bombshell a week earlier. She still wasn’t sure if she dreaded the thought of a date with a man, or if she looked forward to it, to see how she could enjoy herself–after all, she was a woman now. Probably both! “Thank you, ’Chita… But I really don’t know what I should wear. ¿Can you help me?” If she had to go out with a man, she certainly wanted to look her best, even more than at other times.

“Of course, chica. This is new to you, but you got to learn. It’s a matter of pride for a girl to look her best, but especially for a date. ’Renzo won’t take you to a real dress-up place, but it’s more than casual. Let’s see what we can do for you.”

It took two hours to prepare. Conchita helped to choose clothes and accessories for maximum effect on the male psyche. At 4:45 Pansy looked at herself in the mirror. Her red dress had a tight skirt reaching just below the knees, emphasizing her slender waist and broad hips. Her monogrammed scarlet purse and red pumps with six-centimeter heels matched the dress. Conchita lent her a double-stranded pearl necklace and pendant pearl earrings. Her dark-brown hair curled in ringlets to her shoulders. Ruby-red lipstick and lip gloss emphasized her full lips, and a touch of lilac-scented perfume had been dabbed on her wrists and behind her ears. She spun on one foot, admiring herself. “’Chita, ¡you did such a good job! ¡I couldn’t have done nearly as well by myself!”

“It was an easy task, chica. You’re a pretty young woman. ’Renzo’ll be delighted to have such an attractive partner by his side.” She paused. “But you got to be careful. Some men’ll take advantage of an inexperienced girl, and you’re about as inexperienced as you could possibly be. ’Renzo’s a good fellow, but you still got to remind him not to push too far.”

Pansy started to remind Conchita that she was familiar with the tactics that men tried to use on naíve women, but thought better of it–it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to remind her of Seá±or Pinkerton’s past activities. “I’ll try to remember that, and ¡thank you again!” And anyway, she wasn’t a real girl and she wouldn’t be tempted.

Conchita nodded, and turned away; but then she turned back. “Pansy, I know this has all been very hard for you–all this ‘girl’ stuff, I mean. Don Pablo put you into that body as a punishment, and you miss your old life. Let me hold out some hope: a woman’s life can be just as rewarding as that of a man. It’s different, yes–God planned it that way– ¡but it’s just as good! You just got to accept it on its own terms. Now, ’Renzo’s going to try to give you a good time. I told you not to let him take advantage of you, and you can’t–but you can enjoy his company, and accept the pleasures he’s offering you. You’ve been on dates before, so just remember how your girlfriend behaved, and how she enjoyed being with you. You can have that same enjoyment, if you just let yourself accept that you’re the girlfriend now. And at the end of the evening, show ’Renzo some appreciation, for the time and money he’s spending on you. ¡But not too much appreciation!”

Thoughts and emotions warred within Pansy. She knew her life would have to be lived as a female, and life as a pretty girl would be better than life as an unattractive one–but she wanted her old life back, a man’s life. Being someone’s girlfriend was… was a disgusting thought! She wanted to look pretty, and to enjoy the evening–but she resented the fact that it was an integral part of the punishment Don Pablo had inflicted on her. In the end, though, she had no choice. “Yes, I know. I’ll behave myself–and I’ll see that Lorenzo does the same–but I’ll try to make him glad he asked me out.” There was no way she’d misbehave–the most Lorenzo would get would be a hug, and maybe a peck on the cheek!

Lorenzo arrived five minutes late–punctual by Honduran standards. He was a sharp-featured mestizo in his mid-20’s, with dark slicked-back hair and a thick black mustache. He wore a light-colored jacket, a sports shirt, and well-pressed tan slacks. When he caught sight of Pansy, he smiled with delight. “ ¡Qué bonita!” he complimented her: “ ¡How pretty! ’Malia told me she got me a pretty girl, Seá±orita, ¡but she understated your beauty!”

Blushing, Pansy giggled reflexively. “Thank you, Seá±or. And you–you are very handsome. I am grateful to ’Malia for bringing us together.” She thought to herself, “He really is sexy looking!”–but immediately realized what she had thought, and was shocked at herself. “I can’t be attracted to a man!” she told herself. “I’m a…” She looked down at her cleavage, just barely visible. “I’m a girl now,” she conceded. “I suppose I can’t be too surprised that I’m getting to appreciate guys.” Looking back up at Lorenzo, she forced a smile. “’Chita told me, ¿we go to Comayagua?” As the spoke, the thought “I don’t want to like men! I won’t!” fought a rear-guard action in her mind.

“Yes, if it’s all right with you. There’s a good restaurant a block from the central plaza–the Villa Real. I thought we’d have dinner there, and then see a movie. ¿OK?”

“That seems good to me, Seá±or Lorenzo.” Unconsciously she arched her chest forward.

He laughed–a magical sound, it seemed to Pansy. “Just call me ’Renzo, sweetheart. I won’t know who you’re talking to, if you talk so formal. Now get your things together and we’ll head off.”

Pansy began to don her thin white sweater, but Lorenzo quickly took it from her and held it as she slipped her arms into it. She fastened the single button and picked up her red shoulder bag. Lorenzo offered her his arm, and after a brief hesitation, she took it and they walked out the door into the warm late-afternoon sunshine.

Lorenzo said little as he drove his old blue Kia down the rocky Las Rosas road; negotiating the road required his full attention. Once down to flatter ground and better road, he asked her, “Pansy, ¿why do you have such a strong English accent? ¿Are you a norteamericana?”

His question confirmed that he was ignorant of her bizarre history, and wasn’t a knowing accomplice to her degradation; but she wasn’t sure how to answer. The truth was out of the question. First, he’d never believe her–she herself could hardly believe she had ever been a man–and proof was not possible just now. Second, if he did, he wouldn’t help her. And third–and most important (it made her legs turn to jelly to consider it!)–she’d surely receive some new and horrible punishment when Don Pablo learned of her attempt to enlist aid. “I… Well, no, I…” The new biography Don Pablo had imposed on her–that would suffice. It almost seemed real to her. “I was born in Comayagá¼ela, but my parents took me to the USA when I was just a baby–they went there to find work–and I learned English there. It is really my first language. When they returned here, my Spanish had an English accent.” Best to change the subject. “ ¿And you? ¿Are you from around here?”

“Not too far. I’m from San Pedro originally but I live in Zambrano. I drive a truck for Bimbo Bread. It’s a good living.”

“’Malia told me you are her cousin. I just met her a couple of weeks ago. ¿Do you know her well?”

“Fairly well. Her mother is my father’s sister, and we lived fairly close when we were children, so we saw each other a lot. She’s a lot younger, though, and of course she’s a girl, so we never had much in common.”

They passed the time driving to town in small talk until they reached the town plaza. Lorenzo pointed out the old cathedral with the thousand-year-old clock. “It still runs,” he told her. “It rings the time every fifteen minutes.” He parked just off the plaza, a block from the restaurant, and got out to open Pansy’s door. She found it surprisingly awkward to exit the car, with the tight skirt restricting her movement, and she gratefully accepted the assistance of her escort’s arm. The walk to Villa Real required attention on her part; the narrow skirt kept her steps short and mincing, and navigating the slick surfaces of the sixteenth-century cobblestones without twisting an ankle was very difficult for a novice in heels. By the time they entered the door, she was grateful that Lorenzo hadn’t parked farther away, and she wondered how other women ever managed to walk easily under such a handicap.

Once inside, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Music from a karaoke bar drifted into the dining room, which surrounded an open-air garden of tropical plants around a fountain. The tables, covered with burgundy tablecloths, were set back from the garden. Lorenzo pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, carefully arranging her skirt without thinking. A white-suited waiter brought glasses of water and two menus.

Lorenzo opened the menu, glanced inside, and told Pansy, “I’d like a drink before dinner, querida. Scotch for me; ¿and for you? I recommend their Margarita.” She hadn’t had liquor since her captivity had begun, and she agreed readily. “As for the meal: the estofado comayagá¼ense is excellent. ¿Can I order it for both of us?” The regional stew sounded like a good idea, and again she agreed–although she thought that he might have allowed her to make her own selection. “And a little wine might be nice with dinner. There aren’t many restaurants that serve good wine here in town, but Villa Real has some excellent South American reds. I’ll order a bottle of a good Argentine Malbec, if that’s OK with you.” George had never been knowledgeable about wines, so she had no objection to Lorenzo’s choice.

The Margarita on an empty stomach left her with a slight buzz, but the meal arrived very soon afterwards, and Pansy found the beef stew to be delicious. Unfamiliar as she was with wine, she had to take Lorenzo’s high opinion of the Malbec on faith. After the meal she fished her compact from her purse and repaired her lipstick. Looking at her own pretty face, she felt more cheerful than she had at any time since arriving at Las Rosas.

After paying the bill, Lorenzo fetched the car so that Pansy didn’t have to negotiate the cobblestones again. The theater was almost a kilometer away; its parking lot was next door, so the walk was short and easy, even with her heels. The movie was a classic chick flick, “Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood”, obviously chosen to please her. She didn’t mind: Lorenzo was a very attractive man, and she appreciated his efforts to give her a good time. In fact, as that thought occurred to her, she was amazed to realize that she was having a wonderful time! After the meal–and several glasses of wine–she was a little sleepy, and she snuggled close to Lorenzo. He put his arm around her waist, and she laid her head against his shoulder. His other hand came around to her bosom, where it rested lightly. She thought, “He shouldn’t do that!”, but it felt so good that she let it pass.

As the movie ended, Lorenzo kissed Pansy firmly. Although the kiss surprised her, an even greater surprise was her body’s reaction to it. She felt suddenly hot, her nipples stiffened, and her groin felt damp. Worse, she enjoyed it! Without thinking, she held his head in her hands and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. He smiled, and in the darkness he cupped her right breast. Her mouth opened and she quivered. It felt as if an electric shock had charged her pleasure center! He kissed her again, but she regained control and pushed him away gently. “No… no more now, ’Renzo,” she told him in a shaky voice. “That’s… that’s e… enough.” And more than enough! The now-anonymous persona of George was shocked at the response Lorenzo’s advances had elicited. The previous rationalization that he was now a girl, and that it was proper to enjoy a girl’s pleasures, was drowned in a flood of confusion and (at first) unfamiliar emotion. Then it struck her: the emotion was… It was lust. She rejected it, horrified.

Lorenzo didn’t press: “OK, my sweet, I understand. It’s just that you’re so… so pretty, a man forgets the proprieties.”

“I…” She took a deep breath. The credits were beginning to roll on the screen. “Thank… thank you, but… but we can’t go… go too far.” She smiled weakly. “You’re a… a wonderful man, and I like you…” way too much! “but… but…”

He put a finger to her lips. “No more need be said, querida. I won’t push you.”

The ride back to Las Rosas was trouble-free. She sat close to him, and he put his arm around her shoulder, but his hand remained out of forbidden territory. On the last rough stretch of road, she pulled away so he could give his full attention to the driving.

When he left her off at the casa, he asked, “ ¿One more kiss, querida? ¡You’re really a sweet girl! But if you’ve had enough, I can still tell you honestly, I’ve had a great time.”

Impulsively she held his head to hers and kissed him on the lips again, hard, then pulled away before she could weaken further–but not so soon that she didn’t feel a touch of the same arousal she had experienced in the theater. “Oh my God! What am I doing?” she asked herself. She pushed away her unwelcome emotions and took a deep breath. “I have… I have a wonderful time, ’Renzo,” she told him. “If… if you see ’Malia before I do, tell to her I owe her a favor for introducing us.” Susana’s prediction that she’d want a boyfriend–and maybe even a husband–echoed in her head. Suddenly it seemed quite possible. “No!!” she insisted to herself. “It will not happen!”

He grinned. “Then we both do. Maybe we can do this again some time.”

Inside, Conchita was still up. “ ¿Well?” she asked. “ ¿Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I… He…” Pansy took a breath. “Yes, I had a good time. ’Renzo’s a good man, and he… he behaved.” Sort of.

Conchita looked closely at Pansy’s slightly smeared makeup. “But he didn’t behave so well that you didn’t enjoy the evening more than you expected. ¡Good! I told you, being female has its good side, and I expect you’ll learn to enjoy being a girl, eventually. You might as well, you know–you are a girl, and there’s no going back.” She smiled at her ward. “But it’s late, and you’ve had a big day. I’ll let you go to bed now–you’ll have to return to work in the morning. Good night.”

December 2
-- Two days later, Doctor Ibarra entered Ibá¡á±ez’s office to inquire how Pansy’s outing with Lorenzo had gone. “ ¿Did Pansy enjoy the company of her escort? By now I imagine you’ve analyzed the data.”

“Yes I have, and yes she did. She had her first serious encounter with her new libido. He kissed her, and she reacted just as any woman would, when competently kissed by a virile partner.” Ibá¡á±ez smiled. “Her arousal was quite marked.”

“The result of your brain relays, I assume. You gave her a jolt to push her–a good jolt, I imagine. It must have been a shock to George–I understand she still thinks of herself as that norteamericano, even after I erased the name.”

“Actually, no–I didn’t use the relays at all. I wanted to see how Pansy would react on her own, with no outside pressure. After all, she’s received intensive conditioning during the last month, and I had no idea just how effective it has been.” He nodded. “It was very effective. I doubt that Seá±or Pinkerton really understands it yet, but emotionally he has just become Seá±orita Pinkerton. She’s still a norteamericana, though, and there’s no assurance that we can change that.”

December 3
-- December brought no more changes. Her routine as a maid was just that–routine. She tried not to think, but to slide through each day mechanically. The thought of revenge kept her going when some incident jarred her back to a realization of her losses. In a year, the don promised to release her. She believed him. A year’s service was a small matter. Then what? She didn’t know how, but Don Pablo would pay for what he had done. If she died in the task, that wasn’t important. Seá±or Pinkerton was effectively dead anyway.

The memory of her date with ’Renzo was a source of internal conflict. She had tried to persuade herself that the essence of Seá±or Pinkerton was unchanged, but only packaged differently. Her experience with ’Renzo was difficult to reconcile with this belief, so she repressed the memory as best she could, telling herself that it was only a temporary aberration. (But she still caught herself ogling good-looking men! She couldn’t help it.)

After lunch Conchita told her, “The don’s going to loan you to one of his cousins, Pansy. Your new boss’ll be Miguel Ovando. His maid quit when she got married and moved, and Don Pablo offered to send him help until the end of the year. He told Seá±or Ovando that you’re a diligent and efficient worker. I trust you’ll live up to that recommendation.”

“I’ll try, ’Chita. But I can not cook, you know. This Seá±or Ovando, ¿he needs no cook?”

“That’s not a problem. You’ll be cleaning and such, things you do well. You’re a good maid, Pansy.”

The praise stoked Pansy’s pride until she recalled that being a good maid hadn’t been her greatest ambition. “ ¿When do I go?”

“In a few minutes. Miguel Ovando’s a good man, I hear. And a handsome one. You might even find him attractive. But you’re just a maid, so don’t get any fancy ideas. You are pretty, though.” She smiled at Pansy. Over the past year she had become friendly with the new person that was replacing George, and now she only wished Pansy well. “When you go to work for your new boss, you’ll receive some different lessons. Don Pablo says that Seá±or Ovando will teach you to dance. I approve; I think it’s one of the small pleasures that make life worth while. I got you some pretty clothes for your lessons.” She held out a strapless fuchsia satin dress trimmed with white lace.

Pansy stared at Conchita with a puzzled look, then laughed. “Don Pablo’s taking his payment for that day I went to San Pedro. I promised him then that I’d take dancing lessons.” She accepted the dress, stripped off her blouse and skirt, then stepped into the dress. Slipping on the same red strappy high-heeled pumps she had worn on her date with Lorenzo, she turned to the mirror. Her breasts were easily large enough to support a strapless gown, and it showed them off well, although it couldn’t be called indecent. It was just a little too tight around the bosom, though. Pansy spun on one foot and the skirt swirled out. “ ¡It’s beautiful, ’Chita! It doesn’t quite fit right, though.”

“It’s yours. You can alter it, now that you’re good with a needle. I’ll help, but now it fits well enough.” Pansy hugged her and spun again for Conchita’s benefit. Her mentor told her, “ ¡Pansy, you’re beautiful! ¡Men will love to see you in that!” The idea pleased her. Reluctantly she put her usual blouse and skirt back on, then added her clingy white sweater.

Soon Jaime called, “Come on, Pansy, you mustn’t be late.” He had come to take her to her new job. She gathered her skirt and sat next to him, wondering what kind of man this Seá±or Ovando would prove to be.

As they neared the Comayagua Valley, Jaime explained that Miguel Ovando was a rich coffeegrower. “You’re well trained, and you ought to be able to serve him. You still can’t cook well, but otherwise Don Pablo expects you to do well.” When they reached Comayagua, they turned towards the north as usual, but Jaime drove only a short distance before he turned the car back to the east, onto a smaller gravel road. A few minutes more, and they arrived at a small but modern home. Obviously the owner was well-to-do. “This is your new employer’s finca, Pansy,” Jaime told her. “He’ll treat you well enough, I expect. Don’t disgrace yourself.” She intended to do well. Don Pablo had shown her that anything less than complete obedience would be met with devastating punishment.

Parking the car, Jaime got out and opened Pansy’s door. He led her up the walk and rang the bell. A handsome Spanish-featured man with a dapper mustache answered. He was slender, about 1.7 meters tall, and had black hair receding slightly at the temple. Except for Lorenzo, Pansy had hardly met a single man outside the finca staff, the family, or the clinic for almost a year, and with a shock she suddenly realized that Conchita had been right: Miguel Ovando was a good-looking man. Sexually attractive. But she told herself, “I am a woman now. There’s nothing wrong with feeling attracted to a man. I managed to control my feelings with ’Renzo, and I can do the same with Seá±or Ovando.” Nevertheless, she was disturbed by the feeling.

The handsome stranger ushered her into the casa. “You are Seá±orita Pansy, of course. Welcome to Finca Los Robles. My own housekeeper’s on vacation, and Don Pablo offered to lend you for a couple of weeks. Let me show you around.” He gave her a brief tour, showing where everything was stored and explaining her duties. Then he looked her up and down appraisingly and added, “Don Pablo also asked me to teach you to dance, as a favor to him. I won’t count it as a favor; it’s a pleasure. He didn’t tell me you were so pretty. ¡You fill that sweater quite well!” Unconsciously Pansy threw her shoulders back, displaying her figure to better advantage. She giggled as she felt herself blush, and a wave of euphoria swept over her–and then she recalled Herná¡ndez’s prediction: “When you reach Stage 5, you’ll fill out a sweater nicely.” A glance downward confirmed it. Seá±or Ovando switched to English: “I understand you grew up in the U.S., and you speak English. I attended UCLA, but I need practice. If you permit, I’ll use your tongue. Please call me Mike.” She agreed, happy to be working for this gentleman. Her time here promised to be pleasure, not work. He offered her coffee–“From my best stock”–and set about putting her at ease. She still felt wonderful, and she already looked forward to her dance classes as she had learned to anticipate her sewing lessons.

Pansy spent the afternoon doing laundry and cleaning the house–Seá±or Ovando was a little messy–and she served supper at around 6 o’clock that evening. Mike was a good cook, she learned, and she only had to assist him, peeling vegetables and fetching ingredients. After she washed the dishes, he insisted on starting her lessons, beginning with the waltz. She learned to follow his lead, and he complimented her on her “natural grace”. To be held in a man’s arms was strange to her, but it was pure enjoyment. Although she wondered how much he knew of her, and her bizarre history, she refused to allow anything to interfere with her pleasure in Mike’s company. She was sorry when the lesson ended and she had to return to her chores. That night she felt almost content, in spite of her déclassée status as a maid. It was only temporary, after all, and her master was most agreeable.

December 5
-- Miguel scheduled the lessons on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and in spite of herself, Pansy enjoyed them. She was finding that being an attractive woman had compensations. When she worked, Miguel was an undemanding taskmaster, and while she was his pupil, he treated her as a guest. He was attentive to her, and she liked being pampered. She felt herself becoming euphoric as dance time approached. Colors seemed brighter, odors stronger. She thought, “If I’d been born a woman, I could fall for Miguel, I think.”

Ibá¡á±ez could explain her euphoria. He monitored her–and influenced her–as she danced. A hidden camera cued him to deliver pleasure. The chip was used only lightly to steer Pansy, not control her. He had boasted that she would fall of her own weakness, and that she wouldn’t be forced. “She’ll enjoy dancing as she now enjoys sewing,” he told himself, watching her whirl in Miguel’s arms. “She’s attracted to him sexually and I haven’t even used the sex chip. Her own body drives her just as it did with Seá±or Martánez. She doesn’t recognize it yet; I would say she refuses to recognize it. ¡A textbook example of denial!” He was satisfied, and looked forward to training her further.

December 8
-- Miguel had taken Pansy to a theater and restaurant in Comayagua, for a day on the town. She wore a bright red dress to complement her dark hair (by now almost back down to her shoulders), and red pumps. Her face was made up carefully, as Conchita had taught her; she wanted it perfect. Mike acted the gentleman before the movie, and he wasn’t too bad during the movie, although she had to slap his hand from her breast–her nipples were stiff and sensitive. (But it felt so good when he brushed them. Although she’d never admit that to him, their almost two-centimeter erection was obvious, and she was sure he knew exactly what he was doing!) He wanted a kiss before he took her home, and she obliged. She was surprised to find that she enjoyed it as much as he did, but she stopped him after five seconds or so (or longer?–it seemed longer). She felt hot and cold all over when he kissed her, and her knees went weak. She just felt wonderful!

Before she went to bed, Mike invited her to a dance in Tegus. “The don asked me to help you become a good dancer, and I can do it best by taking you out.” He smiled slightly as he added, “Besides, you’re a most attractive woman, and I’d want to take you out anyway. Seá±orita bonita, will you do me the honor of attending with me?”

Trying to remain calm and dignified, she replied, “Miguel, I’m pleased to accept. Thank you.” She looked forward to it with a mixture of trepidation and delight.

That night in bed she considered the day’s events. Was she just following the doctors’ script? She thought, “They said my new body would change my attitude. Don’t act stupid! Be careful; you’re being tempted so you can fall.” Then she argued with herself: “It’s not the same thing! It’s… it’s… ¡well, it’s different!” Even as she said it, she realized how silly she was. It was the same thing; her attraction to Mike was what she had felt for Petunia long ago. Finally she decided, “If I’m a woman–and I am, whether I like it or not–I might as well get some enjoyment out of this body. I don’t need to do more than just kissing and hugging. I can control myself!”

Ibá¡á±ez had monitored her through his implants. He had used the libido chip (but only slightly!) for the first time, other than the automated response generated by the computer. A tiny stimulation, the merest trace, was applied. Pansy had retained a semblance of control as her desire was prodded, but her body betrayed her. She had trembled, and held Mike tightly. Her hips had moved as if she wanted him to take her then and there. The effect was amplified by the pleasure chip. Ibá¡á±ez was sure Pansy would recall the pleasure she had felt in Miguel’s arms, and she’d want to repeat it. He turned off her pleasure chip after they parted; the post-activation depression would heighten the memory of her happiness by contrast.

December 11
-- Pansy was ironing sheets at Los Robles when Jaime summoned her back to Las Rosas. “Pansy, Don Pablo wants to see you,” he told her. Abandoning her chore, she threw on a pink sweater and left immediately.

In the familiar library, Don Pablo invited Pansy to be seated and inquired after her health and well-being. She replied that she was well enough. As she sipped a cup of strong coffee, he said, “I have not seen you in person since the end of July, although I have followed your progress closely. ¿Are you at last reconciled to your new life as a woman?”

“Yes,” she admitted, but made no further comment.

“Reconciled, but unhappy, if I read you correctly. Of course I can understand your distress. Now, ¿you understand that you are to become Susana’s campesina maid?”

“Yes, Seá±or, you are succeeded. I look like a real hondureá±a–a campesina.” It was pointless to deny the obvious. “And yes, I agree, I will work like a maid–I know I cannot escape. I will go to Susana, like you want. For a year.”

“ ¿Do you wish to work as a maid? And Susana’s child: ¿Do you intend to raise him until he can make his own way in life?”

“No, Seá±or, of course not. I will work for Suzi, yes, as I must, but I will be free after next year. Then I will leave.” Suddenly alarmed, she insisted, “You will free me, ¿yes? ¡You made to me a promise!”

“Yes, I will, whatever your status then. I repeat: You will be free to go, with no conditions imposed. Your punishment will be over.” He ran his hands through his hair. “But I am not satisfied. My doctors have not succeeded.”

Her eyes widened. “But… ¡but look at me! My body, my face, my voice…” She stood and looked down at her hated body. Spreading her hands in front of her in a gesture of surrender, she admitted, “I… I am the woman you wanted me to be. I can not escape it, like you say. Never. ¿What more can you want?”

Don Pablo scowled slightly. “You are not the woman I want. Not yet. Yes, you look like a woman. Your body lends to that sweater a most attractive set of curves–and you are coming to enjoy the display of those curves, a sign that your soul is becoming feminized to match your body.”

After her adventures with Mike and ’Renzo, she couldn’t disagree. Yes, she was a woman. Denying her own nature, imposed or not, seemed foolish. But the don went on: “However,you do not have the proper personality for a campesina. You have not internalized your inferior status. And yet I do not wish to eradicate completely the existing memories: I wish you to remember the person you once were, and why you are no longer he. It is a problem, and I have spent some time trying to find the ideal solution.”

“But… I do not understand. I call myself Pansy Baca, yes, but of course I know I am really a norteamericano–or a norteamericana.” Her reluctance to admit to the latter was plain. “ ¿Is that not what you want?”

“That is partly right. I want you to know you used to be a man–but you should say to yourself, ‘I am only a campesina now, and I want to be a maid. A good maid. Yes, I was once a norteamericano, and I could have been Suzi’s husband, but now I am satisfied to be her maid. I must work hard for her.’ ¿Do you understand?”

Pansy shook her head. “Seá±or, you want too much. You want…” She paused, then switched to English. “You want to have your cake and eat it too.”

He accepted the switch, realizing her need to express the idea. “Exactly. It seems impossible, and I may fail–my doctors are not optimistic–but that is my wish.” He switched back: “Tell me: ¿Do you recall growing up as a girl?”

“Yes.”

Again he ignored the bluntness of the response. “Tell me about yourself. About your Pansy-Ann Baca self, that is.”

Reluctantly she obeyed, describing her peasant family, and how she had been trained to cook and to clean. She went through her birthday parties, her First Communion, her quinceaá±os. “But I know it is all a lie. It is not real.”

“ ¿Real? ¿What is real?” He paused. “During the next few months, we will try to reforge your soul to match those memories, so that you will choose to accept their reality. I do not know whether we can succeed, but in any case I fear that the process will be painful. I apologize in advance, and can only tell you that it is necessary for your final transformation. As an iron ingot must enter fire of the blacksmith to be shaped into a useful object, so also your soul must endure the flames of despair and degradation, to emerge permanently reforged to a new essence: that of a campesina, humble and obedient, whose life centers around service to others. You should remember your former existence, but it will seem–will be–unreal to you, and totally irrelevant. You will remember it, but you will reject it. Your reality will be, ‘I am only a campesina’–and its corollary, ‘I want to be a maid. For me, it is a good job, and I can hope for no better.’ Then you will stay with Susana, happy to work as her maid for as long as she will have you.”

His empurpled metaphor boded ill for her. He was promising to make her next year even more hellish than the year just passing. “ ¿Unreal? ¡No! Reality is… ¡is solid! ¡Permanent! ¡Not changeable!” Mamá¡ Rosa was fictional!

“ ¿No? Many decades ago a director called Akiro Kurosawa made a movie which is now a classic. Four contradictory versions of a story were shown, all on an equal footing. At the end there was no resolution as to which was the ‘real’ version. His point, in part, was that ‘reality’ is personal. I am hoping that eventually your reality will be, not only that you are a campesina–that will be plain, even to you–but that your life choices are those of a campesina. Every other alternative will appear preposterous. If you accept that, I will be completely satisfied.”

“You said you want me to know that I am Seá±or… Seá±or…” She caught herself. He must not know she had kept the knowledge of her true name! “ ¡Seá±or Cualquiera!” The man was mad!

“Not quite. I told you, I want you to know that you were Seá±or Cualquiera.” He smiled inwardly. “Seá±or Whoever” was an interesting locution! “In spite of that knowledge, you should say to yourself, ‘But now I am Pansy Baca. I am only a campesina. I have to work for Susana. It is the best job I could possibly find.’ And you should be correct.”

“ ¡But I am not a campesina!”

“At the moment, that is true. You are a woman. You have accepted it, and your psyche is adjusting–if unwillingly–to your gender; but in spite of your appearance, you are the norteamericana you name yourself. That is what I wish to change. My psychologists tell me that your personality should be shaped by your appearance, and by how that appearance causes others to treat you” Pansy looked away. She knew it was true. “However, such a radical alteration in your self-image can hardly be expected to take place in the short span of a year. Another entire year of enforced servitude should push you farther in that direction–or so I hope. And of course Seá±or Cualquieras own opinions also support that self-image. He told Suzi that women are meant to cook and clean and raise children–and you have accepted that you are a woman. Logically, then, you should cook and clean and raise children.” A flush rose to her cheek. “In the end, that belief should help shape your nature. If that is so, then your job as a maid will not be seen as a punishment, but rather as a welcome source of income, and your natural vocation.” The don added, “Seá±or Cualquiera might approve of you then; in fact, as I pointed out, his approval will only be another pressure shaping you into a traditional woman. However, any remnant of his psyche will probably not enjoy living within his own feminine fantasy, in spite of that abstract approval.” He shrugged. “Of course, this is an experiment, and you are a guinea pig. My doctors cannot promise that all of this will come to pass; your own opinion may prevail. In fact, I doubt the possibility of complete success. In any case, we have only one year to shape you further. Even if I had not given my word to release you, your liberty–your complete freedom to live your life as you see fit–is the only way we can test the completeness of your makeover. Believe me, after next year, I will not interfere further in your life.” His manner became brisk. “One more matter. I said your transformation is an experiment. It is only one of several such experiments in an ongoing project. If the research succeeds, I hope to profit from it. I may have told you about some possible commercial applications, in criminology for example. As you know, several interested parties have given us support, and are evaluating our success. You have seen them before.” He stood and paced in back of his desk, his hands clasped behind him. “I have been asked to demonstrate the progress we have made, and I am going to allow another interview.” Pansy’s eyes widened. Could she use this to her advantage? “I will not try to influence what you tell them. Lie, or tell the truth, as you wish.” He sat again. “Of course, this will not be their final evaluation; they will see you several more times, as your progress continues. A true test of the thoroughness and permanence of your transformation will only come after much more time has passed–perhaps five years, or maybe ten. ¿Do you have questions or comments?”

“Yes, Seá±or: If I do not go to Susana at the beginning of the year, ¿then when do you think to send me to her?”

He shrugged. “I cannot say. When I judge you to be ready. But ready or not, I will release you at the end of next year.”

She had no more questions. There was no point in arguing: he had the power. She’d prove the transformation to be incomplete only after her release, when he had relinquished his control. It was only one more year, and then she’d regain her lost status. She would remain female–that was irreversible–but she’d be the norteamericana the don had named her, with a professional career and the lifestyle that came with it. And she’d see that the don and his minions–especially the doctors!–were made to pay for the suffering imposed on her!

After ordering her to have Conchita braid her hair–“It fits the campesina image we intend for you”–the don let her go. Ibá¡á±ez was right, he thought. She was a norteamericana, proud and ambitious, and much work remained before she would make a good maid. Pansy’s next few months would be interesting.

Jaime drove her back to Los Robles, and she still had time to finish the ironing before helping Mike prepare supper. Later that night as she lay in bed, his words haunted her, and she renewed her pledge to resist her forced conversion to a docile peasant woman. But how? Already they had torn so much from… from Jack. From whoever she really was. Or had once been. She put her hands on her own full breasts, whose sensitivity had so shocked her when ’Renzo had touched them. This wasn’t Jack! His body was gone, and she didn’t even know his true name. The dinner date with ’Renzo and the dancing lessons with Mike proved that Jack’s personality was fading, just as the Don Pablo had said. She was powerless. But maybe Mike could help?

December 13
-- On returning from Tegus, Pansy felt like Liza Doolittle after the Ascot ball: “I could have danced all night!” A glorious evening! All her distaste for her new gender was forgotten. In Mike’s company she was ecstatic. It was almost like a drug. He was handsome and charming, and she felt his sexual magnetism. When they kissed, she’d go all hot and weak and trembly. He had behaved well, she knew, given that she had encouraged his attentions. Before the dance she had returned briefly to Las Rosas and worked on her dress, lowering the neckline and letting out the bodice to accommodate her larger bosom. She took out the braids forced on her by the don and left her long hair held by mother-of-pearl barrettes. Conchita helped with makeup, and also lent her opal earrings and necklace, and a pearl bracelet. If Pansy was any judge, she looked marvelous.

Mike arrived at 3. They drove to Tegus, had dinner at a good restaurant, and left for the Church of Santos Pedro y Pablo, where the ball was held. He took most of the dances, but other men cut in several times. Pansy enjoyed the attention, and was flattered by their passes. Also, she felt attracted to them. But Mike was her focus. When he held her close she melted! At 10 PM they had to leave, and Mike drove her back to Los Robles. Before they reached the finca in the wee small hours, Pansy asked Mike to kiss her. He pulled over, and he held her tight and kissed her deeply. He cupped her breasts in his hands and kissed them, and ran his fingers lightly over her bare shoulders. She loosened the bodice of her dress (low to begin with) and he caressed her bare breast. She had never realized skin could be so sensitive. She burned like a furnace! A remnant of Seá±or Pinkerton observed her arousal and fought to regain control. The most frightening thing was that she didn’t care; or more accurately, she wanted him to take her. Still, she succeeded in mastering her lust and told him, “No more, Mike! I’ll melt into a puddle in front of your eyes like the Wicked Witch of the West, and you’ll have a terrible mess to clean up!” He laughed, and released her, asking, “Don’t you enjoy it? I know you do: I can see it. But all right. Better get to bed, my dear. It’s back to work tomorrow.” When they arrived at the finca, she headed back to her room, delighted by his attentions. Her resolutions to avoid any hint of sexual relations with a man were forgotten in her overpowering passion for this magnetic man. Don Pablo’s warning also faded from her mind. All she knew was that she wanted to be with Mike.

December 15
-- For the next two days, fantasies of sex with Mike filled Pansy’s head. The visions were a confused mixture of masculine and feminine sexuality, and she tried to banish them, but with no success. She considered asking Mike to return her to Las Rosas, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Surely she could keep her passion under rein. Other women did; so could she.

On the previous evening Mike had offered to take Pansy to a movie in Comayagua after lunch, and she had accepted. Pansy did her hair before they left, leaving it loose over her shoulders. She spent an hour putting on a face, then took ten minutes to pick a dress, finally choosing a white dress with green trim, a pleated skirt, and a low neckline. She wanted to look as pretty, and as sexy, as possible.

She and Mike left for town at 2 o’clock. She blushed as he turned and ogled her when she sat next to him, remarking with a smile, “Pansy, you look so sexy. You’re the loveliest girl in Comayagua.”

She was pleased and flattered. “Oh, you say that to every girl, I bet,” she replied, giggling slightly, “but thanks anyway.” The ride to town was short, and they arrived in time to share a glass of wine at an outdoor cafe before the movie. As he held her hand, she recalled the Don’s opinion that she had become a norteamericana, as her mind adapted to her new body. “Well, he’s right,” she thought. “I’m a girl. I might as well enjoy it–I’m stuck with it.”

The movie was romantic fluff. They paid little attention to it, but a great deal to each other. Afterwards Mike helped her into her coat, she picked up her purse, and they returned to Los Robles. Mike made a stew for supper, insisting that he prepare it alone. “You’re so pretty in that dress, I want to look at you a bit longer,” he told her. After the meal he showed pictures of his villa in the Caribbean off the north coast of Honduras. They sat on his couch as he ran the projector. His arm encircled her, and she snuggled close and laid her head on his shoulder. It felt warm and comfortable there, and so natural, as if she belonged. Gradually his hand moved to her breast and fondled it. An incredible wave of pleasure washed over her. She felt herself grow hot, and cold, and hot again; her nipples stiffened, and there was suddenly a damp warmth in her crotch.

“Mike! No!” she forced herself to whisper. She wanted more!

He pulled his hand away. “OK, Pansy.” But his arm stayed around her, and he lightly traced the line of her jaw from ear to chin. Again she shuddered. He didn’t go further, but she felt… she didn’t know what! She wanted him to do more, she wanted him to leave her alone, she wanted to kiss him, she wanted to slap him. What was happening? A few minutes later his hand crept back to her breast; her nipples hardened again. His hand moved gently, up and down across her thrusting nipple. She gasped, but she left his hand there. What was her body doing? But it felt so good!

Later Mike made her a Daiquiri. A phrase from long ago flickered in her memory: “Candy’s dandy, but liquor’s quicker.” The drink, quite strong, left her slightly tipsy. Afterwards he embraced her and kissed her deeply. She felt her body respond, and her muscles weakened. Her arm went around his neck and without volition she returned his kiss. Subconsciously she noted his hand unzipping the back of her dress, and then unhooking her bra, but she couldn’t make herself care. He pulled down the top of her dress and stripped away her brassiere. His hands slowly and softly caressed her naked breasts. She felt bathed in a hot wash of ardor.

“Pansy, Pansy,” he murmured. “You are my princess, and I, your prince. Your loveliness has overcome me. Let us celebrate our love.”

“Mike… No, Mike, I can’t… Mike, please, stop, what’s happening to me, it feels so good, what…” Mike kissed her again, and her protests ceased. In a corner of her mind an observer commented, “They did a right proper job on you, didn’t they?” The part of her that was Pansy responded, “I don’t care! It feels wonderful! I want… I want… I don’t know!” She heard Mike, as from a distance, whisper into her ear “Pansy, you’re so sexy,” and he tickled her ear with his tongue. She thought to push him away, but she couldn’t muster the will. He stripped away her dress, and it fell to the floor. When he picked her up, she clung with both arms around his neck. He laid her on his bed and lay next to her, one hand fumbling with his belt as the other ran an arpeggio across her belly, down her thigh, and up to her vagina. Her body quivered with desire, and a fire burned through her. As he kicked his clothes away, then pulled off her panties, she protested weakly: “No, Mike, don’t… Don’t!” He softly drew a finger across her belly, and her muscles spasmed as she gasped. For a brief moment she still whispered “No! No! Stop! Don’t…,” but her body arched towards him, and without a conscious choice her pleas changed to, “Don’t… stop. Omigod! Please, don’t stop!” He rolled onto her. Her legs parted, and as he entered her, she cried, “Oh, yes! Yes!” Then she was submerged in lust, no longer truly sentient.

Afterwards Mike whispered, “God, you’re a good lay!” as he rested there quietly, face up, breathing deeply. Her emotions were in a turmoil as she lay naked beside him. She finally got up, found a robe, and went to the bathroom, where she cleaned herself up and donned her nightgown. When she returned, Mike smiled up at her. “Whooo, that was good!” he said to her; “You’re my drug of choice!” She climbed back into bed next to him. Her sexual fires were banked for the moment, but she was still euphoric.

Later, though, she couldn’t fall asleep. Her rational mind reminded her that Don Pablo had planned this for her. How had they done it? How had they twisted her mind? Herná¡ndez and Weiss had taken Seá±or Pinkerton’s body, his manhood; Ibarra had stolen his name, his identity; Ibá¡á±ez had warped what was left. She had believed that his innermost self would endure. She had been wrong, and Don Pablo had known it. As she reflected on her seduction, she knew she hadn’t been raped, in spite of her protests. She had encouraged Mike, and she had enjoyed it. She was ashamed of her body, of her behavior. She told herself she wasn’t to blame, that her body was designed to respond in precisely this way. But she had trouble explaining away the fact that she, or some important part of her, wanted more. She wanted Mike again, and all the sex he could give her. She hated Mike. She hated the doctors who had transformed her into a woman, weak and pliable and hungry for a man. She hated herself! She’d never allow this to happen again! But Mike still lay there next to her. And although her intellect told her all these things, another, more primitive part of her mind still felt a strange satisfaction that men found her sexually desirable: her sexual itch (as strong as any that Seá±or Pinkerton had ever experienced) could find an outlet. Her libido whispered to her that, since Don Pablo had thrust this body upon her, she might as well enjoy it. She tried to tell herself that if she succumbed to her desire, she risked following the don’s prescription for the remainder of her life; but her fear of a life as a campesina maid was overcome by the immediate pleasure that Mike gave her. Her last thought before sleep was that she wanted Mike to do it all over again.

December 16
-- At 5 AM she awoke with a hand playing across her chest. Her sheer nightie displayed her breasts well, and Mike had stimulated the nipples to erection. She protested weakly, “Mike! No! You can’t…”

Mike answered, “Of course I can! Doesn’t it feel good? You know it!” He shut off her words by kissing her passionately, his tongue pressed between her lips. “No! No!” she thought: “Don’t allow this!” But her body didn’t obey. It responded to Mike’s knowledgeable touch; it was his, to do with as he liked. Pansy was just his plaything, and as on the previous night, she quickly lost even the wish to stop him, but begged him to continue.

After he was done, Mike arose, and looked down on her. She couldn’t look back, and turned her head. He said softly, “Come on, now, we both enjoyed it. I could tell. Didn’t you, now? Answer me honestly!”

She answered reluctantly, “Yes, I did.” Her memory flashed to Seá±or Pinkerton’s last sexual adventure. He was on top then, thrusting into a girl–into Petunia. Now she had become “Petunia”. She was on the bottom, giving pleasure to a man and receiving his seed. The true meaning of her skirts, her breasts was brutally clear: she was a woman, a female–and that meant she was just a toy to satisfy a man. But oh! the delight! the ecstasy! In spite of her shame, she didn’t know how to resist it. But she MUST!!

By 7 AM Mike arose, still naked. The sight of him aroused her again, but she didn’t show it. When he returned, her desire was muted. He came to the bed, leaned over, and gently kissed her. She felt supremely happy then. All the shame and horror at her wantonness were washed away in a flood of delight. She wanted to stay with Mike forever. She didn’t want this moment to end. Mike softly told her, “Pansy, you’re wonderful! I’d like to see more of you. I’m glad Don Pablo suggested that you work for me. You’re so much more than I expected. What about you? Would you like this to continue?”

An offer to become his mistress. To accept that she was a sex toy. “No!” a small voice within her warned. “I’m more than that!” But she ignored it. “Yes! I don’t want this to ever end!”

“But you’d better get dressed. You’re still my maid, you know, and I’d like breakfast soon. Then you’ve got some cleaning to do. By the way, you’re returning to Las Rosas this morning. Don Pablo asked to have you back for Christmas. He’s having guests over, and he needs all the help he can get.”

Jaime picked Pansy up at 10:00 AM. He told her she was only one of several girls who’d be helping to prepare for the holiday celebrations. “You can go back to Miguel after the holiday is over–at least for a short time. I understand that Don Pablo has other plans for you next year.” She shuddered slightly; the plans undoubtedly involved forcing her ever more securely into a campesina mold. He had warned her!

She put her hair back into braids immediately upon arrival and then was put to washing floors and cleaning windows. After supper she was set to putting up decorations. Amalia Urraba, her friend of brief acquaintance, was assigned to the same task. When Pansy spoke to her, Amalia squinted at her for a moment, then smiled at her. “ ¿Where have you been, Pansy? ¿Do you have a boyfriend yet? I know ’Renzo would like to see you again.” Pansy blushed and admitted, “Well, there is someone I like…” ’Malia smiled knowingly, but made no further comment.

December 19
-- Pansy was polishing silverware when Jaime pulled her aside. “Some men want to speak with you, Pansy. Come with me.” She knew it must be the “interested parties” that Don Pablo had mentioned, who wanted to evaluate her “progress”. Jaime took her into the study she knew so well, where three men sat around the table in the center. She recognized them as the men who had interviewed her several months earlier. “Be seated, Seá±orita,” the first visitor, a slender olive-skinned man with a neat mustache, said in good Spanish, but with a strong English accent. He set a small video recorder onto a table and started it running. The second, a swarthy man with a heavy accent she couldn’t identify, commented in English, “She a good maid, well trained. I see her work.” The first addressed her again: “ ¿Do you remember me?”

“Yes, Seá±or. I met you earlier this year.”

“We have a few more questions. First, I will attach a few sensors. ¿You have seen a polygraph?” He fastened several wired discs to her wrists and temples, then sat down. “ ¿Now, can you give us your name, age, and birthplace?”

“If you know about Don Pablo’s project, then you know that I can not do that very good.”

“Tell what you can,” the blond ordered.

“I call myself Pansy Baca. I have nineteen years, and I… I am not sure of my place where I was born.” She took a deep breath. “But of course you know, ‘Pansy’ is not my real name. My original name. And I think my age is not right.”

“Of course we know. ¿But what do you know of your original self?” the first man–an American, she guessed from his accent–asked impatiently.

“Seá±or, Don Pablo took most of that from my memory.” It was unlikely that any of these men would help her; the notion she had had of getting assistance from them was foolish. But she had to ask. Surely it was expected of her. “Please, I beg your help in recovering what I can.”

“We know that you remember more than you are willing to admit,” Bianchi told her, ignoring her plea. “But of course you speak English: in spite of your appearance, you were once a norteamericano. I’m comfortable in that language, so I’ll use it. Now, where were you really born? And where did you go to college?” He pushed an unseen button.

Pansy felt a surge of panic. They knew! If she didn’t cooperate, if she lied, she’d be punished! “I… I… I do know a… a little. I think I… I was born… in Ovid. Ovid, Ok… Oklahoma?” Was that right? She wasn’t sure.

Her interrogator wrote something in a small notebook. “And your name? Your real name?”

“I… My name is…” Did they really know? She had to tell the truth. The prospect of punishment for disobedience was too terrible. “My name… my real name was… is Pink… Pinkerton.” The panic subsided, and she felt unaccountably cheerful. She was safe for now–as long as she obeyed. Don Pablo had promised!

“Your first name? And tell me about your family?”

Bianchi interrogated her for half an hour while the others took notes. She answered as best she could. Some gaps in her knowledge shocked her; she couldn’t name the capitol of the United States, she couldn’t pick out Oklahoma or Georgia on a map, and she had no idea who was president of the USA.

The second man, a darker-skinned Latino, changed the line of questioning. “What are your plans after your release?” He smiled, revealing a gold tooth. “I watched you work today, and you are a good maid. They have trained you well. ¿You will remain here in Honduras, to work for the daughter of Seá±or Herrera?”

“No!” Pansy didn’t hesitate over her answer. “I’m an American! I’ll be out of here!”

Machado switched to English. “Seá±or Herrera say, you will be maid for his daughter after that.”

She shook her head violently, her braids swinging wildly. “No! He promised to free me after two years!”

“And he will,” Bianchi verified. “We need to test the effectiveness of his methods. We agreed to support his research only after he set a firm time limit on the length of treatment, and that limit’s two years.”

She was relieved by his confirmation of Don Pablo’s promise. “Then after next year I will leave.”

“Maybe. We know that you–or Mister Pinkerton, or even Miss Pinkerton, as you surely are now–would take off, trapped in a woman’s body or not; but Seá±or Herrera believes you won’t be you any more. You won’t be Mister Pinkerton, trapped in a girl’s body–or even the Miss Pinkerton we see now, an American girl forced against her will to work as a maid. He says you’ll be Pansy-Ann Baca, a Honduran girl, grateful for a good job.” He smiled. “You are a pilot project in psychological engineering–an attempt to change a person into someone else, someone with a custom-designed personality. Your physical transformation, as remarkable as it has been, is only a means to an end: as Seá±or Herrera told you, your own new personality is to be that of a normal peasant girl. Clearly you haven’t reached that point–not at all!–but Seá±or Herrera tells us that another year should finish the task. You’re a wonderful test case, Miss Pinkerton: you represent about the most ambitious transformation possible. We have made an agreement with Seá±or Herrera: At the end of the two years, your free acceptance of your new life as a peasant girl–or your rejection of that life–will be the measure of success, or failure, for the project.”

“But it’s inhuman! You’re American…”–she wasn’t sure, but his accent sounded American–“and you know what the reaction would be if something like this was done at home!”

“Exactly correct–and exactly why we’re interested in you. Seá±or Herrera’s methods are useful. If we can’t develop them at home–at least not openly–then we’ll use his results. You and others like you are the best chance we have. The only chance we have.” He shrugged. “It’s tough on you, I agree–but at least you’ll have a life after it’s all finished. Seá±or Herrera says that the traditional penalty for your sins would be worse.”

There were others like her? Of course, there had to be! But that didn’t help her. “Worse? That’s doubtful. And tell me: what happens if the story of U.S. government support gets out? If the newspapers find out?”

“Who believe you?” Machado pointed out. “You have no evidence. And we think you no are saying nothing.” He grinned. “Seá±or Herrera say, you too busy with diapers, laundry, working for tu enamorada.”

“Never! He said I’ll still remember who I really am, and I’ll get back to the U.S. as soon as I’m free.”

“Maybe,” the American said. He shook his head, puzzled. “I admit, it seems to me if you recall your old life–and you’re right, he says you will–then you ought to be able to find a way back. And he told us–he promised us–you’ll know you used to be an American. Then his project will have failed, at least partly, and we’ll recover some of the money we’re sinking into his project.” He shrugged. “It’s not our concern. As a matter of fact, we have a financial interest in your escape.” He spread his hands. “I think he’s being foolish. If I were running the project, I’d erase all the memories that conflict with your new life. But he says it won’t matter.”
The Latino laughed. “You are bien cojoneada, Seá±orita. Well screwed, I think you say in English. Even if you know you are–you say, Pinkerton?–you have not papers to prove it. Even to yourself, you call yourself Pansy! And you are only half into the project? I watch you for next year, I think Don Pablo right and I see you change inside. You become campesina, just as you look. Want husband and babies here in Honduras, not more.”

Pansy was in no position to argue. “I… You… I don’t know.”

The American said, “I might be able to help. Seá±or Herrera is so sure of your ultimate transformation–your acceptance of a peasant-girl identity–that he’s letting me make this offer: if you contact the American Embassy in Tegucigalpa after your release and ask for Albert Bianchi, then I’ll help you get back home.” He spread his hands. “We have an ulterior motive, of course. We’d love the opportunity to study you at length, first hand. Maybe you’ll be a peasant girl, like Seá±or Herrera expects, or maybe not–but in any case, you’ll have to make some accommodation to your… ummm… shall we say, your altered circumstances? It’ll be a fascinating study!”

Life as a lab rat–but better than the life of virtual slavery planned for her. “I’ll accept the offer,” she replied.

The Iraqi, Ergec, asked, “Still you want a woman in your bed, or now a man? Seá±or Herrera says you conditioned to like men, to please men.”

“I… I don’t… No, I don’t want a man.” She thrust her attraction to Miguel out of her mind. Her adventures in his bed were–had to be–only a temporary aberration, no more.

His face fell. “Then you are… How do you say? You are a lesbite?”

Reflexively she insisted, “No! I don’t… don’t want any sex with… with anyone! Not like a woman!” She almost added, “I’m a man! A man!” but even in her agitated state, her denial couldn’t be stretched that far.

Machado intervened. “Seá±or, let it pass. It is not important. Seá±or Herrera said most of her conditioning comes next year.” He turned back to Pansy. “Maybe his plans will fail; but in that case equally interesting will be to watch you–to watch the Seá±or Pinkerton who once was–deal with life in Pansy Baca’s body. To accommodate, as my colleague says. Now, what are your enjoyments–tus aficiones–your hobbies? Before you came here, I mean.”

The men continued to question her, and she answered as best she could, cheered by the hope that she could obtain help after the end of her captivity. After another two hours, and some psychological tests, they sent her back to the Christmas party, with the promise that they would check on her again in a few months.

Later, Ergec spoke privately with Don Pablo in his study. “I am persuaded, Seá±or. I prepared to offer support for your project. More than that, I wish to give you another subject.”

“Hmm…” The don sipped a glass of Dom Pérignon. “I need no more subjects, Seá±or. Not yet, anyhow.”

“I know that. Subjects are not difficult to find.” He put down his own champagne. “I will pay for the privilege. If you will accept my subject, I will pay all expenses–plus fifty thousand dollars in advance.”

Don Pablo considered the offer. “We may be able to do business, Seá±or, although you will need to go higher. Tell me more about what changes you wish for your ‘subject’.”

They continued to discuss the matter for another hour. When Ergec left, he had an agreement that the doctors would replicate Pansy’s treatment on a second subject, to be provided.

December 25
-- Christmas dawned clear and warm. The workers got up before dawn, ate a quick breakfast, and were driven to town to attend Mass. When Pansy returned, she was set to work in the kitchen. A crowd of guests was expected and there was much to be done, even after Pansy and the other maids had spent the previous day in furious labor, dusting, washing, and polishing everything that would stand still. The finca was spotless. Now she was caught up in the final preparation of the feast that the don was preparing for his guests. Late in the morning the maids had a light lunch. “Eat now, while you can,” Conchita warned them. “You won’t have time later.”

Early in the afternoon the main meal was served. The house swarmed with cousins, aunts, neighbors, and friends. The guests kept Pansy running. “Pansy, please fetch more ham.” “Girl, ¡more punch!” “ ¡Hey, you! ¡Maid! Get me some coffee.” “Seá±orita, I’d like some papaya.” One of the children spilled a pitcher of milk, and Pansy cleaned up after him; another threw up, and she cleaned that too. “Girl, ¡more coffee!” “Seá±orita, a little more tea.” She was too busy to dodge the pats and pinches of some of the men–not all of them young. After the guests left the table, Pansy and the other maids had to clean up the mess. By mid-afternoon she was back to serving drinks. Two of George’s former students, Elena Carvajal and Consuela Eloy, were among them, but they had no way to recognize her, and took no notice of her. From her new perspective as a maid, Pansy found that most people (but not all) treated servants differently from those perceived as social equals; her old students ordered her about, with little courtesy and no regard for her as a fellow human being. She responded with meekness and obedience, just like the other maids. She told herself there was no percentage in acting otherwise, that she had no choice but to act the humble maid. Although she was quite correct, she didn’t understand the inevitable corollary: as Ibá¡á±ez had predicted, her own self-image was beginning to shift, reflecting the assumption of others that she was just an insignificant and ignorant girl. Of course, other pressures were also shaping her self-image. Ever since the imposition of her little-girl voice, everyone had patronized her. The condescension was especially obvious from the men, but it came from women too. It seemed to be unconscious and automatic, an innate reaction to her apparent immaturity. Her mestiza face and short stature had only buttressed that reaction. After all, she was just a campesina, wasn’t she? Her mirror certainly told her so, as she made her face up every morning.

Early in the evening Susana stopped by to visit. Pansy first saw her when she entered the bustling room where Pansy was serving mixed drinks. Susana paid no special attention, but accepted a daiquiri from her and began conversing with an aunt. Ten minutes later, she requested a refill of the drink. Pansy replied, “Of course, Seá±ora,” and turned to obey. Susana smiled. “ ¿You have nothing more than that to say to me, Pansy?”

Pansy turned back reluctantly. “No, Seá±ora. ¿What is there to say?”

“ ¿You don’t want anything from me, then?”

“Nothing that you will give to me, Seá±ora. I have learned some things from experience.” She began to leave again.

“Wait just a minute, sweetheart.” Pansy paused obediently and Susana turned to her aunt. “Táa, ¿has Father told you anything about his big project? ¿The one where he changes people into someone else and gives them new lives?”

“Yes, dear, a little, but I don’t know much about it. Technical matters bore me, I’m afraid.”

“Look at this girl. She calls herself Pansy-Ann Baca. Tell me, ¿do you see anything odd about her?”

Her aunt looked carefully at Pansy, who flushed and distractedly tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “No, I’m afraid not. She’s a pretty little thing…” Pansy winced. “and she seems to be an efficient maid. But I think you’re implying that this girl is one of my brother’s subjects. From the little bit Pablo told me, that means she committed some offense. Probably she’s working as a maid now as her punishment. ¿Am I correct?”

“ ¡Exactly correct!” She smiled. “And yes, you’re right, she is a pretty little thing. I’ve heard the men telling each other she’s a real cuero. But Pansy isn’t just another subject. She represents Father’s most ambitious attempt to remake a person completely. He calls it the Ovid Project.” The older woman looked interested, and Susana turned back to her former lover. “Tell Seá±ora Pérez who you were, Pansy.”

“I…” Pansy looked away, then down. “I do not know my old name, Seá±ora. They took it from me.”

Susana giggled slightly. “Yes, Father erased her old name. Now she calls herself ‘Cow’. She served as a wetnurse for a time, and she was a good milk producer. But Seá±orita Vaca, tell her what you do know. Táa, you won’t believe her, but I’ll vouch for it. ¡Go on, Pansy!”

Maybe this could be an opportunity to find help, Pansy thought. “Seá±ora, she tells the truth. I am a victim of Don Pablo’s horrible experiments. Everything I had, everything I was, he stole from me."

Seá±ora Pérez interrupted. “She has a very strong English accent. She’s no catracha. She’s a norteamericana, ¿true? And an educated woman, I would guess. ¡But she looks so much like a campesina! Of course, there are many latinas in the north, but I suspect it’s the work of Pablo’s doctors. You’re right, Suzi, it’s really amazing. For a girl like her to have to work as a maid–that’s a severe punishment. And after she’s freed–I know Pablo turns his subjects loose after a while–I imagine she can go back to wherever she came from, but she’ll be stuck with her new face. She’s pretty enough, as I said, but she’ll always look like a peasant girl. It’ll be a real handicap after she’s released. I didn’t know Pablo could arrange such a thorough change of appearance.”

“You’re almost right. Pansy came from the north, yes–from the United States–but she’s not a norteamericana.”

“You speak in riddles, my dear. ¿An immigrant from somewhere else, then? ¿Is she maybe English?”

“Ask Pansy. She’ll explain. ¿Won’t you, Pansy?”

Seá±ora Pérez turned back to Pansy. “Help me with this conundrum, Seá±orita, since my niece is being stubborn. ¿Exactly where were you born?”

“Ovid, Oklahoma, Seá±ora. It is a small town in the northern United States.”

“That explains your accent. And yet Suzi claims you are not a norteamericana. ¿Why is that?”

Pansy pulled herself together. “I am–or I was–a norteamericano. I was a man.”

Her interrogator laughed. “No, seriously, Seá±orita.”

“It is true. Don Pablo did this to me. ¡Please, help me!” Pansy turned her hands up, pleading. “I am not really a maid. ¡I am not really a woman! I am an educated man, ¡a professional!” Even as she spoke, Pansy knew how foolish the claim sounded, delivered in her girlish soprano. “I know it sounds stupid– ¡it sounds crazy!–but it is true. Everything I had, he takes away. Even my identity. ¡Especially my identity! Suzi knows. ¡She can tell to you!”

Seá±ora Pérez raised an eyebrow at Susana, who replied, “She’s telling the truth, Táa. Or at least mostly the truth. She is really a woman–now–and she is really a maid, but a year ago she was the norteamericano she describes–a professional man, just as she says. A chemist. I knew that man well, a year ago. I watched as he was slowly changed to the girl you see now, and as she was trained as a maid. Father’ll try to complete the transformation next year. If he can do it, then she’ll be a campesina for real, and my own personal maid.” Susana smiled sweetly and added, “He was a complete failure as a man, so now he’s not a man at all. Maybe he’ll be a success as a woman–but he’ll stay a woman in any case.”

For a moment the older woman’s mouth hung slack. “ ¿Can this be true?” Her jaws set. “ ¡You must be joking! Look at her, listen to her– ¡she’s a natural girl if there ever was one! ¿How could such a thing possibly be?”

“I don’t know the details. Ask your brother; his doctors worked on her, some on her body, some on her mind.”

“I certainly will ask him. ¡That story is incredible! ¿Is there proof?”

“Yes, Father has full documentation. Photos, videos, recordings. But Pansy has none. She’ll be trapped in her new identity as a peasant girl. Father’s doctors can twist her mind, too. That’s why she doesn’t know her old name. And that’s why she’ll be such a good maid, too. After they finish working on her mind next year, Father promised to free her–but by then she’ll want to be my maid. Or so Father hopes. She’ll ask to stay with me and help care for my children until they’re grown.”

Turning to Pansy, Seá±ora Pérez asked, “ ¿Is that agreeable to you, my most unlikely norteamericano? ¿You are willing to remain a maid, even after Pablo frees you? ¿To serve Suzi’s meals and wash her dirty underwear?”

“ ¡No! ¡Never!” The words tumbled out quickly. “I have to obey Don Pablo now. I have no choice; I cannot escape. But next year, when he promised to free me, I will return to the United States. But please, Seá±ora, ¡help me!”

“ ¿Why? I mean, ¿why were you chosen? I know my brother well. He did this to you for a reason. ¿What was it?”

“I…” Pansy looked away. “I was Suzi’s boyfriend until I got her pregnant. But Seá±ora, ¡I do not deserve to be destroyed! What I did was wrong. I know it. I am too much punished already. Please, ask your brother to release me.”

“I see,” Seá±ora Pérez noted. “So you’re the one who was responsible for that. And then you left her. Pablo told me all about it. At least you’re honest about it. Not that you can hide it, of course. Anyway, I agree, your punishment is harsh–much too harsh–but not more so than the traditional penalty. But it seems to me, the worst is past. As I look at you, I think you will not–cannot–regain your manhood. You say Pablo will free you after a year’s service. If he promised, then he’ll keep his word; he’s scrupulous about that.” Turning back to her niece, she asked, “ ¿Is your boyfriend a good maid?”

“I’m not sure–she hasn’t worked for me yet. Father says she’s coming along well. She sews and cleans well, he tells me, and she’s been trained to care for infants. But he thinks she needs a bit more training.” She glanced over at Pansy. “Conditioning, really. He wants her to think like a peasant girl, to be happy–no, not happy, but resigned–to her new position in life. To accept that she’ll never be anything more than a maid. That way, she’ll be content to work for me permanently.”

“ ¡Never!” interrupted Pansy. “I…”

“ ¡Quiet, girl!” Seá±ora Pérez ordered. “You have no say in this. Now turn around slowly.” Pansy’s eyes widened in shock and her mouth hung open briefly, then she obeyed. “Yes, the physical changes are well done. Or at least the outward appearance. She’s the image of a peasant girl. Her body, her face, the quality of her voice… Her complexion isn’t as dark as it might be, but otherwise, no one could doubt that she was born into such a position. ¿But her accent…?”

“Yes, it needs work,” Susana agreed. “I don’t know how Father’ll fix it, but I’m sure he’ll find a way. By next year Pansy’ll probably sound like a native.” She giggled. “I bet she won’t even be able to speak English without an accent.”

“ ¿How long has your boyfriend been wearing a dress…? Let me see…” She did a silent calculation. “Probably about a year, ¿true?” Susana nodded. “ ¡Amazing! ¡Already he’s so feminine!”

It wasn’t true! It couldn’t be true! Pansy tried again to protest: “ ¡No, Seá±ora…!”

“ ¡Be silent until you’re spoken to, girl! And ‘girl’ it is. I see your hair, your makeup: you worked diligently to make yourself pretty. I don’t know if it’s just your new body affecting you, or if my brother’s been working on your head, but it seems to me you’re becoming a woman inside as well as out. I suppose it’s just as well; if you were to stay a man in your head, you’d always be miserable in that body. ¡Such a waste!” She frowned. “ ¿But a campesina? I think not.”

Susana agreed again. “No, not yet. But Father thinks he can change her mind as much as her body. If he’s right, then she won’t want to leave me. After all, being a maid is a good job, for a campesina. She’ll want to work hard for me, to keep me happy and make sure she can keep the job. ¡I’m counting on it!”

“I doubt it, Suzi. You heard the girl. She’ll leave when she can– ¿at the end of next year, she said? She’s no campesina, in spite of her looks, and I can’t imagine her agreeing to stay with you.”

“That’s true now, ¿but in a year? Besides, she’ll never be able to prove she’s the norteamericano who disappeared here a year ago–even if she knew his name. He’s officially drowned–the body was recovered and identified. And just look at her: ¿who could ever believe believe such a ridiculous tale?”

Pansy remembered her experience with Seá±or Pierce during her abortive escape attempt. Susana was right: it’d be much worse now. But she could escape. She had to! “ ¡I am a norteamericano!” she insisted. “ ¡You know it! With work, ¡I am able to prove it! Fingerprints, or… or…” She paused. Susana started to speak, but Pansy didn’t notice and continued: “ ¡DNA! ¡That can prove I am really a norteamericano!”

Susana laughed at her. “DNA hardly proves nationality. Besides, ¿do you really think the embassy can run a DNA test? ¿Or that they’d be willing to test you, even if they could? I mean, you’re pretty well stacked for a norteamericano, ¿true? No, you’re obviously a peasant girl. If you claim you’re not, you won’t get very far with la migra. ¡You don’t even know your old name! Not that it’d matter. It’s crazy on the face of it. They’ll laugh you out of the office.” She paused. “And the airlines’d never let you onto a plane in the first place. They’re awfully strict about ID’s and visas and that sort of thing.”

Seá±ora Pérez agreed. “I see your point. No money, no papers…”

“She will have papers,” Susana disagreed. “She already has them. They say that… No, they prove that she’s a native hondureá±a, Pansy-Ann Baca, born in Comayagá¼ela. She’d be just another poor campesina trying to sneak into the U.S.”

“But the fact that she’ll be stuck here, even working as a maid, doesn’t mean she’ll be a campesina. To fit the definition, she’d have to accept a campesina’s goals–to marry another peasant, then stay at home and raise a family. No, I don’t think Pablo will have his way completely.” She panned her gaze over Pansy’s body. “I must admit, though, that physically Pablo got his money’s worth from his doctors. Your boyfriend has a cute face–and he certainly fills our his dress very nicely.”

“ ¡Yes indeed! ¡I’m almost jealous! Father tells me she’s getting a lot of favorable attention from his men.” She turned back to Pansy. “ ¿Isn’t that true, Pansy? ”

Pansy blushed. ’Renzo and Mike immediately came to mind. “I… I… Y…yes, I mean n…no, th…they… but… but I don’t…” she stuttered, shifting from foot to foot in embarrassment and lowering her eyes. “But I did,” she thought.

Mariana smiled and waved her to be silent. “Yes, I see. I can understand that the norteamericano hiding behind that pretty face would be uncomfortable, at best, with that attention. In that, at least, she’s no campesina. ¿Does Pablo propose to change that?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t enlightened me. ¡I hope so! I dream that my faithless lover will be pushed by the demands of his new body to accept–no, to encourage–the advances of some lusty young stablehand. And I’d further hope that there’d still be enough of his old self left to be horrified when it happens, but unable to stop himself.” Susana giggled. “In a small way, that’s already the case. He positively loathes the name Father chose for him–but he still calls himself Pansy, even in his head. He can’t help it. ¿Do you know what it means? In English, I mean.”

“It’s a flower, ¿true?”

“Yes, of course–but it has a secondary slang meaning. It’s an effeminate man, or a homosexual. Now tell me, ¿isn’t that just so appropriate?”

Mariana stifled a giggle. “ I see. ¡Effeminate indeed! But that’s a long way from persuading him to accept a man, not to mention encouraging one. And far from getting him to want to be a maid. More likely, you’ll have a lesbian, who will leave as soon as possible.”

“Táa, I have a wager for you.”

“ ¿Yes?”

“I have confidence in Father. If he says he can change my norteamericano into a campesina, he’ll do it. Completely. Here’s the bet: Within five years you’ll be invited to Pansy’s wedding. You’ll see him–no, her–agree, of her own free will, to marry a peasant. She’ll promise to love, honor, and obey him. Afterwards, I’ll send her to your place for a day, to help with your own household work. You can judge for yourself. If you don’t agree she’s a campesina in every way, you win.”

“ ¿And the stakes?”

“Oh, let’s say… ¿How about fifty thousand lempiras?”

“ ¡Done!” Seá±ora Pérez turned to Pansy. “Girl, I’m betting that you’re right, that you won’t become the campesina my brother intends. Not within five years, anyway. But I’m not at all sure I won’t lose.”

Pansy shook her head. “Seá±ora, your money is safe. If I can not escape earlier, I will leave in a year. ¡And I can never marry a peasant! I am… I will not never marry–I cannot have a woman–but if I marry, it never would be a peasant.” But Don Pablo thought she would. And all his efforts had succeeded, so far.

“We’ll see,” Susana remarked. “Forget your female body–if you can; I bet you still wake up surprised to find you’re a girl. Anyway, just think of what he did to your mind this last year. Your sewing, your makeup… In another whole year, ¡he’ll reshape your personality even more! But whether you marry or not, you’ll be my maid. You’ll never escape that, lover.”

Seá±ora Pérez added, “And you’re definitely a maid right now, girl. Get me a glass of wine.”

Swallowing her protest, Pansy obeyed quickly, grateful to escape. Discussion was useless. But she’d escape. She had to! She would!

When Pansy returned with the wine, Seá±ora Pérez accepted it, and told Pansy go see Susana in the next room. “I think she wants to find out more about how well your father’s project is going. Maybe she is worried about her wager.”

In the other room, Susana told her to sit. She obeyed nervously, fidgeting in her chair. Susana laughed at her. “Don’t be so jumpy, girl. I just wanted to talk a bit.”

Pansy had no reciprocal desire to chat, but under the circumstances, she had little choice. “Yes, Seá±ora. ¿What can I tell you?” Whatever it was, it would be malicious. She was a mouse, under the calculating gaze of a cat.

“ ¿Are you still romantically inclined towards women? As you heard, Táa Mariana thinks you’ll be gay.”

“Please, Seá±ora, I… I not can tell.” An ambiguous answer–maybe it would suffice. But probably not. “It is too early.” And then, bitterly, “I can not do nothing, anyway.”

“ ¿Oh? My understanding is that lesbians manage somehow, with the same equipment you have. But I take your meaning: your former modus operandi no longer is in operating mode.” Pansy didn’t reply. “But Father told me you had a date a month ago. With a man. ¿Did you enjoy it?”

“It was… it was set for me. I not try to do it.”

“That doesn’t answer me. ¿Did you enjoy it?”

“I… Yes, he taked me to a good restaurant. I like to get away from Las Rosas.”

Avoiding the issue once more. “ ¿Did you enjoy him? ¿Did you kiss him?”

Pansy looked away. She remembered ’Renzo’s hand on her breast, the deep kiss they had shared. Her face became red, and she became aware of her nipples as they stiffened visibly beneath her dress. “Y… yes… no… yes, he kissed me.” Her hidden observer realized how transparent she was, and her flush deepened.

Susana nodded knowingly. “My money is safe. Other girls learn to restrain themselves–but your previous life left you accustomed to satisfying your urges. I think you’ll be a slut, my dear.” She stood. “You wouldn’t much like that, I fear. ¡But I would! Maybe you’ll even end up a prostitute. Think about it as you clean up tonight.” She stood and left.

Pansy watched her go. She wouldn’t, couldn’t be right. “I do have control,” she told herself. “I can keep from falling!” She resolved to start by staying out of Mike’s bed. Yes, she was tempted–but she’d be strong!

After all the guests left, Pansy grabbed a quick snack of leftovers. Conchita and Pansy exchanged presents before going to bed. ’Chita gave Pansy a vial of perfume, and in return received a copper bracelet. ’Chita’s gift wasn’t a surprise to Pansy, but the others were. A package from Susana held a cookbook. Jaime gave her silver earrings shaped like orchids. A parcel from Miguel Ovando contained a sheer red nightie. Another package, mailed from Petunia, contained a copy of Ames and Donovan’s long out-of-print classic, “Orchids of Guatemala and Belize”. Pansy was delighted by her gifts (except for the cookbook). Jaime noted her pleasure, and nodded to himself. Don Pablo was right: Pansy was becoming a woman in her mind.

December 26
-- Pansy stayed at Las Rosas the day after Christmas, to help with the clean-up, but the work wasn’t enough to keep her mind off her conversation with Susana and Seá±ora Pérez. She had thought the worst was past, that all she had to do was wait out another year; but Suzi was confident that the don would do more, so she’d remain as Suzi’s maid even after she was free. After what Pansy had experienced, she couldn’t be certain that Suzi was wrong. Escape was imperative! But how? She needed help; who would provide it?

She also thought about her experience with Mike. A week after her seduction, her body’s reaction still shocked her. Since going out with Mike her nipples hardened every time she thought of him, and she felt a warmth in her loins. The pleasure he had given her was greater than any she had had as a man. In spite of Seá±or Pinkerton’s experience at seducing the opposite sex, she had never imagined that a woman could feel this way. She could almost forgive Don Pablo for making it possible. Almost. Thank God she couldn’t get pregnant!

At her work she wore a silly smile on her face, daydreaming about Mike. The other maids smiled knowingly, and Conchita warned her, “Pansy, be careful. Men all want the same thing, and if you give it to them, it may be a lot of fun at that moment, but it’s you that’ll pay. You must know that already–especially you– ¡but remember it!”

December 27
-- Conchita continued to worry about Pansy’s growing infatuation with Miguel. They had talked often since Pansy’s temporary return to Las Rosas, and Pansy had told her of her awakening sexual urges. Conchita told her former student that it had been obvious, and warned her, “At one time I would’ve just laughed, and told you it served you right. But you’ve suffered enough, I think. When you return to Los Robles today, ¡be careful!”

Pansy giggled. “I’ll be OK, ’Chita. Yes, you’re right. I know the danger.” She ought to, she told herself; she had played the other side of the game. “But I’m not a statue, and I do need a man’s company. ¡But no more than that!”

Ibá¡á±ez didn’t need to be told about Pansy’s desire. The chip signals from Pansy were useful guides to her emotional state. He had been able to estimate her state of arousal, and just how she was being stimulated, at the time it was being done. The feedback seemed efficient, and he believed it would condition her behavior effectively. Now he’d reinforce her newly awakened sexuality. He chuckled to himself. Weiss and Herná¡ndez had finished her body with amazing success. He himself (and Ibarra as well) had already done some work on Pansy’s psyche, but she was still a norteamericana at heart. Much more remained to be done to transform her soul to that of a campesina, and he looked forward to the challenge. The next phase of their project would be unpleasant for Pansy–even brutal–but he considered the unpleasantness necessary. Much of George’s psyche survived, and it needed to be demolished. The Chinese Communists had developed techniques for such “re-education”, and he intended to adapt their methods to his purpose.

After lunch Jaime took Pansy back to Los Robles, where she resumed her duties for Miguel.

December 29
-- A shackled Toqi Ergec stood in a shabby room before three seated men. The eldest, behind a desk strewn with papers, told him, “You heard the charges. Do you dispute them?”

“You won,” Ergec replied, his eyes straight ahead. “You will do what you want, no matter what I say. You know it. I know it. Finish your play-acting and kill me now.” He spat.

“Put down that the defendant does not dispute the charges,” the senior judge instructed. “Very well, then: you are found guilty of complicity in the murder of three Nationalists. Further, you planned to deprive a fourth man–my cousin, as it happens–of his manhood, and to condemn him to a life of degradation as your personal servant. We have documentation supporting all these charges.” Ergec started to argue, but thought better of it and kept silent. “Your plans for my cousin were completed, and all arrangements were made. Two weeks ago you sent the payment for this… this abomination, from the government treasury. It seems we cannot recover those expenses. A just penalty suggests itself. Toqi Ergec, we will be merciful. We do not condemn you to death. Instead, we will send you back to Honduras, where you will take the place of Yusuf bin Hossain.” Ergec’s eyes opened wide and he twitched, but said nothing. “When you return, suitably altered in accordance with your own instructions, you will serve my cousin as you would have had him serve you. Five years from today, your sentence will end, and you will be free.” He raised his eyes to Ergec. “As you know, your family would ordinarily suffer for your crimes–as you have decreed for the families of others. However, we are inclined to be extend our mercy even further. As long as you accept your punishment–for the next five years–we shall be satisfied, and they shall be safe. Otherwise…” He shrugged. “But I expect you will comply with our instructions. May Allah have mercy on you.” He turned to the other two men. “Take him away.”

December 31
-- Pansy’s return to Los Robles led to much more than her continued training as a maid. Yes, Mike was her master, and she worked hard cleaning and cooking. (The latter was especially difficult for her–she seemed to have little aptitude–but she was learning to cook tolerably well.) Mike continued to tempt her. He didn’t coerce her at all, and sometimes she had to seduce him. But the result was the same: on most nights, she ended in bed with him. She tried to resist, but she was becoming enslaved by the body they had forced onto her. She couldn’t say no. The physical pleasure of sex was so overpowering that, truly, she no longer even wanted to say no, in spite of what she told herself. Her breasts were especially sensitive; he had only to touch them, and she became inflamed with lust.

On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, Miguel asked why Don Pablo was punishing her. “I know the man well,” he told her. “He’s given to inflicting bizarre penalties, and he gets away with it because of his power. You’re not just a maid, Pansita máa. You’re not a campesina at all. It’s obvious every time you open your mouth. Leaving aside the fact that English is your native language, I can see that your speech is too refined. Clearly you have a good education, you’re from a good family, and you shouldn’t need to work as a maid. Or you wouldn’t if the don hadn’t forced you to do it as a punishment, to humiliate you. It’s ‘to teach you a lesson’. Am I right?”

Her jaw dropped. What could she say? Could he help her? Would he help her? Stammering in confusion, she tried to think what she could tell him, but he forestalled her. “Never mind why he wants to make you work as a maid,” he continued. “I don’t care what you did. Just tell me I’m right.”

Her eyes dropped. “I… Well, I…” What was there to lose? A week ago Don Pablo had apologized for the despair, degradation, and suffering that awaited her. And Susana had confirmed that during the next year, the don planned to corrupt her mind further. Lifting her eyes to Miguel’s face, she admitted, “Yes, I’m being punished. I can’t… I can’t stop him. I can’t get away from him, not for another… another year!” she wailed. “Please…” She looked away again, trying not to cry–”like a girl,” a sardonic inner voice added. “Please don’t… don’t ask me about the details.”

Miguel nodded. “I knew it! The don slipped when he first mentioned you to me, and let a couple of hints drop. Do you want to escape? I can help you. The don has no hold over me, and I can save you.”

Her tear-glistening eyes lit up: “Yes! Please!” But then she hesitated. “He’s… he’s too strong. He’d find me and he’d… and he’d punish me even more. I have to obey him. I have to!”

“No! You don’t! I can get you away from him for as long as you need. Until you can escape permanently.” He explained that he had a little place on a private island in the Caribbean, off the coast of Gracias a Dáos in eastern Honduras. “I spend a lot of time there. The villa has good communications, and I conduct a lot of my business from there. Come with me. I’ll tell Don Pablo you ran off, and he’ll never find you. You can swim and snorkel, and there’s a good library.” He sat next to her and put his arm around her. “Just move in with me. I’ll keep you happy. You can be my housekeeper–mi casera. You don’t owe that old bastard at Las Rosas anything. Come with me, and you won’t regret it.”

In spite of the temptation, she still held back. Every time she had tried to seize an opportunity, it had backfired, and she had ended up worse off. “But… I…” She shook her head. “You’re right, Mike. I’m not a campesina. I had a professional life before the don trapped me as a…” She stopped herself just in time. Mike would be repulsed if he knew she had once been a man, and he’d never help her. “…as a maid. But I think it’s lost now.”

“Not if you let me help you.” He smiled. “Come with me, and you’ll be a professional woman again. You can be so much more than a maid. I promise!”

Pansy thought of what the don had promised her for the next year: the coming months would be filled with suffering that would complete her transformation to a simple peasant girl. She remembered Susana’s wager, that she’d be eager to work as her maid and happy to marry a peasant. Although she desperately wanted to believe that Don Pablo’s ultimate goal was an impossibility, she knew he had been successful so far. She had to escape; this was perhaps her only chance to avoid a slide into peasant status. Throwing her arms around her savior, Pansy happily agreed to accompany him. If Mike offered an escape, she’d gladly work for him during the day–and bed him at night. It was a fair bargain, and it’d serve that old goat at Las Rosas right when she used the female body he had forced on her, to escape the fate he had planned for her and to regain her professional status. That bitch Susana would just have to find another maid. And maybe she could carry out her revenge earlier than she had thought possible.

This concludes the year of physical transformation: George has become a more-or-less normal American woman. The second (and final) year of captivity will be devoted to a mental and spiritual metamorphosis, to a more-or-less normal Honduran peasant girl. With the TG element finished, should I continue to post further chapters? Let me know!

Kudos

Comments

The rest of the story?

Well, you've caught me for one. So my vote is to see the rest for what that's worth.

Maggie

OABM continuation

Good enuf! It's posted.

Susana

More!!

Of course we need more!!! You're only half way there.

Thanks for you efforts.

Please,"the rest of the story"

I'm really enjoying this and hope you'll complete it. Assuming Pansy remains Pansy, with a continuing sense that she was once George, I expect the story arc will be very much Closet appropriate. But, the essential fact is I just want to know how the story comes out. This is an awfully good story, SQ.

Again, thank you.

OABM continuation

You're very welcome! I've gotten a lot of enjoyment out of Big Closet, so it's only fair I should let others enjoy my efforts.

Susana

What a question!

Of course we want to know more and how it all ends. I certainly do and I hope you won't be so cruel as to deprive we, your readers, of the pleasure of reading more.

I confess I was surprised at Pansy's taking so well to an even deeper feminine role and taking so much pleasure from male company. It will certainly be interesting to see if that trend deepens or becomes less marked once she is out of the clutches of Don Pedro and his medical team.

There is only a marginal transgender element to 'Bike' now - at least in many of the story lines - but it still attracts regular readers every day so I see no reason why OABM shouldn't attract a similar following.

Thanks for your generous offerings so far and hoping for more.

Robi

OABM continuation

OK, I'll keep sending. I have it completed, of course--if you want the whole thing I can email it (it has more bells and whistles than BC can handle, like the use of multiple fonts to show what language is being used). The next few months are very dark, though. After that, Pansy's life improves markedly--but I have to say, the don's prediction that she will be reforged by the fires of her suffering has some validity. I promise, though: after the don releases her, the identity of George will still live.

Susana

Another vote for the rest of the story

I've read through the whole of this story, and I hesitated to call it a "Good story" because I hate "identity death" stories. But I am as hooked as the rest, and can't wait to see what happens next. I'd also like to see what happens to Toqi Ergec.

OABM continuation

I will continue. The next few months are very dark, though. A ray of hope: George proves to be tenacious, in spite of all the suffering he endures.

Susana

Continuation

You've already said that "I won't give too much away if I say that problems will arise. And as far as backfiring, some of those involved in the project will wish they had never heard of it."

You've mentioned here that adapting his mindset to that of a peasant girl will be surprisingly difficult. Hopefully, by "surprisingly difficult" you indicate that while Pansy will be resigned to life as a woman, and will probably eventually act as a convincing peasant girl in public, in private she will still be rebellious by the end of the project and will not take up the offer of work with Susanna at the end. The 'backfiring' statement you made suggests that not only does she survive the ordeal with her willpower intact, but the primary perpetrators are brought to justice (possibly through legal means, more likely otherwise).

As for the relationship with Miguel/Mike, I can imagine that although she'd love to run away with him, she probably reluctantly declines in the end, knowing that Don Padro would be able to track her down easily (especially as with Miguel being a relative of The Don, he's probably well aware of Miguel's property portfolio), try even more dangerous techniques to punish her, and arrange an unusual punishment for Miguel as well. So it might be better for her to continue the project, but hope that Miguel tries to borrow her services as often as possible...

So as long as Pansy is still alive and fighting by the end of the second year (hopefully with the majority of her intelligence intact as well!), I'd say go ahead and publish the rest.

Actually, thinking of Miguel, especially that his previous servant left because she got married and pregnant, if he is indeed genuinely besotted with her and isn't the kind of man who "plays the field" (so to speak), then perhaps rather than avoiding bedding him, she should aim to get into his bed as often as possible! That would certainly throw a spanner in The Don's plans - pregnant by the end of the second year, intending to marry Miguel rather than a mere stablehand :)

Bike Resources

There are 10 kinds of people in the world - those who understand binary and those who don't...

As the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, then only left-handers are in their right mind!

I would like the story to

I would like the story to continue just to see the Don and all the rest of these degenerates get their just rewards when they are finally caught. I would hope that Pansy would be the one who brings "the hammer" down on them after her final year under the Don's rule. What a pay back that would be. Pansy is correct, unless the transformation methods used replaced both her DNA and fingerprints to completely new ones. She would have proof by those methods. Her issue as mentioned to her by the Aunt is she has no documents that would allow her back into the US. Pleas keep the story going, as it does need complete closure at a later date. Jan

OABM continuation

Yes, the story goes on. A lot remains for George/Pansy to endure--terrible trials--but there will be a light at the end of the tunnel. (Or is that a freight train headed towards him?)

Susana

Yes please continue

You can't just leave us hanging!!!

Wolf-Pup

OABM continuation

I could leave you hanging (what better way to persuade you to get the book from Amazon!)... But I won't. Next chapter is posted.

Susana

Somehow I came across this story very late in the day

but I will still add my tuppence worth.
This is top-notch stuff Suzy-Q and I'm loving it. To my dark tastes, it's the best I've read since Fleurie's "the deception of choice".

The difficulty with TG novellas is that they're unbelievable. I don't like stories that use magic, it seems like cheating, though I've read some good ones in spite of that. I like forced-fem stories, but they need to be brutal and detailed and subtle to be believable. Even someone who knew they wre TG would not submit to this; we'd all want control somewhere along the line. So forced feminisation has to be extreme. It's very hard to make it work in a plausible scenario.

I'd hate something like this to happen to anyone in real life. I do reality checks now and then and read about true cases, in case I'm losing touch with reality. But still, in fantasy it scratches the itches of the darkest recesses of my soul: self-hatred perhaps, violent urges perhaps, but also a sense of rigour, a sense that one suspends one's disbelief in a story reluctantly. I need to be seduced into the trance of a story - and in this I'm yours to play with.

plase post more ... but I have the advantage of hindsight and know you already have.
A wonderful ouevre
XX
AD

Comments on story...

Comments are very welcome. I've been gone for a couple of weeks, so it's nice to return to a compliment. Yes, I tried to make the story plausible. Maybe too plausible--I suspect that everything in it is technically feasible, if not possible with present technology. God forbid it should actually be done! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.

Susana

Only A Baby Machine -- Part 10, Adaptation to a New Reality

Comments

The rest of the story?

OABM continuation

More!!

Please,"the rest of the story"

OABM continuation

What a question!

OABM continuation

Another vote for the rest of the story

OABM continuation

Continuation

I would like the story to

OABM continuation

Yes please continue

OABM continuation

Somehow I came across this story very late in the day

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