Dream Come True - Chapter Two - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, we learn what has happened to Melissa and a few details. Also, Melissa's transformation begins to show itself.

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(For the Disclaimer, see Chapter One)

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR: I would first like to thank everyone for the kudos and comments in Chapter One. They made my day for several days running. Thank you for all the kind and encouraging words. I hope this and future installments of this tale continue to live up to the expectations. Lots of love all around! xD

HUGGZ!!

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— Chapter Two —

There was some hope deep within me that another five days hadn’t passed. Thankfully, it was only about twenty minutes until I regained consciousness. When I did, the lights were on in my room. This time, they didn’t hurt my eyes as much. In fact, I was glad for them. The room was beginning to feel like some sort of cave. Grunting, I pulled myself up into a sitting position and glanced around the room. The doctors and agent had left the room. Janet was nowhere to be seen. I heard someone clear their throat. Startled, my eyes darted in the direction my ears had said the sound had come from.

There, in a rather comfortable looking chair, was a short, round, balding man. The hair that was leaving his head had migrated to his chest and arms. His dress was appropriate to his station, like I’d always seen him. He wore a plain white button-down shirt, grey slacks, and brown Oxford shoes. He also wore a satisfied smile that made his comforting gray eyes sparkle.

“DAVE!” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. I leapt off the bed and gathered him up in an embrace. He was, after all, about three or four inches shorter than me when we were both standing.

He chuckled. “Hello, Melissa. I see you’re feeling better.”

By obligation, a nurse poked her head past the curtain. I wish she hadn’t. Apparently, my gown was a little more revealing than I’d have liked in the back. I released the man, turning to face the nurse with a blush forming on my face. He merely stood.

“What in the world is going on back here?” She demanded.

“Everything’s okay,” He stated. “I’m Melissa’s P-C-P, David Halden.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t a primary care provider be a doctor?”

He shook his head. “Advanced Registered Nurse Practitioner, actually.”

She nodded. “Oh. ARNP, huh? Carry on.” She turned and left. He probably had better credentials than she did.

I shuffled back over to the gurney, sat down, and covered myself as much as possible with the blankets, feeling very much exposed, now. “So… how long have you been here?”

“Only a few minutes, actually.” He stated, returning to his seat. “It seems I missed the announcement, though.”

“I guess so…” I trailed off.

He smirked. “You still think it’s a dream, don’t you?”

In point of fact, that’s exactly what I was thinking. For a moment, I hesitated. Then, got brave and actually brought my hand up to meet with my face. The sound of a loud slap echoed through the room. “OW!” Okay, not dreaming.

“Melissa, please don’t hurt yourself. You are certainly not dreaming, though I can empathize with your belief that you are.” He chuckled.

I rubbed the sore spot on my cheek for a moment. As I thought, it was a little rough from a couple days’ worth of growth. I suddenly felt embarrassed that two strange doctors and an agent from the CDC had seen me in this condition. That was a fleeting thought, though. There was a strange sensation on my arm and part of my neck. I pulled my hand away from my face to see several small, dark hairs on my palm, fingers, wrist, and upper arm. My eyes widened in disbelief.

“Okay, that’s not normal!” I announced.

He shot out of his seat and took my hand, giving it a look over. Then, he glanced at my cheek. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s already happening.”

“What?!” A sense of horror washed over me.

He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Oh, don’t worry. Melissa, your beard stubble is falling out.”

“It is?” Deep down, I’d always wished that it would without any help from expensive procedures like electrolysis or laser hair removal.

He continued his examination. “Well, not all of it, but I’d say give it time. Admittedly, it is very fascinating to watch you simply wipe it off your face. I’ve heard some whispers about HTV, but I thought it was nothing more than some elaborate hoax. I never thought I’d have a patient diagnosed with it.”

“Well, lucky you. I hadn’t even heard about it.” I was still staring at my hand.

“I had no intention of giving you some sense of false hope and I will continue to do that with the rest of my transgender patients. It would seem like you’ve won that lottery you keep fantasizing about.” Finished with the examination, our eyes met. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and have a look? Besides, you can wipe away the strays while you’re at it.”

All I could do was nod while he moved to the side and allowed me to trudge over to the bathroom, dumbstruck. All hyperboles aside, I was never as hairy as one would believe someone with Central European or Scandinavian heritage to have. Granted, I shaved both my arms and my legs but even those produced less hair than my brother had. The embarrassing place where I had hair was on my butt. I hated that with a passion. Yet, even with all of that, the single worse place was on my face. It had been the subject of a great many crying fits. The rest was just annoying. For the majority of society, any evidence of hair on someone’s face meant “man”, even though I’d met several women with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome who could grow better beards than me.

Slowly, I made my way up to the mirror. For the most part, it was my reflection staring back at me. My long, straight, brown hair rested on my shoulders. My eyebrows could use a little attention from a pair of tweezers. There wasn’t much special about my blue eyes, but I loved that I’d always had long, thick, feminine eyelashes. I never liked my face. My nose seemed too big. My brow bone was always too prominent. My cheekbones weren’t prominent enough. My jaw was somewhat angular and too masculine for my liking. Then, it all came down into my “Jay Leno” chin -- which was a hyperbolic statement but it looked huge to me. I watched my Adam’s Apple rise and fall as I let out a sigh. However, right there in front of me was the patch where I’d rubbed my face after slapping myself. More than half the hair was gone.

My eyes shot wide as dinner plates. I moved closer to the sink, leaned forward, and began to run my hand along my beard stubble. Sure enough, as I rubbed my face, little hairs were literally falling off my face! I was looking right at it and still couldn’t believe it!

“Holy shit!” I giggled with glee.

“Told you so.” Dave’s voice echoed from the room.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Remorse filled me even as I labored through a much needed shower. It had been five days and I could smell my own stench. A girl’s got to have standards, right? The fact that my doctor (not really a doctor, but that’s how I saw him) was waiting for me had not escaped me. I simply rationalized that it would be more polite to save his nostril hairs from burning away than having him wait the ten-or-so minutes it would take me to practice a little personal hygiene. Thankfully, they had small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. None were the brands I typically used, but I was thankful to have them, regardless.

While I went about my routine, the marvel of the mirror had overtaken me and I began a little personal inventory. With my heritage, there was always a bit more hair on me than I assumed to be average. There was always thick, dark hair on my arms which extended onto the backs of my hands and a bit on my knuckles. In my teen years when shaving it off would mean ridicule, I could hold my arm under a shower head and the hair on my arm would actually part along the bone. Gross. Then, there was the hair on my legs. It was thicker and I would typically have two or three hairs that seemed to sprout from the same follicle. Disgusting. I also had a “happy” trail and a veritable forest in my crotch. Not to mention, the hair on my posterior I mentioned earlier. Unfortunately, there was also a few hairs on my chest and around my nipples that drove me crazy. As a child, my worst fear was becoming a huge, hairy gorilla with a Polish sausage in my loins. Sadly, I wasn’t too far off, which caused me constant distress.

However, there was a lot of hair in the tub when I finished and I hadn’t even touched a razor, yet. Just looking down at myself as I stepped out of the shower basin was enough to tell me that I was considerably less hairy. Gone was about eighty-five percent of the hair on my arms and it had vanished from the back of my hand and knuckles. Gone was the “happy trail” and about fifty percent of the hair in my crotch area. Only about seventy percent of the hair was gone from my legs and they were considerably smoother, though I’d probably still have to shave every few days, or so. There was still hair in my armpits, but it was also not as dense and much finer. Thankfully, the obnoxious hairs on my chest and buttocks were all gone. I was very happy to see both those areas smooth as a baby’s bottom.

Even with all this happiness, there was still my naked body to contend with. I had always hated being naked. Thankfully, I was always on the short end of male height standards, coming in at a meager five feet and seven inches. My arms were okay and my legs weren’t too bad, either. Though, both were still on the end of “too masculine” for my liking. My shoulders were more narrow than my mothers’, but that was overshadowed by the broadness of my ribs. Add to that my narrow hips and my torso is a breeding ground for unhappiness. My hands weren’t too large, but bigger than the average woman’s hands. Then, there were my feet. I cursed whatever twisted soul had made my physique rather petite but gave me freakish clown feet. Being slightly above average female height, wearing a size 5/6, and toting around an off-the-rack bra were nice, but it was an act of Congress to get a pair of shoes that fit. I was a size 10, which is in the “large” category of women’s shoes and greatly limited my choices in footwear. Thus, for every small positive, there was a huge negative.

Speaking of which, we finally come to the bane of my existence. There are no words to describe how uncomfortable it made me to have that phallus strapped to my pelvic region. The thing was disgusting and cumbersome. While a year’s worth of hormones had given me softer skin, a more radiant complexion, approximately “A cup” small breasts, softer eyes, and a clear sense of mind, it had done nothing to decrease the size of the monstrous thing below my waist. It pained me to know that the thing was larger than most men that I have ever met. It’s especially sad when you can put your own boyfriend to shame. I hated it and often cried myself to sleep because of it. I was very much a prime candidate for sex reassignment surgery… which I would likely never be able to afford.

Rather than depress myself further, the decision to get dressed again was easily made. I quickly patted myself dry, shuffled into the panties, and slipped the hospital gown back on. Using a second towel to wrap my hair in, I returned to the hospital room. Thankfully, my doctor was still there and wearing a smile on his face.

“Feel better?” He grinned.

“Yes, very much. Thanks for indulging my ‘girly habits’ on that one.” I smiled back.

“Well, I didn’t want to be rude and just outright say you smelt like you’d been in a hospital for a few days.” We both had a small chuckle. “Why don’t you have a seat? Curiosity is getting the better of me and I’d like to perform an examination, if you’d be okay with that.”

“Not a problem on my end.” As requested, I sat down on the gurney once more. “I’ll probably be a lab rat for a while. I’d rather it was you than anyone else.”

He set right into his examination, starting with my feet and legs. He merely glanced at them from a couple different angles. “I thought you liked Dr. Michaels. She seems sincere and caring.”

“Yes, she strikes me the same way. I guess she’s okay.” I shrugged.

He blinked and did a double take. “I guess whatever effects they’ve foreseen have already begun. That little patch of hair on your feet is gone and your legs would be about on par with any other young woman your age.” He moved to my arms. “It would seem that your arms are in the same boat. I’m guessing you’re happy about that?”

A lovely smile creased my lips. “Very happy.” Then, a little sigh came out. “So, what can I expect with this HTV thing, realistically?”

“I’m not really sure, Melissa. Like I said, I’ve heard about it but assumed it a hoax. Though, with what some of these doctors here are suggesting, there probably won’t be a need for me to write that letter to the surgeon we’ve discussed.” He glanced at my torso. “Would you be averse to taking off the gown for a more thorough examination?”

“Nope. Besides, I need you to bring me back into the real world if I’m imagining anything.” I smirked, slipping off the gown.

First, he gazed over my entire form, probably making a mental checklist. Then, he went about poking and prodding at my little breasts. “Well, the hair growth all over your body has greatly diminished. I hadn’t expected that. Also, it would seem that there has been no atrophy of your breasts as a result of you suddenly coming off your hormones for an extended period of time. That’s some good news.”

“Well, I hadn’t expected much change. I mean, I just caught the bug, right?”

“Exactly. According to our results, the pathogen has been incubating in your system for nearly a month, now.” A deep, unfamiliar voice stated. Both of us in the room turned to the voice, only to discover that Dr. Carver had returned with Dr. Michaels accompanying him.

“I thought that breast exams were supposed to my territory, Mr. Halden.” Dr. Michaels smirked.

While I went flush in embarrassment and quickly covered myself, he nodded to the other two. “Usually, it would be. However, I currently know Melissa better than either of you, from both a medical and personal standpoint. All either of you can do is speculate as to what her hormones have done up to this point and what can be attributed to HTV.”

“Touché.” I giggled.

“So, what did we miss?” Dr. Michaels asked.

Dave glanced at me, then back to them. “Well, I would hazard a guess that her body is mandating a more feminine hair growth pattern, but that’s just conjecture.”

“Oh? How so?” Dr. Carver spoke up, taking notes.

Dave waved them over and pointed to a few points. “Well, you can see her arms and legs have much finer hair than before. She’s always been self-conscious about a few stray chest hairs and the hairs surrounding her navel. Those are gone, now. We found this after she slapped herself to prove she wasn’t dreaming. When she rubbed her face, her facial hair started falling out. As you can see, I would say that sixty percent of it doesn’t exist anymore.”

Dr. Carver leaned in and examined my cheeks, chin, and upper neck. “Fascinating. I haven’t seen many of these early stages before. Melissa, I’d imagine this is a very happy day for you.”

Nodding, I stated clearly. “I’ve always said that if I never had to shave my face again, it would be too soon. Does this mean that I’ll likely never have to shave my face again in a few days?”

Dr. Carver nodded. “I could agree with that estimate. Usually, the HTV process takes an average of three months. For some, more. For others, less.”

Dave seemed surprised. “Three months? That’s quite fast!”

“Yes, Mr. Halden. It’s not just the virus that boggles the minds of modern scientists, but the transformation process itself. Like I told Melissa before, in three months’ time there isn’t a gynecologist on the planet that will be able to tell that she was ever male at all.”

Dave smiled at me. “Sounds like a dream come true, right Melissa?”

Tears formed in my eyes. “A dream I’ve had since I was very little.”

“So, this begs the question: what happens to Melissa while this transformation is taking place?” Dave began. “I saw in the logs that a representative from the CDC was here earlier to ascertain the situation.”

“Agent Donovan was only here to assess any threat to the general population. As it stands, Melissa is well beyond any fathomable contagious period for any known pathogens.” Dr. Carver explained. “However, with so little being known about this particular pathogen, he is reluctant to release her into the general population.”

“Wait… are you saying that I’m being quarantined?” My mind wondered.

Dr. Carver nodded. “In a way, yes. I know that’s not very good news, but being the first case of HTV in the United States has its limitations. They’ve had time to deal with this in the former British Empire. With the UK, Australia, and Canada having already documented several reported cases, they’re not as paranoid as the United States. They used to be. There’s always got to be a first.”

“I have to be honest, here.” Dr. Michaels added. “The thing I’m most afraid of is the press getting wind of this. If they do, Melissa won’t be getting much sleep. They’ll hound her for comment day and night. However, the hospital has already taken precautions regarding that. Security was already a part of the CDC quarantine, but that’s likely to stir suspicion. It’s only a matter of time before they learn about you.”

“Wait. How many people are involved in that or is it just me?” I wondered.

Dr. Carver shook his head. “No, Melissa, it isn’t just you. Everyone in that same shelter the night you were brought in has been relocated to a safe house nearby. Also, anyone who has had contact with them has been brought in. There’s a day center downtown that has been shut down, closed off, and quarantined.”

A chuckle escaped my lips. “Oh, you’re doing them a favor, Dr. Carver. Bringing the federal government in means federal money. They’re probably sleeping in better accommodations than they have in almost a year, a lot longer than that for some of them. Believe me, for them, it’s a step up from the prison mattress we usually sleep on.” Then, I paused for a moment of reflection. “Wait, they closed down and quarantined Angeline’s? I always thought the place needed it, but that’s a bit much.”

“They’re not taking any chances. Any potential spread has to be eliminated. Think about it: a retrovirus capable of changing people’s sex that we understand so little about?”

He had a point. One fact did plague my mind. “So, you’re telling me that HTV affects natal females as much as it does natal males?”

“Yes. In respect to age and original birth sex, HTV is indiscriminate. It changes females into males just as it changes males into females. However, none of the research shows that it is as dangerous as the CDC would like to think. In fact, compared with other retroviruses, it’s very benign and relatively harmless. Also, it’s not as communicable as influenza or even small pox. I have reason to believe that it only affects people with a certain genetic marker. I can’t prove it, but it is a theory.” Dr. Carver shrugged.

“For those in the room that don’t know, Dr. Carver is the foremost North American authority on HTV. He flew in from Montreal two days ago.” Dr. Michaels smiled.

“So, you’ll be performing some extra tests on Melissa’s blood to see if you can pinpoint some kind of commonality?” Dave spoke up.

“Yes, if I have permission.” Dr. Carver glanced at me.

All I could do was shrug. “I don’t really care, Dr. Carver. I’ve already resolved that I’ll probably be a lab rat until this all washes over, so test away. Far be it from me to stand in the way of scientific discovery.”

“Thank you, Melissa. I didn’t want to proceed without some form of permission.”

“Well, with concerns about the media, I happen to know a publicist or two. If you’re interested, Melissa, I could give them a call and have them come down to talk to you. I know the public will expect some kind of statement soon, but you shouldn’t rush it.” Dave stated.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Halden.” Dr. Michaels spoke up.

“Oh, I do.” Came my firm reply. “I’m well aware that I’ll have to speak to the press at some point. I’d rather it was on my terms, so a publicist isn’t a bad idea.” Glancing at my doctor, I continued. “I can’t really pay them, though. I don’t think publicists do ‘pro bono’ work.”

He merely grinned. “The ones that I know do. Like I said, only when you’re ready. My concerns are to my patient, first and foremost.”

Now, I giggled. “Thanks, Dave.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

The next week or so passed by like one long blur. Again, there wasn’t much on television, but I did find some programs that I liked. Watching reruns of Mythbusters is always entertaining. For lapses in entertainment, Janet brought me a few books. Unfortunately, most of them were romance novels I would have never read, even if you paid me to. Once I communicated my preferences, the science fiction and fantasy novels were much more common. When she brought me Twilight, I would have liked to have regurgitated. Still, she was doing her best and I was thankful for the effort.

As predicted, the changes I was experiencing were subtle, at first. After two weeks, it was confirmed that I had a body hair pattern synonymous with a young woman of my age and heritage. The hair on my arms was soft, light, and fine, yet only occupied my upper arm between my wrist and elbow. The hair on my legs continued to thin out until the furriest part was my lower legs. My thighs were almost completely devoid of dark hair. My armpits were about the same as my shins. Interestingly enough, the hair even fell off my scrotum, which seemed a little odd to me. Finally, my face was completely smooth. Like my father, my facial hair had grown halfway down my neck, but there was no evidence that it ever existed anymore. When the last hairs fell out, I yelped out an elated “Woo hoo!” and my voice cracked into a higher register, which only served to make the experience that much better. Other than that, the hair on my head seemed a little more oily but that was the extent of it.

On the other hand, I was eating… a lot. During my teen years, I never really experienced the whole “eat your family out of house and home” thing most guys go through. Granted, I could put away half a large pizza and not blink. It was even funny to see the reactions on people when a girl as thin as I would devour a cheeseburger. I liked to think that, when I was able, my appetite was fairly “healthy” and “normal”. In the past week, I was putting away about six meals that were all about the size of the average “value meal” from most fast food chains -- just the regular size, not “super sized”. The nurses were a little worried that I was eating too much because I’d been half-starved by homeless shelters. However, Dr. Carver quickly dismissed such ideas by stating it was not uncommon for someone being affected by HTV to have similar eating habits. Essentially, my body was saying that it needed the extra energy and, as far as Dr. Carver was concerned, that was a good sign.

Today, however, I was having a case of the tummy aches. It wasn’t excruciating by any means, just an annoying dull pain that made it hard to take naps. I really didn’t think much of it until my doctor and Dr. Michaels came in for a check up in the late afternoon.

“Hey, Dave.” I smiled when I saw his grinning face.

“Hello, Melissa.” He greeted back.

“Hey, Mel.” Dr. Michaels stated with a toothy grin. This was definitely her “hello” smile that most women greet each other with.

“Hey, Dr. Michaels.” I returned with my own "hello" smile.

“How’s our girl feeling today?” Dave took a seat near the gurney.

I let out a sigh. “Not that great. I’m almost completely bored out of my mind and I’ve had a dull tummy ache all day.”

Dr. Michaels set down her computer pad. “Really?” She rushed to the bed side. “I’ll do an abdominal exam. You just let me know where it hurts. Sound good?”

Lazily, I shrugged. “I guess so.”

She pulled back the blanket and formed her hands into some odd shape. She had one hand over the other and all her fingers were extended. Then, she carefully applied pressure with her fingertips around my abdominal region, starting in the area near my stomach, then over to my liver, then down over my intestines, then down into the lower abdominal region. I winced.

“Hmm…” She softly announced. “Well, no problems with your gastrointestinal tract, from what I can tell. Your liver seems fine. The problem seems to be in your pelvic region. Have you been having issues urinating? No burning sensations or anything?”

Shaking my head, I replied. “No, not really. I doubt it’s a bladder infection or anything like that, seeing how sanitary everything is around here.”

“One can never tell. It helps to rule things out. Given the circumstances, I may have to examine your groin. Would you be okay with that?”

“I don’t see why not. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Probably not, but let’s check to make sure.”

Again, she pulled the blankets back. Now, Dave stood and moved to the gurney. She moved over to a counter, picked up some disposable gloves and handed Dave a pair while she slipped a pair on herself. Then, she proceeded to lift the hospital gown and pull down my panties. Flushed with embarrassment, I turned my head to the side. I could feel gloved hands messing with my… junk… for a few minutes and then my panties were placed back on my hips.

“That is incredibly interesting.” She stated with a heightened tone to her voice.

“Indeed.” Dave agreed.

My head snapped back to face them as she pulled the hospital gown back on. “What? What’s going on?”

She pulled off the gloves and smiled at me. “Well, it would appear that you no longer have testicles, my dear. They’ve ascended into your pelvis. Usually, patients say that’s pretty painful.”

Another shrug from me. “Didn’t even notice. I learned a technique a long time ago to pop them up into that little pocket near my pelvic bone whenever I tuck myself.”

She nodded. “Probably why it didn’t hurt. Either that, or you were asleep when it occurred. There’s something else, too.”

Dave smiled. “The tissue of your scrotum is beginning to stretch down along your perineum, to prepare itself to be your labia minora, I’d assume.”

“I concur, Mr. Halden. That, and the sides of your perineum seem a little… what’s the word?…” She paused to think. “Oh, yes, I believe it applicable to say ‘puffy’. Yes, they look puffy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And that has what kind of significance?”

“Well, if you were a twelve-year-old girl, I’d say that your mons pubis was beginning to define itself.” She smiled.

“And that is…?” Okay, so I wasn’t up to date on gynecological terms. Sue me.

Dave took this one. “You know that little mound just above the vulva?” I nodded. “Well, that and the labia majora make up the mons pubis, or ‘pubic mound’.”

“Wait… that’s starting, already?” You could hear the slight elation to my voice.

“Yes, I would say that it is. I don’t know how common that is until I confer with Dr. Carver, though.” She stated plainly.

“But, that’s not what’s causing the abdominal pain, is it?”

“No, I don’t believe so. What I would believe is happening is that your internal organs are beginning to form. I’ll have to call Dr. Carver down here to examine you, but I think I’m right on this.”

I lay my head back, let out a nice sigh, closed my eyes, and smiled. “Awesome.”

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm