Mike’s purchase on TG-Bay has unexpected features and consequences.

Caveat Emptor

By Jamie Lou

Edited by Kristina L. S.

---

An excerpt from the forthcoming book Phemn by Michelle Novopuella as told to J. L. Wendelin, used by special permission from the publisher.

I used to be Mike. Now I call myself Michelle. This my story of how that happened.

Chapter 1

It started as a typical Wednesday night, well for me at least, I had nothing special to do. Midweek: no date, none of my regular progs on the so I logged into StarCloset/BigDust — looking for any new stories. SC/BD is an anachronism on the net these days. It's one of the few places you can still find words on a page, to read! Of course, the effect in your iGlassesâ„¢ headset is a weird sense of looking at an old-fashioned display screen. It's odd; everything is flat — and pink, I don't know what that’s all about. The best thing about SC/BD is that all the stories there are about cross-dressing or transgender or transformations: it is my sort of place.

SC/BD is also neat if you're into words, reading and writing and not just playing in someone else's VirtWorld. VW is ok but sometimes it's just as much work as living in RL. Reading is like living in another place for a bit, one where everything is done for you and you can just absorb it. (There's an idea! Maybe someone could do that in VW: create a place where it washes over you without you having to do a thing.) A friend told me that Bobrin, the fem who mods the place has been doing it for, like 40 years. If that's true then she must be ancient. I don't believe it. I think it's one of those made up names, like “Dear Abby” or “Ann Landers”, you know those advice ladies, where a new fem takes over every few years but keeps the old name. That's what I think.

Anyway, StarCloset/BigDust is kinda quaint; like those towns in Vermont where they have all the pretty little white houses around the town green, with a church and a general store. Except in Vermont they charge you 100 Euro-Dollars while SC/BD is still free. And they even have those old word ads on the left, the type that you have to klink on — you know, you eyeball them and blink — to follow them. I guess they're trying to give you the experience like when peeps used to click with a hand-mouse.

So they got these ads and I saw one that said “Transgender - Browse a huge selection now. Find exactly what you want today.” from TG-Bay.com and thought it looked interesting. Now my friend Steve got a great deal on a used femsuit there. Yeah, I know what your thinking, “A used bodysuit? Ewww! Gross!” But it was okay — well there was a little stain on the... But that washed right off and it works perfect and he looks and feels like a real fem — well almost anyway. I even had sex with him and I tell you it was pretty damn good. I've been with fems and hems so I should know.

Bodysuits, (in case you’ve been living in the dark ages and don’t know already), are one of the wonders of nanobot technology and neurobiology. They create a second skin on the wearer that interconnects with his or her nervous system so that person will feel sensations as if it were part the natural body. Since they are essentially sex-toys, touch sensations are enhanced, particularly in and around the genitals and, with fem suits, on the breasts and nipples. With the better quality femsuits the nanobots surgically create a cavity into a male body for the vagina so the wearer can feel internal penetration. (The cheaper models, like Steve’s Paris Doubletree, have a simple sheath that lies in the crotch and, even though the sensory integration still happens, the effect is not nearly as real.)

Now, I'd wanted a femsuit, for, like, ever. I mean, I couldn’t afford and wasn’t sure I wanted a genuine transurg. Bodysuits are for peeps like me who want to play at being a different sex but maybe don’t want to change permanently, kind of like cross-dressers in the olden-days. However, new ones are still super-expensive; more than I could afford. So I thought I might look for something like the one Steve got. I klinked on the link.

Most of the stuff for sale was the usual: CD clothes, VW progs, plastic vaginas, dildos. I kept searching and finally hit what looked liked the jackpot: a real “Cherrie Amour” suit. I couldn't believe it. Sure, it's not a top of the line “Stephanie May” but it's up there. Certainly much higher quality than Paris Doubletree or Britney Arrows suits - which need to be rehabbed after a few uses. A manikin-like model of the suit let me move around her in 3D. She was my size, nice butt, breasts not too big. I looked through the specs and warnings — the usual “you are bidding on a…” and “shipping not included” stuff. The seller was new and didn't have many ratings yet but all were “Good” or better. Most of what they’d sold were household things on other sites so I figured maybe someone had bought the suit for a lover who didn’t want to play along. You know how it is: you buy some sexy lingerie or a strap-on for your femfriend and she gives you a half-puzzled, half-disgusted, half-pitying smile that makes you feel like a puppy that peed on the floor, and whatever you bought goes in the closet, never to be seen again.

I tried to go though all the info but the auction would end in a couple of minutes and the bidding was active. I read fast, skimming where I could, adding a slightly higher bid, saw something about “possible mis-shipment” or “may be factory second”, but the clock was ticking down. I upped my bid. The last thing I saw was about it being “completely certified and guaranteed”, so I bid once more, shaking with excitement as the clock hit zero.

“God, I hope I get it,” I thought as I collapsed back onto my chair. And waited. Waited some more and then... Yes! I won. She was my Cherrie Amour, for under 1500 EDs, even with overnight shipping. She'd be here on Friday.

I could barely sleep that night and the next two days at work were pretty much wasted — I got nothing accomplished. I kept a tracking bubble open to FedUps (Motto: “The Only One for Shipping”; which was literally true after all the mergers of the first Jenna Bush administration.) I followed her starting with the pick-up at a private shipping store in Miami using both the gps-loc and the vid from the mincam they mount on all their packages. I even watched as the FU fem put her in the delivery safe at my apartment. She'd be waiting when I got home. I tried to weasel out early but my boss wouldn’t let me. Traffic all the way home seemed twice as slow as usual but I finally made it. I pulled the box from my delivery safe, ran up the stairs to my fourth floor apartment — the elevator would take too long — and started to open the box even before the door was fully closed.

The inside packaging hadn’t ever been opened: the original seals were intact. This was incredible — a brand new, unopened Cherrie Amour. I stepped back and took a breath. I couldn’t believe my luck. And I got it for under 1500.

I broke the seals on the package and inhaled the musky, sexy, intoxicating scent of a virgin femsuit. What a turn-on! I wanted to pop Cherrie on right then, but I had to hold back; I still needed to check the directions. Excited, I may have been; stupid, I’m not. What happened later was not because I didn’t follow the instructions.

I popped the deevdee in my reader and donned my headset; the prog started immediately. The instructions were straightforward. They explained that this most recent version (5.2.8) of the Cherrie Amourâ„¢ Femsuit for Menâ„¢, no longer required the wearer to remove all his body hair. Although it did suggest extremely hairy individuals might wish to trim his hair shorter, depilate it (shave if you’re into retro) or use more of the BodySuit Lotion. Best results for sensation transfer came from better contact with the wearer’s skin and less hair increased surface contact. The lotion works to further enhance contact and bond the suit to the skin. The prog recommended bathing prior to use. Then it showed a hem applying the lotion and pulling on the suit. His transition went in fast-motion. I was fascinated (and turned-on) watching as the suit shrank around him and his hips and breasts filled out.

Men who wanted to use the internal vagina option did have to remove the hair between their legs, apply an adhesive patch that contained the nanobots for that procedure. The patch was about the size and shape of a fem’s mini-pad. The prog demonstrated placement of the nanopad and explained that the suit came with a stock of five and a two-year subscription for as many replacement supplies as needed. You know, that’s what’s nice about the better quality suits: they don’t skimp on the supplies. Most of the cheaper brands stick it to you for the supplies. They’re like those old printers you see in the history progs — the ones you could get for nothing but the ink and stuff was really expensive. I guess those slimy old business models still work.

The directions showed how to clean and care for the suit to keep it in good working order, warnings about how to avoid damage, (and showed common causes of damage the company had encountered), along with how and where to return defective or damaged suits. It included all the normal things you find with any item you buy, nothing out of the ordinary. There were a couple of cautions about allergic reactions to the lotion and some rare side effects from the nanobots but all were mild and there was a net id to contact if there were problems like those. There was also a net link to register the suit, which would activate the supplies subscription and download any software updates. The prog also related that the suit would automatically link and search for updates when it was activated the first time if you hadn’t done so manually before then.

I had my apartment’s netcon server connect and register the suit for me. It reported that the link was successful as was the registration and that it had downloaded a major program update for the suit. My server also informed me that the patch had installed successfully and that information had been relayed back to the update server and acknowledged by the unit at the other end. At the time, I thought it odd that the suit needed any mods at all, as I’d heard Cherrie’s rarely needed patches. However, I was psyched about even having the suit and that I was about to put it on, so I didn’t dwell on it. I should have gone with my gut instinct.

Finished with the instructions, I was finally ready. I stripped, depped the hair not only between my legs, but also around my whole crotch and took a quick shower. Once dried, I returned to my bedroom where I’d laid the suit flat on the bed. As I said earlier, Cherrie suits are high quality though not top of the line. They don’t have the custom fitted feet and hands that the premium suits include. They only come up to the neck so there is no face mask or wig to put on. Lying there on the bed, the suit looked as if it were only an oversized, light-grey, long-sleeved unitard. The color would change to the wearer’s underlying skin tone after a few minutes and all good bodysuits are large so they can be put on easily after which they shrink to conform the shape of your body. Only the cheap ones are tight and stretchy and a pain to get on — like those retro, I think they’re called “catsuits”, you sometimes see peeps wearing at the clubs.

I unsealed the bottle of lotion and pumped bit into my palm. It had a hint of a cherry blossom scent, which seemed appropriate with an iridescent teal/aqua color, which didn’t. The directions showed how the lotion would stain the skin temporarily, fading after the suit had been on for ten to fifteen minutes. The purpose of the staining is so you can easily tell when your skin is covered. And whoa, does that lotion cover! I put the initial dab in my palm onto my chest, started to rub it in the way I would with skin cream and it spread almost by itself. It seemed like I only needed to encourage it and it would find skin to cover on it’s own. In no time my torso, arms and legs were enveloped in a shimmering blue-green. It would have been perfect for a body-paint-only party. My skin felt cool and goose-bumpy but also as if there were something moving on it. Because the lotion itself contains nanobots, something probably was moving on me.

The nanopad between my legs was next. I peeled the cover off the adhesive side, spread my legs and pushed it into place. My crotch went numb. I’d forgotten that section in the directions. Not only did the area immediately under the pad lose all sensation, but it soon spread to the entire region around my genitals. The erection I’d sported in anticipation of what was to come deflated as my prick numbed. I reached down to wrap my hand around it and give it an experimental pump; it was like touching another hem’s cock. I could feel it in my hand but not my hand around it . . . very odd, and kinda disappointing.

I picked up the suit. The back was open from the neckline down about half-way to the butt. As I said earlier, it was quite loose. I sat on the edge of my bed, pulled the suit up my legs like a set of coveralls and froze when it reached my crotch; my penis had shriveled up to almost nothing. You hems may remember as a kid — if you went swimming in cold water how your ball sack would crinkle up tight and your prick would look like the end of your thumb sticking out above it? That’s what I looked like. Now, I’m not hung like a horse, by any stretch of the imagination, but this was disconcerting. Then I figured, what the heck, it’s all part of the process and I’m going have a vagina between my legs soon. I certainly didn’t want my prick getting in the way did I? I put my arms into the sleeves, held the two sides of the back together at the neckline and, sure enough, the rest of the back opening sealed automatically.

I stood and turned to look in the mirror and…let out a giggle. Picture this: A man with shoulder length reddish-brown hair, a slightly feminine looking face — soft chin and high cheek bones, shimmery teal hands and neck from the lotion, wearing a baggy, oversized, beige-grey coverall. Oh yes, and the coverall has two little sagging breasts on the chest and a triangle of hair like a merkin at the top of the legs. I looked ridiculous.

The directions said to lie down during the transition because you tend to get groggy and lose co-ordination. Some users even fall asleep. I climbed onto my bed and settled on to my back, adjusted the suit around me, smoothing out wrinkles, making sure the shoulders were pulled up — it was the same as getting my pajamas comfy. To activate the suit and start the transformation you have to slap your stomach twice, the front of each thigh — left, then right, then your belly again. The slaps don’t have to be hard but they have to be deliberate, in the proper sequence and within five seconds. All the suit companies have an activation method such as this: they want to make sure you are doing this on purpose. I did the sequence: Stomach: slap, slap; left thigh, right thigh: slap, slap; belly once more: slap. Resting my hands beside me on the bed, I stared at the ceiling and waited. I didn’t have to wait long.

From seeing the instructions, I knew to expect the suit to shrink around me as it fitted to my body. I also expected the grogginess that came over me but I didn’t think it would put me to sleep. I tried to fight it, not that I was afraid of it: I just didn’t want to miss anything. The shrinking was noticeable almost immediately. But I got more tired and couldn’t keep my eyes open. I remember thinking that it seemed very tight about my waist as I faded away.

The transformation usually took about thirty to forty minutes, according to the instruction prog; so when I woke up and realized that five hours had passed, I was surprised. It was almost midnight. That should have clued me, but I gave it only a moment’s thought: I had a new body to play with. I lay on my bed, brought my hands to my chest and cupped my breasts. The sensation was three-dimensional: I felt my fingers around and pressing in on the sides of them, not as if my hands were only flat on my chest or just moving something glued on. As I said before, with femsuits the sensitivity of the chest was enhanced. My squeezing wasn’t just felt, it felt good! And when I gave my nipples an experimental pinch? Not only did the nipples give a wonderful response but they had a direct connection to my crotch. You know when that first stirring of an erection catches you and how good it is, especially if you don’t expect it? Multiply that by ten. I started to reach where that twinge had affected things but held back. I needed to see what I looked like.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed I stood then padded across the room to the mirror on the closet door. I immediately noticed a difference in how my body moved. I was the same height and (I assumed) weight as before but it felt like my hips were wider, and not only from the added padding. My gait seemed subtly odd. Of course there was a little extra weight from my breasts but that didn’t feel as if it should affect me that much. I arrived at the mirror and almost gasped at what I saw.

Now, I’d like to say I saw a perfect beauty looking back at me, that wasn’t the case. What made me gasp was how female I looked. I told you about Steve’s femsuit. His added some padding to his hips and buns and gave him breasts, but his torso was still pretty much the same shape. My torso had changed…dramatically. I had a classic hourglass figure: wide pelvis and hips and a narrow waist tapering up to a chest adorned with round, firm bosoms. I didn’t think Cherrie Amour suits were capable of sculpting a body in this way. As it turns out, I was right, they couldn’t — at least before mine.

I stood there admiring myself and running my hands up and down my sides, across my chest, down my stomach, and lightly through the patch of red pubic hair. I gently touched the outer lips of my new labia without probing beyond them yet. I wanted to save that. At that point I thought, “I gotta call Steve,” and went to retrieve my iGlasses.

I put the headset on and opened a link to Steve.

“Mike!” he said as soon as the link was open. “Where you been all night? I tried calling earlier but got a dead link. Almost came over `cause that’s not like you. `Sup?”

“Stevo, you’re not gonna believe this! Check it out.” I turned to the mirror and upped the vid on the headset so he could see my reflection.

“Yo, Mike. Who’s the fem?”

“Me!” I answered.

“What the…?”

“I got a Cherrie Amour on TG-Bay!”

“Bullshit!” he exclaimed.

“Truth!” I told him. “Watch.” I pulled off my headset but kept it aimed at the mirror. He could now see my whole face and that it was attached to the bod he was drooling over.

“Holy crap,” he said, barely above a whisper. “How…? What…” he started.

“Wanna come over?” I asked. “Check it out?”

“Heck yeah! Be there in half an hour.”

“See ya then! Oh, and bring your own suit. Might be fun.”

“Right!” he replied as he broke the link.

Knowing Mike would be late ‘cause he always is, I returned to my bed so I could check my new equipment. I puffed up some pillows and spread my legs. Between the lips, my fingers found a vagina much like the others they had entered but this sheath also had the sensation of being explored. The enhanced nature of the artificial genitals meant the whole region soon got involved with labia and clit engorging and lubricating. Before long I was rubbing in earnest and approaching a crest of an orgasm when I heard, “Yo! Mikey!”

Steve had arrived.

“Oh frig it!” I muttered.

I should never have given him the pass-code to my apartment.

“Whacha doin’?” he called.

“Coming!” I gasped as I tried to get in a couple more strokes, then gave up. “Be right there.”

I jumped off the bed, grabbed my robe from the closet door and quickly pulled it on. As I tied the belt at my waist, I noted that it enhanced the curve of my hips and the prominence of my chest. For some reason it made me feel good.

When I walked into the living room, Steve’s reaction was a loud, “Whoa! Man!”

I stopped and spread my arms a bit. “You like?”

“Like? Damn! Com’on, lemme see.”

Uncharacteristically, I felt a little shy. Usually I am something of a showoff, but I hesitated.

“Com’on Mike, let’s see.”

So — I undid the tie and opened the robe. Steve just stared with his mouth open. My inner exhibitionist returned; I dropped the robe entirely and did a slow spin for him. As I returned to face him, he closed his mouth, swallowed hard and put his hand in his pocket to adjust his fast growing erection. My reaction to seeing that surprised me: I felt a corresponding stirring in my own sex and I swear I could also smell his excitement. That sight and his aroma were both turning me on.

Both of us moved at once, coming together. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder.

“Where are the seams?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, “it’s like its part of me.” I didn’t know how right I was.

He slid his hand down to my breast, trailing fire the whole way, bringing exquisite pleasure when he reached the nipple. I closed my eyes and leaned into him. He squeezed gently and I let out a moan. His other hand went around my waist, pulling me closer. Our lips touched then locked in a hard kiss. His tongue pushed between them and I felt it to my core. My labia pulsed, wanting attention of their own. I broke away, grabbed his arm, turned and pulled him towards my bedroom.

“Com’on. Let’s take this sucker for a spin.”

Steve was undressing as we moved, down to his pants by the time we reached the bed. I eased his briefs over his hard-on and pulled those and his pants down. As he stepped out of them, my head was near that massive penis of his. I mentioned before that I’m not well hung; Steven is very well hung. I put my hand around it and pulled it to my lips. This wasn’t the first time I’d done this. He and I have a long history of enjoying sex together, going back to pre-teen years. And, as I said, we tried his femsuit together. Now it was my turn and I treated him to a quick, pre-sex blow-job.

Then I was on the bed, on my back, legs pulled up and open and Steve was crawling up between them, proud and rampant cock ready for action. He lay it on the outer lips and gently slipped it back and forth along my slit so it would rub along the length of my clit, teasing, hard, yet so well lubed there was no friction. He teased me like that for a bit until I was ready to yell, “Fuck me!” when he did. Steve drove hard into me without a warning. I gasped. The feeling was everything I’d hoped and longed for. Soon I was caught in the primeval rhythm of sex and no longer thinking.

We went on for an hour or more and I lost track how many times I came with Steve as my steed. We , finally settled into an exhausted slump. I lay there, half-asleep, spooning with Steve behind me, his soft cock nestled against my buns, an arm thrown over me, and thought to myself, “Wow!”

Mid-morning I awoke to the feel of Steve’s fingers rubbing my tummy and lightly stoking my pubic curls; I on my back, he on his side, head propped on a hand.

“`Morning,” he said.

“Heyya.”

“This thing is pretty incredible. Ya’ sure it’s just a Cherrie Amour?”

“It was in the original packing.”

“Wow.”

He ran his fingers up between my breasts to my shoulders where they explored the geography. He repeated his comment from the night before. “I can’t find any seams. I mean, mine is almost like a tank top around my neck.”

I brought a hand up to my neck and ran it back and forth to my shoulder a couple of times.

“I don’t know how they do it,” I answered. “I’d heard suits were gettin’ better but I didn’t think they were this good.”

Both of us were quiet for a time. His hand returned to my tummy. But I needed to get up to relieve myself so we didn’t start into anything then. Finishing in the bathroom, I asked, “You want some coffee? Breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, I’ll make some. Why don’t you shower and put your suit on while I do that. Then I’ll shower while you change.”

“Okay. But my suit isn’t as cool as yours.”

“Yeah, I know. But all the parts still work. Right? So it’ll still be fun.”

“Right,” he answered as I headed for the kitchen.

A half-hour later he walked into the kitchen, a towel wrapped around his waist. I poured our coffee as the English muffins popped out of the toaster.

“Continental breakfast, sir?” I asked.

“Why thank you miss,” he answered in his best Cary Grant imitation. He pulled a stool to the counter, sat and wrinkled his nose in distaste as he scooped a couple teaspoons of Sweet’n’Whiteâ„¢ into his coffee.

“I wish we could still get cream and sugar,” he said as he stirred it in.

“Yeah, well, I can’t afford either. All the sugar goes to make ethanol for either drinking or auto fuel and cows fart methane so you’ll have to put up with ‘Shite and White’,” I said. “You’d think… I mean, here we are, almost halfway through the twenty-first century, right? You’d think by now someone coulda made fake sugar that doesn’t taste like crap.”

Steve mumbled his agreement as he reached for an English muffin.

Steve’s chest was hairless. “My suit said you don’t have to dep all your hair for it anymore,” I told him.

“Really? I tried not to last time I used it,” he answered, “I couldn’t even feel one tit. I don’ know, or maybe it’s starting to wear out.

“Maybe,” I agreed, “it is only a PD.”

Finished with my muffin, I refilled my coffee. “I’m gonna shower. Put your suit on and I’ll meetcha in the bedroom after?”

“Yup.”

I took a nice long shower with the spray set soft as a gentle rain, albeit a warm and steamy one. Toweled dry, I stopped to check myself in the mirror. The body reflected seemed even more feminine than last night. Could it be the suit was still modifying my body? I shook that thought aside. Must be my eyes are fooling me.

When I entered the bedroom, Steve was there, on my bed, wearing a baby-doll. He always took his cross-dressing a bit more feminine than I and he was always better at it than I. Stopping to admire the view, I felt a familiar stirring between my legs.

“Hey honey,” he said in a husky, sultry voice, “you jus’ gonna stand there? Or are ya gonna join me?”

Now I felt the blood engorging my genitals. The attraction to the apparent female in front of me was palpable. I thought for a second that the suit made me get more horny, more quickly than normal. The feelings in my crotch were similar to what I’d had last night but there was also something odd. As I started to reach my hand to investigate, Steve gave out a gasp and I looked up. His mouth was opened and his eyes, wide in shock, were glued to my crotch. I looked down. Between the breasts on my chest, I could see sprouting out below my pubic curls the shaft and purple head of an enormous erection.

I felt the light-headed, chest-tightening, goose-bumpy, finger and toe tingling, adrenalin rush of a panic attack. This was wrong. I’d never heard of anything like this before. Frozen — physically, mental — I stood, chaos raging in my mind while I stared at this hard-on that was mine yet seemed foreign. And while I stood in panic, it disappeared.

I don’t mean that it shriveled the way a normal erection does back to a soft penis. It withdrew back into my body. This was more than I could handle; I blacked out.

Chapter 2

“…Mike! Hey Mikey,” the voice called, faint, from a distance; or a dream. “Shit! Mike!” I felt the sting of a slap on my cheek. “Com’on Mike. Wake up!”

I came to — to find Steve hovering over me, concern on his face.

“What…?” I started to ask, started to sit up. Then I remembered and reached for my crotch — no penis. Only a soft triangle of hair in front of a “normal” female slit. I looked at Steve and asked, “Did I have a prick?”

“Yeah. You did.”

“How?”

“I don’know man. It was pretty wiggy. You okay?” he asked.

“I think so. But I need a drink.”

He helped me up and we went into the kitchen. I found the vodka and poured two glasses. I downed mine in a single gulp.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You walked into the room, stopped for a sec and then it just came out.”

“Came out? How?”

“Well… You ever see those progs about monkey pricks?”

“Huh?” I asked.

“You know how they got this bone or somethin’ that gives them an instant hard on?”

I remembered hearing something like that and nodded.

“It was like that. It just slid out like that. Then it slid back in. It was weird, man.”

I sat, trying to absorb this. I’d never heard of a suit that could do that. I thought I really should call the company and find out what the heck was going on.

“I think you gotta call them,” Steve said, echoing my thoughts.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

We retrieved the packaging and found the net address for support on it. I put on my iGlasses, slaved the room’s display so Steve could follow the call, and opened the connection. The woman who appeared had auburn hair with blonde highlights, a thin face, and brilliant blue eyes flecked with the new sparkles lots of peeps are getting implanted these days. She answered with that almost-annoying, upbeat, “helpful” voice that support peeps have been using for decades.

“Thank you for calling Cherrie Amour Bodysuit client service. I’m Billy Jean. How may I help you?”

“Um… Ah, hi Billy. My name is Mike Moliomas and, uh, I think I got problem with one of your suits.”

“Okay. Well I’m sorry to hear that. Let’s see if we can get that taken care of for you. Are you registered with us yet?”

“Yes I did. Look I think there is a real…”

Cutting me off, oh so pleasantly, she said, “Well let’s just check your registration and then see what we can do. May the Cherrie Amour Bodysuit Company scan your PIDIP code?” This question was in the formal manner anyone wanting to scan your Personal ID Implant must use.

Automatically, I answered in kind, “Yes the Cherrie Amour Bodysuit Company may scan my PIDIP code.”

With that she got all my personal information into her system.

“That’s odd,” she said, “we don’t seem to have your information. Well, I’ll add you to our client family. Okay, that’s done, now I’ll ping the suit.”

Everything these days is linked through the net somehow. iGlasses have an interface to query most products on the market these days as do all home com-servers.

She got a puzzled look on her face. “I can’t seem to connect to the suit. Do you have the packaging so I can manually scan that?”

“Yeah,” I said, “Hold on.” I went into the other room where the box was.

“Just point your glasses at the label and I’ll scan the code.”

While I watched, she was busy at her input board and reading her data. Then she froze, for just an instant before she tried to recover her usual helpful, cheery look. I think I knew in that instant that I was screwed. I shouldn’t have had any reason to believe this except for a moment when her eyebrows scrunched together then rose in surprise, after which her eyes got big and, I swear her lips muttered a silent “Oh shit.”

“Um,” her voice had lost its service desk smile. She paused, asked what she never should have, something (I found out later) she’d been specifically told not to ask. Chalk it up to inexperience, she was new to the job after all, or to the surprise of encountering a thing she never expected to run into. But she asked, “You haven’t put it on yet? Have you?”

I started to reply when she blurted out, “Uh can you please wait a moment.” Followed, without pause and before I could react, by, “Thanks.” She cut her feed and left me with MuViZak audio and video: clouds of color and swells sound — you know the crap I mean. Right when I was getting impatient and angry, her supervisor came on.

“Mr. Moliomas, I’m Jerry Martindale. I’m sorry to hear that you have an issue with one of our suits. What seems to be the problem?”

“It turned me into an android.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m an android. I’ve got a pussy and a prick.”

“You mean androgynous?”

“Oh! Yeah, right.” I did know the correct term, but I wasn’t really thinking straight at that point and “android” just kind of came out.

“Actually,” he corrected me, “I believe the proper term is hermaphrodite.”

What the…? Now he was correcting my vocabulary! “Listen asshole, I don’t care what you call it. Your suit made me into a freak.” I was more pissed because I was wrong — and embarrassed.

“I’m sorry Mr. Moliomas,” he soothed. “You say the suit has both male and female genitalia?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Except the prick didn’t come out until I saw Steve naked.” Wait, that didn’t sound right. “I mean naked in his Paris Doubletree; when I saw him as a fem. It’s like the clit grew into a hard-on. I need to know how to get it off.”

“Get the prick off?” he asked.

“The suit! The suit, you idiot,” I said. “How do I get this fucking-suit off?”

“There is no need to get upset, Mr. Moliomas. You only have to repeat the activation sequence, then separate top of the back seal. At the neck line.”

“I tried that, didn’t work. And there aren’t any seams between the suit and my skin.”

“There what?”

“There aren’t any seams.”

“That is not possible.” He was sure about that.

I held my wrists in front of my face so the cameras could see them. “Do you see any seams?” I asked. “I don’t. Because there aren’t any. There aren’t any at the wrists. There aren’t any at the ankles. There aren’t any at the neck. There aren’t any, anywhere. It’s like it’s merged with my skin.” I was angry and loud.

“I, ah, see.”

“You see? Well what’re you gonna do about it?”

“We will do whatever we can to solve your problem with your suit,” he said, falling into his “customer service” voice. He paused and his eyes lost focus, as if he were listening to someone else talking to him. This was indeed the case, as he continued by saying, “It sounds like we may have a significant defect here. I’m told to ask if we can get you out here to examine you, and the suit.”

Steve waved to get my attention. “Don’t do it, man. Didn’t you see that story on ‘22 Minutes’ about that place that kidnapped those guys that complained about their prick implants?”

“That was an April Fool’s story you moron,” I answered. “‘22 Minutes’ is a fake news show.”

“Yeah but, That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Look, just shut up. Okay? I need to think,” I told Steve.

“What was that, Mr. Moliomas?” the customer support rep, Jerry, asked.

“Oh, sorry, I was talking to someone here.”

“Well we definitely would like you to come out here. It would help us to sort out this problem that much faster.”

“I can’t afford to fly to LA.”

“We’ll send the company plane for you.”

My first thought was that this could be way cool, a ride in a corporate jet! Then real life returned.

“I don’t have any vacation time left.” I had taken a week off, less than a month ago.

“We’ll work a medical leave with your employer. I see from your profile that you work for Enter-Tronics. I’m sure they will be reasonable. What’s you supervisor’s name.?”

Automatically I started to answer, “It’s Jack…”, then caught myself. Why were they so eager to see me that they would go though all this trouble?

“I don’t know…” I continued, vying for time to sort this out.

“Mr. Moliomas, ah, Mike, I believe it would help both of us to get you out here.”

“Why can’t you just send a tech to my house and get this thing offa me?”

“We, ah, don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

“Why not? What aren’t you telling me? Any other hems had the same problem?”

“There may be…others,” he said.

“What do ya mean, ‘others’?”

He paused for a moment before answering. Again, it looked like he was being coached. Finally, he said, “We think a few suits may have the same problem. We are trying to find them before they are used.”

“How many?” I asked.

“We, ah, don’t know.”

Then I knew he was lying — and I was in trouble. Companies knew exactly how many units likely shipped with a defect as soon as the problem was reported. Recalls went out immediately. Especially for anything that cost more than a couple hundred EDs; they knew where it was and who owned it, whether it had been used yet. Just like my suit, everything linked over the net, back to the manufacturer or distributor as soon as it got activated.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Mr. Moliomas, we are a reputable company. We don’t have anything to hide.” Now he was defensive.

“Look Mr. Suit, you better come clean with me. You’re actin’ like you got somethin’ to hide. You know the serial number of my suit. You know the numbers of the others in the same lot, with the same ‘bots and the same programming. You know exactly how know many bad suits you have. So fess up. What the hell happened to me. Tell me the truth — or I hang up and you talk to my laywer on Monday.”

“Mr. Moliomas, can you hold for a moment?”

“Yeah, sure,” I agreed. I needed a moment to think myself. But what did I think? I thought — funny how the old terms for things are still used. He’d asked me to “hold”, a term that goes back more than a hundred years to the old audio-only phones. I even saw a telephone in a museum once and it had a button on it, labeled “Hold”. However, my iGlasses cut to an advert for the latest Cherrie suit with the new improved contact lotion. “You’ll be surprised by the difference,” it said. I snorted and muttered, “You sure will.”

Jerry-the-rep came back on. “Ah, Mr. Moliomas, Mike, well the truth is we don’t know how many suits are affected.”

“Yeah right,” I interrupted, “and I don’t know how many toes I got. Good-bye.”

“No wait! Please hear me out.”

I supposed it couldn’t hurt. “Alright,” I said. “Tell me.”

“We aren’t positive, but we’re fairly certain your suit got loaded with non-standard programming. We think when it connect to register it was redirected to an unauthorized server with that software. It also appears that the wetware of the suit itself may be…non-standard.”

“What do you mean?”

“We think one of our researchers, on his own mind you, developed hermaphrodite programming for the suit and also was involved with a project to soften or hide the transitions between the edge of the suit and the wear’s skin. As near as we can tell, those two sets of code got inter-mixed somehow — probably deliberately.”

“Okay,” I said. “But how did that get into my suit?”

“Well, and some of this is speculation still, we think he made a special suit for a ‘friend’ but they had a falling-out and the friend put the suit up for auction and you purchased it.”

“Alright, I’ll buy that. But that should mean mine is the only one affected. Right?”

“Yes and no,” he answered. “Yours, we believe, is the only one with the modified programming to the wetware, but the code which was supposed to redirect only your suit to his update server either had a bug or got corrupted and, well, we think other users got updates from that server too. We’re still trying to figure out how many, if any, got this update. That is why we are unsure how many suits are affected. We know of two others that did download updates from that server but we contacted the owners before they used the suits. Your suit was not purchase from…our normal channels, so we did not know how to reach you.”

That was certainly a bit to chew on. I asked, “So, where is the guy who did this?”

“We would like to know that ourselves. We’re looking for him as we speak.”

“And where does that leave me?” I asked.

“That’s why we want to get you here, so we can give you a thorough exam and see what we can find out. But I need to tell you something”

“What’s that.”

“We have programmers looking at the code, both for the wetware and the software. They’ve found some pretty amazing code that we think will take our products to a whole new level of sophistication and features.”

This guy was starting to sound like an advert.

“Yeah? So?”

“So they’ve found something else that may, and I do mean may, affect you.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Mike, I’m not sure how to coach this differently…”

This did not sound good.

“We think your change might be, ah…permanent.”

---

Transcript from the Late Night - Sydney Show

Announcer: Welcome back to the show, here’s your host Kristy Ellis

Kristy Ellis: Hello again everyone, glad you could stay with us. My next guest tonight is someone I’m sure you have all been waiting to hear from. I know I have. Please welcome to the show, Michelle Novopuella. Michelle — thank you for joining us today.

Michelle Novopuella: Kristy, Thank you. It’s a pleasure to be here.

Kristy: First of all, thank you so much for letting us be the first to excerpt your new book Phemn on our site as part of your visit.

Michelle: You’re most certainly welcome. Glad to do it — with this the first stop on my book tour.

Kristy: Why did choose to begin your tour here in Sydney?

Michelle: Honestly? I’ve always wanted to come to Australia and, well, I used the tour as an excuse to do that.

Kristy: I see. So this is your first visit Down Under? Got “G'Day mate” down pat yet?

Michelle: It is. ~laughs softly~ No, I still stumble a bit on the pronunciation. Everyone just smiles and says, “Never mind Yank, you'll get there.”

Kristy: ~laughing~ Well, then, welcome. I’m sure, by now, everyone has heard the story of how you became a phemn; how a rogue researcher at Cherrie Amour created a bodysuit that could be both male and female; how you got that suit by mistake and were transformed and how that lead to a whole new way of doing permanent sex reassignments. And also brought us a whole new word — phemn, a word you coined.

Michelle: That’s right Kristy. I wanted a word that combined hem and fem since that’s what I’d become. I started using it and, well, it caught on.

Kristy: And you are the first one.

Michelle: That isn’t exactly true. There were phemns before my change. In fact we’ve been around for ages. My transformation was only a discovery of how to easily let hems and fems make the change for themselves.

Kristy: But, you are the first, shall we say…intentional transformation of this type?

Michelle: Ah, yes… well it wasn’t my intention.

Kristy: ~laughing~ No I guess not. You’ve gone through many changes in the last year, including changing your name and becoming a spokesperson for the Cherrie Amour company. Could you tell us which’s been the hardest to deal with?

Michelle: I think the hardest part has been dealing with the celebrity of it.

Kristy: How so?

Michelle: Well, I was always a quiet kind of guy. I had friends, sure, and we would party together. Now, though, the world knows everything I do: when I go shopping, out to a restaurant, to the beach. That’s taken some getting used to.

Kristy: But you got, I gather, a substantial settlement from the company, including stock before it went public. Surely being rich has helped.

Michelle: It sure has. You know the old saying though, “Money can’t buy me love.”

Kristy: Speaking of love — now that you’re a phemn, you can have sex with both hems and fems.

Michelle: Well I did that before my transformation. I’ve been bi for all my life. Now I have, uh, “equipment” that fits everyone.

Kristy: Let’s talk about that for a moment. You are the first person, the first hermaphrodite or phemn, to have sex organs that work quite this way.

Michelle: That’s right.

Kristy: As I understand it previous phemns usually have both a vagina and a penis at the same time. Yours don’t work quite like that, do they?

Michelle: Right Kristy, they don’t. I really have the best of both worlds. My penis and clitoris are really the same organ but it takes a special kind of stimulation for my erection to, how shall I say, manifest.

Kristy: ~giggles~ I bet you're a hit at parties. Particularly somewhere like Sydney which has a large alt- sex population. Perhaps we could have a drink later?

Michelle: Kristy! ~blushing~… well perhaps. Um… oh yes, where were we? Oh yeah. First of all, I have to be in the mood: It won’t come out by itself. Then, I usually have to be near a fem that I am attracted to. It seems that visual and olfactory stimuli are my key ones.

Kristy: Olfactory? You mean like perfume?

Michelle: No. It’s the natural odors that a person releases when they are sexually excited. I am very sensitive to these. It’s a part of the programing we are still investigating. And manufactured perfumes actually mask the natural ones.

Kristy: So you don’t like perfume? ~giggling~ I guess you mean pheremones?

Michelle: Oh no! I mean, yes. I love perfume. That one you’re wearing now is divine.

Kristy: Oh, thank you.

Michelle: You’re welcome. But, what I’m saying is that perfumes don’t stimulate me sexually the way natural pheromones do. Anyway, when the mood and stimulation are both right, my clit extends out to become a regular prick. And you know what the nice thing is?

Kristy: What’s that?

Michelle: When I’m done it retreats back inside; no annoying external “third leg” to get in the way. It’s really very convenient.

Kristy: I would guess so. Sort of streamlining I suppose. Since we are on the subject of anatomy, are both your sets, ah, fully functional.

Michelle: They are. Both male and female reproductive organs are complete. One difference is that my testicles are internal — which brings another advantage.

Kristy: And that is?

Michelle: No one can kick me in the nuts.

Kristy: ~laughs loudly~ Oh! Yes. I can see how that might be an advantage.

Michelle: It certainly could be. Fortunately I haven't tested that yet. But I know the feeling.

Kristy: ~quietly~ Yes so do I. ~normal voice~ One result of your change is the discovery of a whole new method of performing permanent sex changes for those who need it as well as possibly another method to help infertile individuals become fertile. What can you tell us about that?

Michelle: Well our researchers are looking at both of those situations. It looks like both the possibilities you mentioned may be available to the general public in the near future. There is still a lot of testing to do but we are optimistic that we have winning technology here and expect to have approval for general use within a year.

Kristy: Okay. I want to talk about gender for a bit. As you know, I was born a male physically but always saw myself as and felt myself to be female. Luckily, I have very understanding parents who, once they were convinced of the truth of my situation, helped me transition to be myself. There have been males and females throughout history who have seen themselves as the other gender. Notwithstanding those who were born androgynous, society, or western society at least, has always seen the genders as opposites. I don’t want to address the treatment those of us who got stuck in the wrong bodies sometimes experienced. Not that there isn’t discrimination and mistreatment in some places, still. But things are improving. You, however, seem to be a new, third gender: not male or female, rather you are both. What do you see as the implications of that?

Michelle: You bring up a good point but I’m not sure I’m really the best person to try and delve into that subject and do it any sort of justice.

Kristy: But you must have thought about it.

Michelle: Sure. Okay, I believe there are many of us born not exclusively of one gender or the other, but are a mix; yin and yang, lingam and yoni, masculine and feminine, whatever you want to call it. Everyone has both, but for most, one is dominant. Those like me have both equally, no one side rules, if you will.

Kristy: Playing devil’s advocate here, and to use a loaded word, do you think this is “normal”?

Michelle: Oooh, I hate that word. And I imagine you do too. I’m sure you’ve heard it aimed at yourself.

Kristy: I have.

Michelle: Okay, here is my personal belief: I believe gender is a continuum between female and male, not the polar-opposites most people see. I think some of us exist at one end or the other while many of us reside somewhere in-between.

Kristy: And are you in the middle?

Michelle: Almost. I think I’m a bit more female.

Kristy Ellis: And there you are, delightfully, and it seems happily, so. I want to thank you so much for stopping in this evening Michelle. Ladies, Gentlemen, and all you good people in between, Michelle Novopuella. Pher new book is called Phemn. Thank you again.

Michelle Novopuella: Thank you Kristy.

---

Author’s Note:

This piece was inspired by comments that (I think) justme made way back in April regarding the Google ads which appear on BC/TS. One of them had the subject I used for the link here. I started this for submission in the Strangfellows contest but a big dose of RL got in the way. I owe a large debt to Kristina for goading and encouraging me to get and keep going. To say nothing of her proofing, editing and suggestions along the way. As usual, all remaining mistakes are my own.

Jamie

 © 2007 JLW