Peter Harris experiences the joys and frustrations of living in the body of a petite teenage girl while discovering hidden skills that surprise Daniel and Jessica. Elements and Themes listed apply to entire story. Rating applies to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly for editing assistance.

SEVERANCE PAY

CHAPTER SEVEN

I’m sure this feeling of being a Munchkin will eventually fade away but right now, it’s as bad as ever. I can’t even shop in the Young Adult section of the clothes store’s for God’s sake!

Jessica … I mean Mom, decided that the first thing we needed to do was buy me some clothes, since the only ones I had were what was at the lab. It turns out that I’m too small for the Young Adult clothes so I’m in the Junior’s section.

“What do you want from me … Mom?”

It grates on my nerves every time I call her ‘Mom’. She’s right, we need to start getting used to it, but it’s still annoying.

“I just want you to pick out some nice clothes Patricia, that’s all.”

“I have. See?” I point to the small pile on the chair.

“You’ve just got jeans, shorts and some t-shirt tops. You need something nicer than that.”

“You said the school has uniforms. What else do I need?”

“You won’t just be in school and at home. You need a complete wardrobe, like any young girl would have.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be poor?”

“No, not poor. More like temporarily lower middle class.”

“Then we should be shopping at Goodwill or other thrift stores.”

“We will, but shopping there is much harder than shopping in a Department Store. Here there’s a wide selection of styles, fabrics and colors, you just need to pick something appropriate that you like. To shop for nice things at a thrift store, you need to be an experienced hunter. The choices are much more limited. You’ll need to develop a real sense of style, an eye for a bargain, the ability to mix and match disparate items. If you can’t handle a Department Store, you’ll never handle Goodwill.”

I can’t believe I’m saying this. “Why don’t you just pick it for me?” I could end up looking like some kind of Barbie doll but that’s almost better than shopping.

“No self-respecting teenager willingly wears clothes bought by their mother. If they have a good relationship, they may shop together … sometimes. Girls mostly shop with friends, something you’ll likely need to do to avoid being ostracized by the other girls at school. Now go pick out a nice dress.

I stomp off, heading down a long aisle of dresses on racks. Running my hand along the clothes, I can see that they are different styles and colors but they’re all just … dresses. I can’t see why one is any better than another. It’s like trying to read a foreign language. You recognize that there are different letters and words but you don’t know what any of it means, it’s all gibberish. When I reach the end of the row, I turn back to look at … ugh, Mom and raise my hands in defeat.

She waives her hand. “Look again.”

I sigh and turn back to the racks, looking closer this time as I work my way back the way I came. This is a complete waste of time, there is no way that … okay, I like this color. It’s more red than pink, think it’s called ‘Salmon’.
I pull it from the rack and hold it up.

“What about this one?”

“It’s pretty. What size is it?”

I look at the label. CRAP! Too big. I stick it back on the rack and start to move on.

“Don’t be in such a hurry Patricia. Look around a bit. You might find the same dress in the right size.”

Pawing through the dresses, I see that there are several dresses the same Salmon color and same style. Looking closer, there’s a size 2, Petite.

”Here, I found one, let’s go.”

“Try it on.”

“Aw come on! It’s the right size.”

“Girl’s sizes vary between manufacturers. You should also try on those jeans. The current style is skinny cut but you’ll need at least one pair a little loser.”

“Why’s that?”

“For when you retain water.”

“Why would I retain water?”

“Most girls do when it’s … you know …”

I still don’t know what she’s talking about and apparently she can see it on my face.

“You know … once a month.” I shrug. She smiles at me. “Think about it for a bit.”

Swelling? Once a month? What would … OH SHIT NO! “I can’t … but I’m not really … can’t I take something … this isn’t funny you know!” Mom is laughing at me.

“The look on your face is priceless Patricia! What did you think would happen? You’re a fertile young woman. It’s all a part of the miracle of life.”

Miracle my ass! “No one said anything about having periods! I thought Thomas had done something about that!”

“Like what? If you want to act like a real woman, you need to appreciate the full experience. If Thomas is correct, you have almost two weeks.”

Fucking great! I pick up the stack of jeans, throw the dress across the top and stomp off to the dressing room, Jessica following me. I scoot by the clerk and hurry into the dressing room, slamming the door behind me.

“Is everything okay?” the clerk asks.

“We’re fine,” Jessica answers. “Just a little … PMS” she whispered, but it was loud enough for me to hear it.

How the hell can I have PMS! How would she even know? What has Matthews told her that they haven’t told me? I was feeling a little weird out there, guess it could be PMS, though I only know what I read about it.

I hold up the dress in front of me. I don’t know why I picked this one from all the other dresses out there. The color is nice, I had a shirt the same color several years ago, it was one of my favorites. That must be it.

Still. There were other dresses the same color. Not the same color exactly, but close. There was that empire waist that was just a little redder and that cotton sheath a touch pinker. I hang the dress on the hook and start to undress. I’ll just try it on, get this over with and go home.

Bending over as I pull my shorts down my legs to the floor, I notice something on my back, barely sticking up above my panties. The room has several mirrors and this is the first time I’ve gotten a good look at my new body. I turn so that my back faces the main mirror and I pull the back of the panties down.

It’s a scrolling, frilly tattoo, about eight inches wide and two inches tall, V shaped, full of curlicues and loops, the point resting just above my ass crack.

A tramp stamp. Why the fuck did she have to get a tramp stamp? How do I explain that? I better see if there are any other surprises. Removing the panties, I check out my ass and inner thighs. Thank God she didn’t have work done on her pussy, no piercings. I lift the shirt off over my head and remove the bra, then slowly turn in front of the mirrors, lifting my hair off my neck. Can’t see any more ink. I lift my hands to my breasts and carefully cup them. No bolts of lightning in my head this time. Stepping closer to the main mirror, I inspect the nipples. They’re not pierced either, so it’s just my tongue and two in each ear. Wait … nothing in the nose either. That’s a relief, now there is just one more … Damn! Her belly button is pierced … well, it could be worse. I step back to get a full view.

I’m pretty well proportioned for someone my size, except for the above average rack. My legs are nicely shaped, strong thighs but not too muscular. Tight, round, full ass, smooth waist, good, strong, back and decent shoulders. I haven’t got one of those supermodel long necks but it’s not too short either. My face is … oval, I guess. Not round but not square. Pretty chin, eyes nicely spaced, cute nose, particularly with the freckles. The hair could use some work. The color’s okay but it’s kinda stringy. Wonder what kind of shampoo and conditioner I’ve been using? My lips are not all plumped up, they’re just normal lips but a real bright smile. When I smile, it’s like my whole face lights up. That could be really useful. So could my boobs. Huh … “my boobs”. Too fucking weird. I’m startled by a knock at the dressing room door.

“Patricia, what’s taking so long?”

CRAP! It’s Mom.

“I’ll be out soon, just had some … ahhh … trouble with a … zipper!”

I quickly pull my panties back on and throw the dress over my head, pulling it down my body. Pausing to straighten my hair, I throw a smile at the mirror. Cute as a button. I step out of the dressing room. Mom is waiting right outside the door.

“Now that is very nice Patricia, very nice indeed. What do you think?”

“It’s okay, the waist is a little loose.”

She reaches around the waist and gives a tug. “I hadn’t noticed that, you’re right. It’s a shame, such a nice fit otherwise. I’ll go and see if I can find something else …”

“Don’t worry about it. It should be easy to fix. Split the seam on both sides, a little tuck and it’ll be good.”

She gives me the eye. “What do you know about sewing?”

I stop and think for a second, what DO I know about sewing? Nothing … but if you look at the waist, it’s obvious what needs to be done, how hard can it be, ya know?

“Nothing Mom, but it should be easy. Split the seam right here a few inches, pull it taught and sew it up again. Problem solved.”

“We don’t have a sewing machine.”

We don’t? What self-respecting woman doesn’t have a sewing machine? “I’m sure we can find one somewhere. We’ve still got to buy furniture yet, right? There’s bound to be one at the Salvation Army, or Goodwill. Let’s buy this stuff and get going.”

“Not yet, young lady. There is still the shoe department and then lingerie. You need at least a dozen more bras and panty sets, better fitting than the one you’re wearing …” She gives me the eye again. “Are you wearing your bra?”

I blush. “No, but I was just …”

“You march right back in there and get dressed!”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

We end up spending another two hours shopping for clothes. The fitting for the bra was the most embarrassing. The clerk took a bunch of measurements; turns out I’m a 34 DD. Pretty nice for someone only five feet tall and ninety five pounds. Right? Then she had me try on a bunch of different styles and fabrics, pinching and pulling each one. You think it’d be fun having your boobs mauled like that, but it wasn’t … trust me. I’m pretty sure Mom never stopped smiling the whole time. Eventually we bought twelve matching sets, different colors and fabrics. I was wearing the yellow satin set and the dress when we got to the shoe area. I had to admit, they felt a whole lot better than the stuff I wore into the store, the fit was much better, the support great, no boob bulge at all.

We bought three pairs of saddle shoes, which are the basic shoes for St. Ann’s school uniform. The clerk knew exactly what we needed; apparently they’re the official supplier or something. I also got some running shoe’s and cross trainer’s for gym and some loafers for just regular wear. I was hoping we were finally done, but no such luck.

“These are very cute, they’d go perfectly with that dress.”

“Mother, those are at least 3” heels! You know I’ve never …” I look around the room, then drop my voice “… never worn heels before and I’m not about to start now.”

“Your dress requires a shoe with some kind of heel.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I walk over to a floor display. “These flats work perfectly well.”

“Why don’t you try both on and we’ll see what looks the best?”

I want to argue with her but, somehow, I can’t seem to muster up the energy. It’s been a long day and she’s probably worn me down. Still, I’d given in on the dress and the lingerie, I wasn’t going to cave on the shoes.

“No. No heels. I’m not some God Damn …”

“Patricia Taylor Conner! You will not use that kind of language ever again in my presence. Do you understand me?! EVER!”

She’s right, I screwed up. I’d been thinking like that all day but had managed to keep from actually saying it out loud. Saying stuff like that breaks character, which could be bad news for all of us. Even if she’s right, I still hate to apologize.

“Alright … Mother. I am sorry and I understand. I won’t say … things like that again.”

She smiles at me. “That’s my girl.” She holds out the heels. “Now let’s give these a try, okay?”

I scowl at her. ‘That’s my GIRL.’ How far is she going to push this? I’ve been playing nice all damn day and she wants more?! I start to protest but it dies on my lips. I reach out and take the heels from her, then sit down to change shoes. I do the flats first.

As I walk around the shoe area, I twist and turn slightly, in an exaggerated feminine style. “See, these flats work perfectly fine.” I step right next to her and look up into her face. God! I am so small! “Don’t you agree?”

“The flats are fine but now try the heels.”

I sit back down, remove the flats and carefully slip on the heels. There are no laces but there are a couple of ankle straps. I tighten them as much as possible, take a deep breath, then gingerly stand up.

No wobbles. So far, so good. I take a couple of tentative steps. Fairly stable. I’m careful to use a heel-toe step. I’m sure that I read somewhere that heel-toe was the best and most lady-like.

“Very good, very graceful. You’re doing fine Patricia!”

I don’t feel fine, but so far, I haven’t stumbled and snapped an ankle. After a few additional steps, I’m more confident. It’s not exactly easy or second nature but it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. After completing the same course as I did with the flats, I again step right next to Mom and look up at her.

WOW! I don’t feel nearly as short! It’s only 3” but it feels like a foot! I can’t look her in the face or anything but it’s a big difference. I could get used to this! She looks at me smugly.

“Was I right?”

I step away and check them out in the angled mirror near the chairs. My legs do look fantastic! All long and sexy. Maybe not exactly long … but certainly longer and certainly sexy. I lift the hem of my dress slightly.

“Do they have anything taller?”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

We get back to Jessica’s apartment after 6:00 pm that day. After shopping for clothes, we went to check out the house Daniel had rented for the “Conners” to live and then had done some furniture shopping at a number of second hand stores. We found a lot of neat stuff that will fit exactly with our cover. There was even a used industrial style Singer sewing machine with all the extras. Fixing this dress will be a piece of cake.

I struggle with all the bags of clothes while climbing the stairs in my 4” heels. I’d have bought higher ones but Jessica insisted I get used to these before going any higher. 5” heels will be so awesome! It takes three trips but we finally get everything inside. The furniture we bought will be picked up and put in storage until we’re ready to move in.

I flop onto the couch, kick off the shoe’s and rub my feet. They don’t actually hurt, but it feels good to get them off. I’m gonna miss those extra 4” though. Mom sits down in the upholstered chair next to the couch, setting her purse next to her.

“How do you feel Patricia?”

“Fine. I’ll need to wear those heels more to break them in but they’ll probably be okay. I’d like to get some boots though, better ankle support. 5” heels in boots should be no problem at all.”

“No, I meant how do you feel about yourself, how do you think the day went, do you feel more comfortable now?”

“I guess so. I don’t feel much different, I’m still me, no real mental changes as far as I can tell. How do you think it went?”

“Disastrously.”

I sit up on the couch. “Huh? We may have had a couple of arguments but that’s only natural. We haven’t had a chance to get to know each other yet, work on our rhythm as a team. We’ll get there.”

She reaches into her purse and removes a small rectangular pad, about the size of a 3 ½” floppy disk but  ¼” thick. She hands it to me. It has a display with several buttons. The display shows the number twenty five. And it’s pink.

“Is this the Cerebral Balancer?”

“Yes, it is. I had to push it all the way to twenty five Pink to get you to remotely cooperate with me, and you still fought me at that level.”

“Who the hell said you could fuck with my head?!”

“You said you wouldn’t use that kind of langua …”

I jump up from the couch and lean towards her. “FUCK YOU BITCH! What the hell gives you the right to screw with my head, out in public no less, without even warning me?!” I toss the remote at her, which she catches. “Partners don’t do that kind of shit to each other! Partner’s trust each other! Anything could have happened today! I might have died! For all you know …” She pushes a button on the control and I can’t talk anymore. I sit back down on the couch, folding my skirt beneath me as I do, back straight, hands folded in my lap.

Mother stands up, sits down next to me on the couch and shows me the display on the remote. It reads fifty Pink.

“Do you know what this means Patricia?”

“Yes Mother.” I heard my voice say that but it didn’t come from my mind. My mind told her to go fuck herself.

“What does it mean Patricia?”

“It means that my programming is almost one hundred percent in control of my body while I can tap into Mr. Harris’ subconscious mind, as needed.”

“Can Mr. Harris hear me?”

“Yes Mother, he can.” Damn fucking straight he can hear you. He can also beat the living crap out of you once he gets control of this body again and that’s a promise.

“Good. Four years ago, my husband Robert and daughter Alisha were killed in a drive-by shooting by a group affiliated with Raymond Hobbes.”

“That’s horrible Mother! I’m so sorry! Is there anything I can do?” There she goes again, talking without me.

“Thank you but, no Patricia, there’s nothing you can do … at least not yet.”

“How did it happen, Mother?”

“They had the wrong address. They were looking for a rival drug dealer and came to our house instead. The morons confused North 28th Street with South 28th Street.

“What happened to the murderers?” This should be good.

“Nothing.”

“How is that possible?” Money and influence, that’s how little girl.

“Everyone who was a witness was either bought off or scared off.” There’s that too. “There also was some vital evidence which disappeared from the police evidence room. Ultimately all charges were dropped and all of them eventually left the country. All of this thanks to Raymond Hobbes.”

“So … Mr. Hobbes didn’t actually kill anyone.” Ooooohhh, not the right thing to say, kid!

“No, he didn’t. He just made sure that the people who did kill my husband and beautiful, wonderful, daughter got away scott free. I can’t find them, and believe me, I’ve spent a lot of money with private detectives looking for them, but I can find him, and it is now time for him to pay.”

“How is he going to pay, Mother?”

“With your help and Mr. Harris’ help, we are going to bring him down, destroy his empire, and put him in jail for the rest of his life. I’d kill him if I could … but I don’t think … it’s just not … I’ve never …”

“I understand, but I don’t think Mr. Harris is likely to help, he’s very angry with you right now.” She can feel that?

“I’m not surprised. Mr. Harris seems to be angry most of the time, at one thing or another. Unfortunately, he is my best chance at getting justice for my murdered family, so I plan to prod and test him until he can do what is necessary to succeed.”

“And what is that?”

“He’s going to have to be able to open himself up to you and let you influence his thoughts and behavior willingly, yet still maintain control of his own capabilities.”

“That sounds difficult, Mother. Why not let me take care of it for you?” Yeah MOM, let little Patty do this for you.

I see her hand reach out towards my face and feel it touch my cheek with the palm. I try to pull back but can’t … though I thought I felt just a little bit of a flinch right before she touched me, maybe it’s my imagination.

“I know that you would try your best Patricia, but there is just too much of … you … at this setting. You are too young and innocent to accomplish this by yourself. As much as I hate to admit it, Daniel is right. We need Harris’ experience, his instincts, his guile, for our plan to work. So for us to succeed, I must succeed in persuading Mr. Harris to willingly behave like a teenage girl.”

“I’ll do what I can to help you, both of you, Mother. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I do.” She leans in closer, her hand still on my … our … cheek. “You don’t look anything like her, but when we talk … when you have someone else’s mind to work with … you’re so much like her.”

“How could I not be like her, you did most of the programming, didn’t you?”

“Thomas did the actual work but mostly at my direction. He had no idea what to do; he just knew how to do it. I still can’t believe that he added that … disgraceful, disgusting subroutine. I’ll get it removed as soon as possible Patricia.”

“Don’t bother. Who knows, I may need it some day.”

“Don’t say that!”

I hear myself giggling, then laughing. She’s got a nice laugh, surprisingly full and hearty for such a small person. I can also … feel the laugh, not just the physical sensations but there’s a sense of … lightness around me. I’m not happy, but I feel less pissed off. It’s probably that sob story Jessica told about her dead family.

Patty moves in towards Jessica, kisses her on the cheek, then primly settles back onto the couch. “I’m just kidding mother, you know I’m not that kind of girl. He’s ready to listen to you now. Just try to get along together, okay?”

“I’ll try if he will.” Jessica picks up the controller and pushes some buttons. Patricia fades away, leaving me back in charge. I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers and turning my wrists. I look up at … mom. Huh, must not be in total control. She looks back at me, her face tense, concerned, the remote still in her hand. “Are we going to have any trouble?”

I don’t answer right away. Taking a quick inventory, I feel like I’m back all the way, fully me, but I didn’t notice much difference when she had me at Twenty five Pink.

“Show me” I say.

She turns the controller so that I can see the display. It’s Forty Blue.

“All the way, then we talk.”

She hits a couple of more buttons and flips it in her hand so that I can read it. Fifty Blue. I honestly can’t say that I can tell the difference but I’m not telling her that. If I did, it would never be Fifty Blue again.

“Good. I’m sorry about your husband and kid. It had to be rough for you.”

“Rough? Rough?! Is that all you can say?”

“Hey! You promised her you’d try to get along. I’m trying here!”

“You heard that?”

“Of course I did … every word.” She looks embarrassed when I say that. “It’s not like I haven’t lost people too ya know. My Dad died of cancer and my Mom in a car accident. I’ve had partners killed too. Life’s a tough business, shit happens. You just gotta’ …”

“Don’t say I have to ‘move on’.”

“Okay. I won’t … but you do.”

“What do you know about grief? Pain? It’s expected that you’ll outlive your parents but not your child and not shot down in front of you.”

She didn’t mention that. Crap, no wonder she’s so screwed up. “Look, I can’t say I know how you feel cause I don’t and frankly, I hope I never know how you feel. But I can tell you that you can’t go into this thing hating your target.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying that when you go undercover to infiltrate some group, you can’t start out hating them because it’ll never work. You’re gonna spend weeks, months with these people day in, day out. If you hate them, they’ll know it. Sooner or later, you’ll slip. Doesn’t matter how good you are, you’ll slip. If they’re smart enough to catch it, you’re dead. End of story.”

“Are you saying you liked all the people you caught?”

“Yeah, most of them. Your average crook is just like you and me, they got parents, families, friends, kids, hobbies. Hell, some of them go to church, regularly confessing their sins, then go right back out and do it all over again.”

“That hardly seems admirable.”

“No, it’s not, but it’s human. Crooks are people too … just with a different sense of morality. When you’re undercover, you want them to be your pal, to trust you, talk to you, to tell you those secrets they haven’t told anybody else. They gotta like you … and you gotta like at least something about them. There was this guy, Benny, a stone cold killer. Benny had this really dry sense of humor, cracked me up all the time. I loved hanging out with the guy and he loved being with me because of all the laughing I did. By the time that job was done, he’d told me of at least fifteen guys he’d croaked on orders from … let’s say the target cause it hasn’t been that long ago. It damn near killed me to turn Benny in, but I did … damn near killed him too. He turned on the guy, went into witness relocation last I heard, but he never forgave me. And I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t either.”

“It was your job to catch these people, to bring them to justice.”

“Undercover work is dirty work and it’s not for everyone. You may find that sometime before we’re done, you may have to be friendly with Hobbes. If I’m gonna try to be his daughter’s friend, you may need to be his friend … or at least attend school events together.”

“That will never happen, besides, the daughter is the target.”

“Hobbes is the ultimate target and there is no way to predict how this will all work out in the end. You have to be ready for almost anything.” I lean forward, towards mothe … Jessica, forearms on my thighs. “It’s lonely, ugly work. The friends you make while under you’ll likely end up betraying and your friends on the force won’t trust you because you’ve been spent too much time with the enemy. The better you are at the job, the less the other cops trust you. They may seem like your best buddies and give you the occasional medal or award for a good job but, deep down, you make them uncomfortable because you’re doing something they couldn’t do, something they can’t understand. They’ll be happy as hell to use you … but you’re sure as hell not on their Christmas card list. You may be testing me but I’m also testing you. We don’t do this until we’re BOTH satisfied that the other can do the job.” I sit up and stick out my right hand. “Agreed?”

“Why is that necessary?”

I drop my hand. “Because if either of us fucks up, we’re both probably dead. I’m not gonna do this If I can’t trust you and your not gonna do it unless you trust me. We’re in this together, like it or not.”

“What about Thomas and Daniel?”

“If we go down, they’ll probably go down too, but we’re the ones taking the biggest risk, we’re the ones on the front line.”

“You mean you’re taking the biggest risk.”

“No, it’s the same for both of us; you’re just as far behind enemy lines as I am. My job may be tougher, but it’s both our asses on the line.” A thought suddenly occurs to me. “In fact, if all this works out right, you’ll be in worse shape than I will.”

“And how is that?”

“Because I go back to being an old man, win, lose or draw. You stay the same. If someone comes looking for a teenage girl to take vengeance on for ratting Hobbes out, I won’t be in there anymore. I’m back home in my rocking chair. You, on the other hand, don’t have that option. You’ll have to hide, maybe for a long time to come, even if this works, particularly if this works. Just cause Hobbes is in jail doesn’t mean he can’t get you … and he’ll have lots of time to think of ways to do it. In my case, he’ll be looking for the wrong person.”

“What if you have to testify in Court? He’ll know who you are then.”

“There’s no way Daniel will put me up on the stand in front of a jury. How the fuck does he explain it? This old guy you see before you pretended to be a teenage girl and these idiots bought it? No jury would believe how it was done. I’m in here and I’ve still got some doubts that it’s all a dream, ya know? I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that what we’re doing isn’t exactly kosher, from a legal stand point, but I think he’s figured out a way to still use the info we get. I’ll say this for Daniel Lipscomb, he’s not your usual Federal Department of Justice attorney, he’s got balls.”

“I’m not doing this unless we can get some usable evidence.”

“There’s no guarantee I’ll even get me foot through the front door. This is all a crap shoot. We may do everything perfectly and still have a dry hole.”

“Dry hole?”

“It’s an oil drilling term. You drill the hole but don’t find any oil. It’s another word for failure.”

“You seem to have taken a big risk Mr. Harris for such small chances for success.”

I smile at her. “Call me Patricia, or Patty if you like. You’re right, but I like the odds. If this works, I’m pretty sure we’ll find something that’ll make it worth our while. The whole idea is so fucking crazy, no one would ever think to make a plan to stop it from happening. It’s really brilliant.”

“If you can play your part, that is.”

“Yeah, that’s true, and I’m willing to try … if someone will just explain how the hell I’m supposed to do it! It’s not like I’ve got a lot of experience sharing a body with another … person, I guess. As far as I know, no one else has any experience either. If you’ve got an Owners Manual, I’ll be happy to read it.”

“Daniel said it should be easy, at least it was for him.”

“Well then, maybe we need to talk with him. Before we do, I want to get some ground rules established.”

“What kind of ground rules.”

“About that thing.” I point to the controller in her hand. She reflexively pulls it back towards herself.

“Such as?”

“I want some time every day at this setting, Fifty Blue. I’ll need at least an hour or so everyday to just be me. It can be at night or the morning, but I’ll need that time to get off the clock.”

“That sounds reasonable. Anything else?”

“Yeah. I want it to stay at Fifty Blue when I sleep. I don’t want any crazy shit sneaking into my head while I’m not awake to know it.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, though I’m not sure what kind of protection that gives you. I’ve never discussed that particular issue with Thomas. Is that it?”

“No. One more thing, and this is the most important. No changing those settings without warning. I want a say in what’s going on up here.” I tap the side of my head with my right index finger.

“That may not be possible. Part of my responsibilities is to evaluate how you behave at different settings. If you know what those settings are, it my skew the data.”

She could be right about that. “Alright. I’ll give that one to you while we’re still testing, but once we start the actual job, no changes without notice.”

She reaches forward, offering me her hand. “That sounds acceptable.”

I take her hand in mine. Jeez! I can barely reach around her fingers. ”Deal. Partner.” We shake on it. “Let’s call Lipscomb.”

- * * *** * * * *** * * *

“I thought you said it wouldn’t be any problem, Daniel.”

“I did say that, Jessica. A man with Peter’s skill and training should have no problem tapping the resources available to him.”

“But you said that you did it yourself.”

“Well, to be technical Jessica, I said that I could feel the influence on my mind. I didn’t seek it out; it was more like an assault. Not particularly pleasant as I recall. It was everything I could do to keep from being overwhelmed. Thomas made some adjustments to the Cerebral Balancer and everything was fine, particularly at Fifty Blue.”

“How far did you go?”

“I believe I topped out at Thirty five Blue.”

“Daniel, you should have told me about this! This is vital information!”

“I’m sure that you and Peter can work all this out between the two of you. He has a very extraordinary record of achievement, quite impressive. How far did you go on the Balancer?”

“Fifty Pink, but that was just to prove a point. He operated at Twenty five Pink and was still subconsciously fighting me hammer and tong.”

“Really! Twenty five Pink! Are you sure the Balancer was working? Perhaps Thomas should …”

“I already had him check it out. Both mine and the back-up are performing as designed.”

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help. Thirty Five Blue was my limit.”

“Peter will be very unhappy to hear this and frankly, I’m very disappointed in you Daniel. You can play lawyer all you want and weasel out of what you led me to believe but this is not a court room Daniel, this is a very dangerous game Patricia and I are about to start.”

“It is dangerous for all of us Jessica.”

“That may be true, but it is Patricia and I who will be at the pointy end of the stick, if something goes wrong, we’ll get it first. It’s not helpful if you’re not being completely forth coming.”

“I’m sorry if you think that I was intentionally misleading you. I was just expressing my confidence in Peter’s abilities. Is there anything else?”

No, there’s not. I’m not sure that I’d believe him even if there was. “No, not for the moment.”

“Make sure you keep me apprised of your progress. We need to move as quickly as possible.”

“We’ll move when I say she is good and ready, and not a moment sooner, you do remember that was our agreement?”

“Certainly Jessica, I defer to your expertise, I just wanted speed to be a factor in deciding how and when we start. Will that be a problem?”

“I have no idea now; we’ll be starting practically from scratch thanks to you. I’ll let you know. Good-bye”. I push the button on my cell phone terminating the call. Sometimes I miss the satisfaction of slamming down the receiver of an old style phone. It could be quite cathartic.

“What’d he say?” asks Patricia.

I turn to look at her hopeful face. I simply can’t call her a “he” or some other masculine name or pronoun. I know that Peter Harris is the dominant personality, at least at this setting, but her appearance and sound is all female. Once Peter joined her, Patricia became alive again, just as she had been with Daniel. The addition of another personality lets her become fully aware and functioning. It’s just extraordinary to see it happen. Too bad it’s a male personality.

“Not a great deal … and none of it good.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It seems that Daniel was not completely truthful, or at least completely clear about his time in the Construct.”

“Guess I’m not surprised, he is a lawyer after all. Where does that leave us?”

“Mostly on our own.”

“Fucking great.”

“It’s not quite that bad. I did learn a number of things from our past trial.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, if you saw the benefit of something, you accepted it quite quickly, like those high heeled shoes.”

“Wait a second, you said the control was at Thirty Pink or something like that when you had me try on those shoes. I’d never had done it if I’d had any say in it.”

“You had quite a lot of say in it. You were still arguing with me about it until you had a chance to experience life 3” further from the floor, then I could hardly stop you. Remember, you wanted boots with 5” heels.” He actually blushed when I reminded him about his acceptance of the heels. He would not react that way if his wearing of the heels were completely compulsory. There was some willing acceptance at one level or another.

“If you believe that something Patricia has, some knowledge, some insight, some influence, is helpful, you’re more willing to accept it. Tell me right now, no lying or playing macho games … will you wear heels again?”

“If I have to.”

“Is that all? Remember, this is important, I need the truth.”

She looked away from me, grimacing, then glanced back at me after a few seconds. “Alright, fine. I did enjoy wearing them. You have no idea what it’s like being so short! I mean, I’m only five feet tall for God’s sake.”

“You’re actually four feet ten inches.”

“That’s practically the same as five feet!”

“If you say so. Regardless, you saw the benefit of the heels and willingly wore them. You’re correct, it likely would not have happened at Fifty Blue, so we have one example of Patricia’s influence.”

“Okay, but you had to suggest it. How do I access her when I need her?”

She had a good point. I won’t always be around to prod her. We need to come up with some way for her to access more of Patricia’s side of the brain without pushing the Cerebral Balancer too far into the Pink.

“Have you ever tried meditation?”

- * * *** * * * *** * * *

I’m sitting on the floor in the spare bedroom at Jessica’s apartment, surrounded by all the things we bought while out shopping, the underwear, the dress, the shoes, everything. I can remember how I felt trying them all on, how I was first reluctant and then I gave in and actually started to feel comfortable. Not enjoying it, but it didn’t weird me out or anything. It’s weirding me out right now, remembering how it felt. It’s also weirding me out that I can look at all this stuff and think about wearing it again and it not bother me. I don’t need to wear the dress but, if I have to, that’s fine. Mom, crap, Jessica told me she’d leave the setting on Fifty Blue while I tried the meditation stuff, at least the first time.

I’ve been sitting here for at least an hour, just trying to clear my mind, but it’s hopeless. Every time, I keep coming back to the damn shoes. I actually liked wearing them, I still want to wear them. Is this permanent? When I go back to my old body, am I going to be a cross dresser? Lipscomb said I’d be able to go back and be right as rain but I know there have been changes in my mind, I can feel them. And it’s been less than a day. What happens after a week? Two weeks? A month? Six months? How much of me will be left? Someone knocks on my door.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.”

I pop up off the floor, pushing my self into the air just by quickly flexing my thighs and back, then landing on my feet.

God Damn! I’d never have been able to do that in my old body, even when I was young. I didn’t even think about it, I just did it, easy as that. Was this what Thomas was talking about, the Lizard Brain? What other surprises are there?

I open the door. Mom’s standing there.

“Are you okay? I thought I heard something fall.”

“No, I was just sitting on the floor, trying to meditate.”

“You don’t have to sit on the ground, you can do it wherever you’re comfortable.”

“Doesn’t matter, it wasn’t working anyway. I couldn’t clear my head.”

“Well, it was just an idea. Meditation doesn’t come naturally; you need to practice, often for years.”

“We haven’t got years.”

“I know, I said it was just an idea. It’s late, why don’t you go to bed, get some rest, and we’ll start fresh tomorrow? It’s been a busy day.”

“You’re telling me.” I sigh. “Yeah, sleep sounds good.”

“There’s a nightshirt in the bottom drawer of the dresser next to the bed. You’re welcome to use it until we buy you something better.”

Like a black silk negligee? “That’s fine, I’ll see you in the morning. Is it still set on Fifty Blue?”

“Yes, just as we agreed. Goodnight Patricia.”

“Goodnight … Mother.” She smiled when I said that. She’s got a nice smile. Wonder why I never noticed it. Probably because she doesn’t smile much. She closed the door and I stripped off my clothes, hanging them on the chair at the foot of the bed. When I pull the nightshirt from the drawer, it’s clear that it’s too large. Better get used to that kind of thing. After dropping it over my head, I climb into bed, pulling the covers around me. It only takes a couple of minutes for me to fall asleep.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Yo! Chucky! Wake up dumbass!”

Startled, my eyes fly open. I’m sitting in a car, parked outside a warehouse. It’s the dead of night. It takes a couple of seconds for me to recognize where I am. Outside the old Beezo Company warehouse down by the docks. Except it doesn’t look so old. It looks like it did … thirty years ago. I‘m sitting next to Tommy Flannigan in the cab of an old panel van. This is the first solo undercover job I ever did. What the hell is going on?

“Come on Chucky my boy” he says as he opens the driver side door. “We can’t keep our friends with the guns waiting, they might get nervous … which would be bad for us all.”

He looks just like I remember him, a big, red-headed mick, large head, thick neck and hands that could crush walnuts. We’re here to buy guns for the IRA in Northern Ireland … at least that’s what we were doing thirty years ago. What the fuck are we doing today?

I look around, there’s only the two of us at the dock. There’s also a couple dozen cops in the warehouse next door, ready to spring into action when I give the high sign. The wire is digging into my crotch. The plan is that we go into the Beezo warehouse, meet the sellers, do a little business, the money changes hands, I say the code word “crackerjack”, the troops come storming in and arrest everybody. We catch an IRA gun runner and his U.S. organization, his U.S. donors, the scum bags selling the guns, plus confiscate a lot of money and firepower. At least that was the plan back then. Things didn’t work out so well.

Tommy shuts his door and quickly walks to the loading dock, leaving me trailing behind. I leap out of the passenger side of the cab and hurry to catch up but he’s already jumped up on the dock by the time I reach him.

“Hold up Tommy!” I hiss.

“Now don’t you be having second thoughts, Chucky. We need to do this now. I can feel the long arms of John law drawing closer. We got a tight schedule and I mean to keep it.”

He strolls through the open bay door onto the warehouse floor. It’s too late for me to stop him now. I jump up onto the loading dock and follow him.

There’s four other guys on the floor, along with a panel truck like ours. There’s also two guys up on the walkway above us, armed with AK 47’s. I didn’t know about them last time until too late. Unfortunately, neither Tommy nor I are packing … his idea, didn’t want to scare the sellers. The biggest of the bunch approaches us and Tommy just smiles and raises his arms, waiting for the inevitable pat down. The guy does a quick, half-assed job, looking for weapons. After he finishes with Tommy, he moves over to me. I also raise my arms, holding them straight out from my shoulders. He does the same search on my, luckily spending little time on my crotch, missing the wire.

I’ve found that one guy rarely gives another guys’ junk a thorough search.

He grunts when he’s done with me and motions for us to come in. Tommy’s all smiles and Irish friendship. He was one of the nicest criminals I ever met. We worked together for months before this night. I was trying to think of some way to stop this deal and get us both out of there alive but he was moving too fast. He’d already handed over the money and the sellers were quickly unloading the crates from the back of the van. Tommy slides up next to me and slaps me on the back.

“Aren’t they a crackerjack bunch of lads, Chucky?”

I forgot. That’s what happened last time. He said the code word and the team moved too early. We wanted everybody back in the van, not spread out on the floor. The other cops come streaming in, ordering everybody to drop their guns.

Yeah. Right. The sellers start firing wildly, including the two idiots on the catwalks. The cops shoot at anything that moves. I immediately dive for cover behind a stack of boxes but catch a round in the leg. Tommy’s ducked behind a fork truck, about thirty feet from me.

“Are you alright Chucky?” he shouts above the gunfire.

“No! I’ve been hit!”

“Is it bad? We’ve got to get out of here my boy!”

“No, I’m okay. You …” just then, one of the cops runs over to me, grabs me by the collar of my coat and starts to drag me back to their lines.

“Come on Sergeant Harris! Let’s go!”

A really brave thing to do, unfortunately, he broke my cover.

I could see Tommy’s face as I was being pulled away. He knew that I was the one who had betrayed him. He quickly looked around and found a .45 that had been dropped by one of the sellers who had been shot. He crouched behind the fork truck and fired at me. He hit the cop pulling me, who dropped to the ground, letting go of me. Tommy fired a second time, missing but the action stayed open, he was out of ammo. Dropping the gun, he charged out from behind the fork truck, red faced, screaming profanities at me.

Reaching around the downed cop, I managed to find the pistol in his leg holster, pull it, roll over onto my back and fire at Tommy.

His head exploded.

* * *** * * * *** * * *

I sat up in the bed, breathing rapidly, the nightshirt cold and clammy from my sweat. There was a pounding at the door.

“Patricia! Patricia! Are you alright?! Patricia!”

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Hang on a minute.”

I wait a few seconds until I can calm my breathing, then carefully get out of bed. My legs are a little shaky, so I wait until I’m sure I won’t fall on my ass then go to the door and unlock it. Mom throws it open, bends down and hugs me.

“What was wrong? You were screaming about killing someone. You had me scared to death!”

“It was just a dream … nothing serious.” I start to push her away, then stop. I actually do feel better, safer, with her holding me like this. She pulls back a little so that she can see my face in the light from the hallway.

“Do you want some warm milk? Hot chocolate?”

“No, I’m … I’m … uuuhhhh … yeah … hot chocolate would be okay.”

She lets me go but keeps a grip on my right hand, leading me into the kitchen and onto a chair, only letting go when I’m settled into the chair. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk.

“What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

“No … it was just a dream … nothing serious.”

She walks over to me, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Honey, you need to tell me the truth. This could be related to the transfer. I need to know everything.”

I take a deep breath, then sigh. “Fine. Yeah it was a nightmare, a really vivid one.”

“What was it about?”

“It was one of my first long term, deep undercover jobs. The Irish Republican Army gun runners sting. We were just getting ready to spring the trap and everything went to hell. I couldn’t stop it, even though I knew exactly what was going wrong. I tried to call it off, warn Tommy, but no matter what I did, everything happened just like it did thirty years ago. Tommy died.”

“Was Tommy your partner?”

“No, he was the IRA man.”

“So why were you trying to stop it? Wasn’t that what your objective was?”

“NO! We wanted to catch them, not kill them! Catching Tommy was bad enough, but shooting him … he had a wife and two kids ya know … really cute kids … and he loved them all so much.”

“Apparently not enough to stop being a criminal.”

“It’s not like that. That’s all Tommy knew, it was his life. He’d been in the IRA since he was just a kid. His Dad before him and his grandfather before that, though it wasn’t the IRA back then. Either way, the family had a history. Tommy was a good guy, loyal, friendly, generous …”

“Terrorist.”

“One man’s freedom fighter is another man’s terrorist.”

“Surely you didn’t approve of what he did?”

“No … but I understood it. I was still ready to bring him in … but not kill him.”

She sits down next to me. “OH MY! You didn’t say that you …”

“Shot him in the head? Yeah, I sure as hell did. It was him or me. The Board said it was a clean shooting … even gave me a medal, though it wasn’t a public ceremony, naturally.”

“Why not a public ceremony?”

“Cause I was staying undercover.”

“Of course.”

“That was the first time I’d ever shot anyone, and it had to be Tommy, of all people. I’d been to his house, ate dinner with his family for God’s sake! We used to go out drinking and close the bar down!” I start to cry.

It had been years since I’d thought of that night and, even then, hadn’t cried about it. Now, I couldn’t stop bawling. Mom slides her chair next to mine, reaches over and hugs me.

“That’s okay sweetie, that’s okay. Let it all out.”

It takes me at least three minutes to get control again, Mom gently rocking me the whole time. She lets go when I’m down to sniffling.

“Do you often have nightmares about it?”

“No, that’s the weird part. I haven’t thought about it for years … well I’ve thought about it but it’s not been a problem or anything. And I don’t usually have nightmares … at least if I do, I don’t remember them.”

She stands up and walks over to the stove. “We’ll speak to Thomas about it in the morning; we’re scheduled for a check up anyway. For now, we’ll have that hot chocolate and see if that helps.”

“Thanks, that’ll be good … particularly if you’ve got a shot of bourbon to go with it.”

She turns towards me, smiling and shaking here finger. “No alcohol for you, young lady.”

“Awwww Mom.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Matthews is hovering over me with some strange device while I’m stretched out flat on an examination table. Mom’s sitting in a chair against the wall. Lipscomb’s not here today, he’s got some kind of meeting at the office. He told Mom that he’s maintaining his regular schedule to avoid any suspicion, which is a good idea. The man covers his bases.

So, why do I feel relieved that he’s not here? I mostly like the guy, a bit of a golden boy for my tastes but he works hard. He’s easily the most aggressive prosecutor I’ve ever run into, which is a point in his favor, and he’s willing to do what it takes to get this job done, which is about ten points in his favor. However, since the transfer, I feel … uneasy … around him. I can’t put my finger on it and there’s nothing I can think that he did or said to explain it, but there’s just this tiny, little, feeling in the back of my mind. It’s probably nothing, part of the adjustment process. Matthews puts his mechanical thingy down.

“Everything checks out one hundred percent, even better than Daniel at this point. How do you feel?”

“Fine, fine, no problems.”

“Now don’t say that, Patricia. Tell him about the dreams.”

“You call him Patricia?”

“I call her Patricia because that is her name. We need to stay in character at all times.”

Matthews turns to me. “What do you call her?”

“Mother or Mom, what else?”

He smiles at that. “Very interesting, though not as interesting as your dreams eh?”

“You knew about that and didn’t warn me?”

“I thought that I’d let it be an enjoyable surprise side effect.”

“Enjoyable?” said Mom. “Patricia had the most horrible nightmare last night.”

“Actually, there were three.” I said. “I had two more after going back to bed. They weren’t as bad as the first, but they were bad enough.”

“Oh Patricia, why didn’t you wake me?”

“What were you going to do about it? You needed your sleep and I knew we were coming here today.”

“I don’t understand,” said Matthews. “Daniel never had nightmares. His dreams were all positive, reliving some of his most erotic experiences, in great detail if he is to be believed.”

“Wonderful. I get sleepless nights full of terror and Golden Boy gets porn. How long does this last?”

“I can’t be certain. Daniel is still having them, though not as frequently, and his transfer was over three months ago. And they weren’t the troublesome dreams you’re having. There’s no sufficiently large enough statistical sample for me to examine.”

“Great. Do you know why this is happening to me?”

“It is just a theory. When your mind and memories were transferred, everything was swept up and moved. Daniel described the effect as a whirlwind.”

“That’s about right.”

“Good. So, all these buried memories have been stirred up and moved and now they are just floating around in your mind. Eventually, they should all settle down, like the snow in a snow globe, and they will become buried again.”

“How long will that take?” asks Mom.

“No way to be certain. It’s not a side effect that I was expecting and, as I said, I only have a theory.”

“What’s your theory as to why I get the bad stuff and he gets the good stuff?”

“I don’t have one … maybe he’s had more enjoyable sexual experiences than you.”

I’d certainly bet a dollar on that. “Is there anything you can give me?”

“Hold on Honey,” said Mom. “We don’t want to use drugs unless absolutely necessary.”

“You don’t want to use drugs, I’ll take whatever works.”

“We haven’t given mediation a fair shake yet.”

“Mediation should be good” said Matthews. “It will help settle things down in your mind.”

“And you know this how?” I ask.

“Well … I don’t for certain, though it is logical, assuming mediation does anything at all. This is all experimental Peter, there are no guarantees. Testing can give certain indications and logical assumptions can be made from those results but there is always the possibility of surprises. So far, everything is proceeding as the theoretical model predicts. How a particular person adapts to the transfer depends on their individual capacities. Daniels’ are different from yours, not better, not worse, just different. I agree with … your mother, drugs should be avoided for now, their effects are … unpredictable … at this time. My suggestion is that you continue to prepare for the assignment and I’ll continue to monitor your condition.”

That’s the most he’s ever said to me since we first met. Guess he’s right. If I’m not pulling the plug then might as well keep working on my cover. Maybe I’ll get lucky and tap some of those porno dreams.

Matthews loosens the straps around my wrists and ankles. I pull my limbs free, sit up and hop off the table, landing lightly on my feet. These physical moves are coming more naturally every day. I sure as hell don’t miss the pain. That reminds me.

“How’s my body doing?”

“You mean the old body?”

“Of course. Can I see it?”

“Certainly.” He walks over to a side door and opens it. “Come this way.” He walks through and I follow him.

There I am, laying on an inflatable mattress in a large hospital bed, a feeding tube connected to my stomach and a catheter in my dick. I’m bigger than I remember … and older, a lot older. I lean in closer to my face. My eyes are open but dull looking. I move my hand back and forth over the eyes. The pupils react to the change in light but that’s all, no movement, no reaction.

“Is this normal?”

“Yes, keeping in mind all that I said before about the transfer. Everything is as expected and predicted.”

“You take care of it Matthews. It may not be much but it’s all I got.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I keep a watchful eye on Patricia as we leave the lab. It’s clear that she’s still extremely uncomfortable about being out in public. She was much more comfortable when we went shopping and the Cerebral Balancer was set on the lower and middle Pink numbers. It is possible that the shopping distracted her or maybe there was more to it than that.

When you grow up as a woman, you learn how to deal with the possibility of physical injury or assault by men. It becomes second nature to be aware of your surroundings and keep your options open. Patricia was thrust into that situation without the benefit of those years of learning. I must admit that there is a little perverse satisfaction in seeing a man put in that position but Peter was a police officer, one of the good guys, at least relatively speaking, and he’s doing this to help me. We can’t make progress on any other issues until we deal with this personal security problem. It’s possible that her comfort at the lower and middle Pink settings resulted from her subconsciously adopting these standard female safety behaviors. If I can give her some positive experiences in self-protection, she might gain enough confidence to move onto other areas.

I look over at her in the passenger seat. She’s practically cowering, shoulders and arms pulled close to her body.

“How are you feeling, Patricia?”

“I’m fine, just peachy keen.”

“Glad to hear it. I thought that you might still be worried about the safety thing, being such a small girl and all.”

“No … no … that’s not a problem. I’m okay with that … it’s no big deal.”

“I was just thinking that if you still had a problem, that you might want to take a self-defense class.”

“What kind of self-defense class?”

“I read in the newspaper that the local police are offering a three part self-defense program specifically for women. The first class is Saturday.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that.” She visibly relaxes in her seat. “They’ve been doing that for years. Lots of women take them.”

“Are you interested?”

“Well … it might be interesting, you know, to see something like that from a woman’s perspective. Not that I need it or anything.”

“No, certainly not.”

“I know how to handle myself, I’ve been in plenty of fights.”

“I’m sure you have. But it is probably good to get some practice, after all, you were retired.”

“Exactly! Practice! That’s all I need! A few rounds and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Then it’s settled. Saturday, we both take the course.”

“You’ll be there?”

“I’m sure that I can learn a thing or two myself. It’s best to be prepared.” I reach over and pat her arm.

“Thanks, Mom.”

I can hear the relief in her voice.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

We had gone shopping a couple of times before the end of the week without much success. Patricia could not get into the right attitude until the setting was well into the Pink range. There is much too much Peter at the other settings and he refuses to let Patricia out, either that or he doesn’t know how to access her at the higher settings. We’ve continued the meditation and she has gotten a little better but it hasn’t helped the integration or the nightmares, at least not yet. It has been only five days since the transfer and we are moving into new territory, Daniel having been in only three days.

Thomas approved of the self-defense class, he was certain that Patricia was physically capable of participating. He also said that it would be a good program test. I didn’t have time to ask him what he meant by that as we were running late and Patricia did not want to be the last person there.

When we arrived at the site, it was a local grade school. They had an old gym attached to the school. We were instructed to wear sweats and tennis shoes. I had some old gray sweats and Patricia was wearing a blue outfit. The top was a little low cut for my taste so I insisted she wear a t-shirt underneath. There were about fifteen other women milling around the gym when we arrived, gathered in groups of three or four. They were of various ages, but we seemed to be the only mother/daughter pair, with Patricia clearly the youngest and smallest one of the group.

By the time the trainer called us all together, there were a total of twenty five women in the gym. There was a male trainer and another man in a heavily padded suit, including some kind of padded head gear. His hands and feet were free but the suit had padding sewn into the forearms, elbows, upper arms, shoulders, chest, thighs, knees and lower legs. He looked pretty well protected.

Patricia and I had discussed this, including my theory that she was at least subconsciously accessing the female coping techniques for self protection when the Cerebral Balancer was set in the lower Blue range. She had agreed to at least start the class at Blue 15.

The instructor clapped his hands, the sound echoing around the old gym. “Ladies. I am Officer Bill Simmons and this is Sergeant Nathan Tinker. We’re with the Dade County Police Department, city of Miami and are here to help you all learn various ways to defend yourselves should the need arise. It is best to avoid physical confrontations when ever possible. Run away to live another day is always the first choice. The second choice is to give the assailant what he or she wants. Your wallet or purse isn’t worth your life. Ninety nine times out of a hundred, you give them what they want and they’re gone in less than a minute. You call us, give us the facts and we take it from there. This class is about that one time out of a hundred.”

He strolls to the middle of the gym, talking as he walks. “It is extremely unlikely that any of you ladies will ever need to use the lessons you will learn in the next three weeks, however many of our past participants tell us that these classes gave them peace of mind and confidence. We plan to teach you just a few, simple techniques, things that you can practice at home until they become second nature. With additional practice, you can string two or three together, which can be quite effective but usually that won’t be necessary. Once most assailants discover that their prospective victim can defend herself, they move off, looking for an easier target. Now if you would all gather around the mat here, we’ll start the class.”

He’s standing on a large rectangular nylon mat, about 2” thick. The other man joins him, waddling slightly as he walks.

“I need a volunteer for the first demonstration. Sergeant Tinker is going to do a classic attack. He’s a trained instructor and is not going to hurt anyone and, as you see, it will be very difficult for you to hurt him.”

Tinker punches himself in the head and smiles. Most everyone laughs, some nervously. Patricia is silent.

“Any one want to volunteer? Anybody?” No one moves a muscle. Officer Simmons moved into the crowd. “I promise, we’ll take it easy. How about you young lady?” He’s pointing directly at Patricia. Everyone near by moves slightly away from her, including me. I feel guilty almost immediately but it’s too late, Simmons is standing right next to her in seconds. “Would you give us a hand? Everyone will get a chance before we’re done today, you’d just be the first. How about it?”

I can tell she wants to say no but she straightens up, sticks out her chin and throws her shoulders back. “Okay. Let’s do this.” She follows him back to the mat.

Both officers dwarf her. They are both over 6’ tall, with Tinker looking enormous due to the padded suit. Simmons positions Patricia about 5’ in front of Tinker.

“Now, he’s going to try to grab you. You do what ever you want to fight him off. Remember, you can’t hurt him so fight as hard as you can.” He steps back away from them. “On the count of three. One … two … three.”

Tinker lunges at her, quickly grabbing her right arm and dragging her into his body. She’s struggling and kicking but he easily picks her up and wraps his arms around her, across her chest. It may just be my imagination or all the pads, but I’d swear that he’s coping a feel. Patricia is starting to panic. Just then Simmons steps in.

“Okay. I think everyone saw that the young lady was at a distinct disadvantage this time but we can teach you some things to level the playing field. Let her go Sergeant Tinker.”

Tinker gives one final squeeze and drops Patricia to the ground. She quickly scoots away, then turns to face him, breathing hard. She looks scared, angry, humiliated and defiant, all at once. There are also tears in her eyes. The women around me are angry … so am I, but it has to happen, she’s got to get past this. Simmons steps in front of her and drops to one knee.

“What’s your name, Honey?”

That’s just a little too familiar.

“Patricia.”

“Well Patty, next time, when he reaches for you, block his arm, like this.” He extends his right arm, bent slightly at the elbow, then flings it hard to the right. “Just like that.” He repeats the motion. “Got it?” She nods her head. He gets back to his feet and Tinker moves back into position. “On three. One … two … three.”

Tinker lunges again and Patricia does exactly what Simmons showed her to do. It made no difference. Tinker has her wrapped up again and this time, everyone in the room sees him squeeze her left breast.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I forgot that the standard procedure is to take the weakest person in the room and use them as the first example. If you can get them to do it right, then everybody else gets confident. They know if that old lady or that little kid can do it, then I sure as hell can.

I was the little kid.

No matter what I did, it didn’t slow Tinker down. The son of a bitch actual picked me up! Then he rubbed his crotch against my ass and cupped both my boobs. It was quick and maybe accidental, that he was just shifting me in his arms.

But I heard him chuckle when he did it.

When he let me down, I was so angry and frustrated, it was all I could do to not run from the room, but I wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction.

I was actually happy when Simmons gave me another shot at him. We never received true self-defense training at the academy. It all revolved around the equipment, guns, tasers and batons. If I had a baton, I’d show this jerk a few tricks. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with this weak, girly body.

The blocking maneuver Simmons shows me isn’t likely to work, I haven’t got enough body mass for it to make much difference, not if Tinker really wants to get me. I’m willing to give it a shot though.

Just before Simmons says “three”, I can see it in Tinker’s eyes. He’s enjoying this, manhandling women, particularly young ones. This blocking thing isn’t going to stop him. I hit his arm as hard as I can when he reaches for me but it barely moves. I twist and struggle but he’s got me wrapped up again in seconds. This time he doesn’t pick me up but he definitely gets a handful of my left breast. I desperately search for something to do, then it all becomes clear in my mind.

It’s so simple.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

She squats, then drives upward, striking Tinker in the face with the top of her head. The padded helmet takes most of the blow but he looses his grip on her. Once free, she springs up into the air, then rotates over one hundred eighty degrees, wrapping her legs around his neck and pulling him forward, flipping him onto his back with a resounding thud. He reaches up to grab her but she’s already released him, taking a defensive stance just to his right.

As he starts to stand up, she attacks, driving her foot into the side of his right knee, breaking it with a sickening crack, followed quickly by a blood curdling scream and a string of profanities.

“OOOOHHH YOU COCK SUCKING LITTLE BITCH!! YOU BROKE MY GOD DAMN KNEE! I’M GONNA WRING YOUR FUCKING NECK WHEN I GET MY HANDS…”

She shut him up with a single, accurate, vicious punch to the neck, one of the few areas not protected by his padded suit. He collapsed on the mat, unconscious.

The room is dead silent for a few seconds, then the crowd of women begin to applaud and whoop.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The whole thing happened like I was on autopilot. One move flowed smoothly into the next. And I was fast! Faster than I can ever recall. No, it was quick, not fast! As soon as I saw an opening, I took it, practically instantaneously.

It takes a second or two for it to sink in. I just likely broke the knee of and punched out a cop. A cop who molested me, but a cop none the less. It’d be a good idea to get the hell out of here. Simmons is busy examining Tinker and the other women are starting to gather around, checking out my handiwork, so now’s as good a time as any. There’s no way I’m sneaking out, better just make a break for it. Someone grabs my shoulder and spins me around.

“Are you okay?” It’s Mom.

“Yeah. Look, we need to get out of here, right now.”

“Agreed. What was all that?”

“You didn’t program that stuff?”

“No, I’m against violence.”

“Oh great, another surprise. Did you give anybody our names?”

“There was a sign up sheet by the door.”

“You get our stuff, I’ll get that sheet and meet you at the car.”

Mom runs towards the bleachers where we had dropped our purses. I turn around to get my bearings and find the front door. Another woman comes up to me.

“That was so awesome! We aaall saw what that guy did to you, grabbing your boob like that. You just kicked his ass and good! What are you doing in this class? I mean, it’s not like you need it or anything, obviously. Are you a plant? That was just so cool. Are you going to teach us how to do that stuff?”

“Uhhh no. It’s all a misunderstanding. Look, I need to go, my Mom’s waiting for me and you know how mothers get when you’re late.”

“Oh … sure, I understand. Great job though!”

“Thanks.”

“See you next week.”

“Yeah. Next week.”

I run off before anybody else corrals me. The sign up sheet is on a clipboard hanging by the door. I take the list and the next three blank pages behind the list, then scoot out the door. Mom pulls up just as I run out. Quickly opening the door, I hop in, then slam the door shut behind me.

“I thought I said to meet me at the car.”

“I decided this was faster.”

“It probably is but you don’t change a plan midstream without telling everybody. If I hadn’t been stopped by this lady and held up for a few seconds, I could be in the parking lot right now, looking for you.”

“We’ll talk about this later, let’s just get home for now.”

“Fine by me. We gotta call Matthews about this.”

“He’s the only one who could have added …”

“Kung fu.”

“Whatever, to the data base.”

“If he did, he’s getting a big kiss from me.”

CHAPTER NINE

Mom hung up the phone. “Well, he said it was a resounding success.”

She sits down at the kitchen table opposite of me. I’m having my current drink of choice, skim milk. It’s either that or water, mother doesn’t approve of soft drinks.

“So he admitted that he was the one who did it?”

“Oh yes, he was quite proud of it. Thomas said that it was only logical to assume that someone in the criminal justice system should know how to defend themselves in all situations. In fact, he was surprised that it wasn’t part of your basic training to begin with. He assumed that he was just enhancing an already existing skill set.”

“How ‘enhanced’ am I?”

“He said that he programmed every existing form of martial arts that he could find.”

“DAMN!”

“Oh that’s not all! There are six different languages, PHD level science and math, four musical instruments, the list goes on.”

“So … I’m a genius?”

“Hardly. You have an incredible amount of data stored in your head, but it’s just facts and figures. Just like the behavior routines I created, you need to find a way to access and use that information. Genius is more like the inventive ways a person uses facts and figures to create new and different things. A computer can have all that information stored in its memory but no one calls a computer a genius.”

“But it’s not a bad way to start high school.”

“No, not at all, as long as you know how to get to it. Which of course raises the question, how did you know what to do today?”

“I don’t know, I was just trying to think of something I could do to get the jerk off me.”

“Clearly, you were emotionally upset and frustrated, also angry about the fact that he was … fondling you.”

“You saw that?”

“Everyone saw it. I can’t imagine why he did that in front of the whole class. Didn’t he think a group of women would see exactly what he did?”

“He may not have cared. For some of the guys, that kind of program is an excuse to feel up women. It’s easy to explain away as accidental contact when you’re trying to recreate or demonstrate a physical struggle. Not everyone gets the full touchy feely treatment, just the choice pieces of ass, which clearly I am.”

“That’s just terrible!”

“Hey, you’re a choice piece too! I didn’t mean that you weren’t …”

“That’s not what I meant! It’s terrible to use vulnerable women that way!”

“OH Yeah! Sure! I agree completely!”

“I believe you, particularly because you didn’t stop with simply escaping.”

“What?”

“You escaped after the first move. It could have stopped there, but you turned and attacked. Not just attacked but with ruthless efficiency. You disabled a much larger person in just three incredibly fast moves and one of those was intended to inflict pain more than anything else.”

I had to smile. “Yeah, but it kept him on the ground.”

“I’m not saying it didn’t, and frankly, I likely would have done the same thing if I’d been in your position, but the question remains, how did you know what to do?”

“I was still pretty pissed off.”

“But you’ve been angry before and nothing happened.”

“I don’t know, all I can say is that I really wanted the information and it was there.”

“Do you still have it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have that knowledge accessible right now, could you attack me?”

“I guess I could but I won’t.”

“Fair enough … on second thought, that’s probably a bad idea.” She sits there thinking a moment or two. “Okay, how about this, could you escape if I was holding you?”

“Look, I don’t know but I really don’t want to hurt you.”

She stands up. “Which means you probably won’t. I’m willing to take the chance to find out. Let’s go to the living room.” She walks out the door.

“Mom! Wait! Mom?” I reluctantly follow her. When I catch up, she’s already moved some of the furniture around, creating space in the middle of the room.

“All right. I’ll grab you and you try to escape.”

“This is crazy! You saw what I did to that guy, I could hurt you, or worse.”

She reaches out, touching my shoulder. “Patricia, this is important. It may be the breakthrough we’ve been looking for. We need to explore this. I trust you … I know that you won’t hurt me. Just a few, simple tests and we’ll stop, I promise.”

“Okay.” I sigh. She smiles at me. It’s always nice to see her smile.

“Good. First, I’ll re-set the Balancer to Blue 15, the setting earlier today.” She retrieved the balancer from her purse and changed the setting. I never feel it move inside my head but I have been able to notice some changes after it moves. This time I don’t notice any. She returned to the center of the room.

“All right. You stand right here.” She spun me around, facing away from her. “I’ll get behind you and grab you like this.” She wrapped both her arms around my chest, just below my breasts. “When I say go, you try to get away, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay … ready … set … you know that I trust you not to hurt me, right?”

I can hear the nervousness in her voice. “I know.”

“Good. Here we go. Ready … set … go!”

She pulls me tightly across the chest but both of my arms are free at the elbow. I easily reach up with my right hand, grab her right hand and bend it back at the wrist, breaking her hold on me.

“OW OW OW OWWW Okay OKAY OKAYYY. I’d say the access is still there. I’ll re-set to Blue Fifty and we’ll try again.”

Same results, though this time I use my left hand. She’s rubbing her left wrist, grimacing. “This is good. This is good. All right, this time, cross your arms in front of your chest and I’ll grab you like this.” She again wraps her arms around me but with my arms up and crossed, my hands aren’t free. “Ready … set … go!”

I twist and turn but she hangs on. I remember how I broke Tinker’s hold but she’s not wearing a padded helmet, I’d break at least her nose with that move. I’ve got nothing new to try so I just struggle for a few seconds, then she lets me go and steps back. I turn to face her. She’s rubbing her left wrist again but smiling.

“Very good! Very, very good! Thank you, Patricia!”

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt …”

“I’m fine dear! It’s already feeling better. We’ve learned so much today!”

“What did we learn?”

“Well, this is subject to further testing you understand, but it appears that once you establish a connection to new knowledge, that connection remains in place, except at the extreme settings on the Balancer, which practically isolates the two personalities. You also retain previously accessed information at the extreme settings but can’t acquire new information.”

“And that’s good news?”

“Very good news! I can work with this. Just give me a few weeks and we’ll have you ready for Mr. Hobbes in plenty of time to start the school year.”

“Speaking of further testing, there’s something I want to try.”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Let me try it first.”

“Certainly. What do I need to do?”

“Get a dollar bill from your purse.”

“Does it matter what the Balancer is set on?”

“Probably not. Leave it at Fifty for now.”

She goes over to her purse, takes out her wallet and removes a twenty, fresh from the cash machine. “Now what?”

“Hold it on the short side hanging straight down.” I put my right hand out with my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, then slide them to the bottom of the dangling twenty, the bill suspended between my separated digits. “Whenever you’re ready, let go of the bill.”

“Should I count down?”

“No, don’t let me know when you’re going to do it, surprise me.”

“All right.”

She waits a couple of seconds, then drops the bill. I pinch it before it drops two inches.

I’m stunned. “Try it again.”

“What does this prove?”

“I’ll explain, try it again.”

The second time it drops only about an inch and a half.

Fucking amazing!

“Okay, this time, I’m gonna close my eyes and you tell me when you drop it.”

“I really don’t see what this is supposed to prove. It seems to be some kind of magic trick or something.”

“It’s a trick alright, but humor me, one last time.”

“If you say so.”

I position my fingers on either side of the bill, close my eyes and hold my breath. All I hear is the hum of the air conditioner.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Yes.”

She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Go!”

I pinch and open my eyes. I caught it in the middle. I have to sit down.

“Patricia, what is all this about?”

“You remember when you said that I hit that cop really fast. It wasn’t fast, it was quick.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Quick is who moves first, the fastest reflexes. Over a short distance, it’s hard to tell them apart. In a race, the quick guy starts first but a fast guy can run him down before the finish line. The longer the race, the less advantage to the quick guy. But in a fight, the quick guy always has the advantage.”

“So what does this have to do with catching a falling twenty dollar bill?”

“It’s an old bar bet, a sucker bet actually. You play it for money or drinks. If you catch it before it passes your fingers, you win. You can’t chase it; you have to leave your hand just where it is.”

“And you apparently won three times.”

“But you can’t win, it’s a sucker bet. The human nervous system is too slow. There is no way for a person to see the bill drop and then pinch his fingers together before it’s too late.”

“But you did it three times.”

“I know. I thought that maybe I was picking up subconscious clues of some kind, tendon’s flexing, fingers twitching, something that was tipping me off and giving me a head start. That’s why I did it verbally the last time. I still won.”

“This all proves what exactly?”

“That I’m quicker than any human ever born … by far.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It was such a relief when she didn’t seriously hurt me. Having my hand bent back to my arm was bad enough, but after seeing her deal with that police officer, it’s clear that it could have been so much worse.

I can’t imagine what Thomas was thinking of when he added all of that information to the data list! Concert pianist! Gourmet chef! Was he insane? None of this helps the situation at all. And the martial arts! I wanted Patricia to come to terms with her physical vulnerabilities like most young women do. There is nothing wrong with a little self-confidence when faced with a threatening situation but she is way beyond that point.

I need to speak with Daniel about this as soon as possible. All of this additional knowledge that is free for the asking could complicate matters. Severely.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Lipscomb frowns at me. “The problem, Thomas, is that you have added a number of variables to the equation, variables that were not part of our plan.”

Lipscomb, the patronizing poofta! I wouldn’t even be here if he didn’t have me over a barrel, trapped by my thirst for knowledge to benefit mankind!

The girl was practically dead when I got her! She was of no use to anyone! One foot in an unmarked paupers’ grave before I pulled her out. Did anyone thank me for that? No! Instead, I am threatened with prison! Simply because I failed to follow some technicalities concerning paperwork and consents. The opportunity presented itself and I merely took advantage. Any logical scientist would have done the same. The potential benefit clearly outweighed any theoretical harm.

And look how she turned out! If they had left her with me, I’d be halfway to my Nobel Prize by now. Admittedly, I was making very little progress until the consciousness transfer … but that was also my idea!

Lipscomb’s money has been valuable too, but I would have obtained what I needed eventually. A brief demonstration in front of the right people and I’d have had all the funding I needed.

Soon, this inconsequential diversion will be finished and I can get back to my research. Until then, I must dance to Lipscomb’s tune and answer their impertinent questions.

“You forget Daniel; that data was added while attempting to awaken Patricia’s independent consciousness.”

“Not all of it Thomas, the martial arts were added after I had been restored to my body.”

“You said that you had felt intimidated by your reduction in size and strength, it was an easy solution to the problem.”

The Warren woman speaks up. “But it is too much information. How is Patricia expected to act like a teenage girl when she has the knowledge of … the Encyclopedia Britannica in her head? Can’t you remove the unnecessary knowledge?”

It is annoying enough to have to deal with Lipscomb, but the last few weeks of having this … woman tell ME what to do have been intolerable. I created Patricia to be a superior being, free of all the petty constraints imposed by society. Yet she has been ordering me to add all the personality defects I was attempting to eliminate, jealousy, selfishness, vanity … sexuality.

“As I have explained before Jessica, the addition of data is relatively simple. Patricia was designed to acquire knowledge. The removal of data is much more difficult. Even after Daniel was restored to his body, bits and pieces of copies of his information remained behind.”

“But you will be able to put Peter back into his body, won’t you?”

“I foresee no difficulty in doing so. His was not a very complex personality, though a very large experience data base. I’d like to keep as much as I could for future use.”
She grimaced when I said that. What was wrong with wanting to broaden Patricia’s knowledge base?

“I’m sure that Peter is going to insist he be fully restored … minus those disgusting sexual behaviors he discovered. I never authorized those subroutines!”

This is too much! “I will have you know that I never …”

Lipscomb interrupted me, as usual. “What Thomas is saying is that he was simply trying to give Patricia a … well rounded knowledge of sexual behavior, something most teenage girls have … though it is certainly a shame that society doesn’t do a better job of protecting our young people from that sort of thing. However, we must deal with the world as it is, not as we wish it were. Isn’t that right Thomas? I didn’t mean to put words in your mouth.”

Like hell he didn’t. “No Daniel, you are correct. That was my intention.”

“Well I don’t like that she simply followed orders, right here in front of us all!” she further complained.

“I’m sure that was simply because she lacked the overriding consciousness that either I or Peter provide. Everything should be fine now. Right Thomas?”

“Most certainly … Daniel.”

“Where is Patricia now?” he asked.

“She wanted to go to a gym and exercise. She said that she needed to get in better shape. Hopefully, that means she’s becoming more aware of her body image and wants to improve it. Young girls always obsess about how other people view them. I dropped her off at the YWCA, we bought a day pass. If there is one good thing that has come from this, Patricia no longer complains about the Cerebral Balancer being on any setting other than Blue Fifty. In fact, she insisted on Blue Ten today.”

“That is a good sign” I said. “Each data set that is accessed makes it easier to access the next one. In theory, she should reach a tipping point where the two minds become a seamless whole, except for the influence exerted by the Balancer. Daniel decided to return to his body before I could test that theory.”

“Thomas, I had a job to return to, I could hardly make the necessary preparations for this assignment without being Daniel Lipscomb. You can test all the theories you want once we are finished.”

A day I look happily forward to.

Warren checks her watch. “I need to leave and pick her up, I’m already behind schedule.”

“She’s not frightened about being left alone?” Lipscomb asks.

“Hardly,” Warren replies. “I think she’s not afraid of anything now, since she’s become a Kung Fu master.” She gathers her things and gives me a parting angry look.

After she leaves my office, Daniel also prepares to leave.

“I want to thank you Thomas, for not telling Jessica who requested those subroutines.”

“You mean ordered, didn’t you?”

“Come now Thomas, I may have been a bit insistent.”

“Insistent and quite explicit. I expect that Mr. Harris will be … extraordinarily angry should he every experience a single one of those … behaviors.”

“That could be a bad thing, given Patricia’s recently acquired fighting skills. I really wish you had consulted with me first before adding those to the inventory, Thomas.”

“I had the best of intentions.”

“As they say, ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’. What’s done is done, I’ll deal with it.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The YWCA is enormous, several connected buildings. A bit of a rat’s warren of rooms. I asked at the front desk for the aerobics area but couldn’t find Patricia there. There were some Slendercise classes scheduled but she wasn’t there either. I checked out the pool even though we haven’t bought her a bathing suit yet. I even tried the weight rooms, no luck. I was headed back to the main desk to have her paged when I heard her laugh. I think it came from the room to my right. I carefully peer in.

It’s a boxing ring. There are at least ten boys of varies ages and sizes gathered round, partially blocking my view. I enter and slowly move closer, sliding to my left until I can get a clear view of the two people in the ring.

It’s Patricia! She’s crouched down, hands in some kind of padded gloves, a helmet on her head, barely above her eyes, wearing a mouth piece, a crooked smile on her face. She’s circling the middle of the ring with a large Latino boy opposite her, also wearing the same equipment. He must weigh two hundred and fifty pounds and is in good shape.

He is not smiling. In fact, he looks quite worried.

Patricia steps towards him, throwing a punch, but then quickly pulls back. It was a feint. The boy stumbles, almost falling down, trying to dodge the non-existent punch. All the other boys laugh, bumping their fists together. The two of them resume circling each other.

It suddenly strikes me. Patricia is stalking the boy! He is afraid of her! She works him into a corner of the ring and feints again. He ducks and covers, waiting for a blow that doesn’t come. When nothing happens, he looks up, then starts dancing around again, pounding his gloves in a show of bravado. It doesn’t fool anyone in the room. They are all hooting and laughing. Patricia straightens up out of her crouch and turns around to acknowledge their cheers.

The boy charges her; hands poised to throw a devastating barrage of punches. He rises up to punch down at her but she pivots to her right, rapidly throwing a left, then right, then another left, all striking the boy’s kidney. His eyes go wide and he loudly grunts in pain. She then launches herself at his legs, bringing him crashing to the ground, while she dances away to the further cheers of the crowd, her small arms raised above her head. Just than, she sees me.

She spits her mouth piece into her left hand, vigorously waving to me with her right “Hey Mom! I’ll be with you in a minute!” It was a surprisingly feminine wave, just the right amount of looseness in the wrist, elbow and shoulder. She reached down to help the boy off the floor of the ring. He took her right hand and she pulled mightily, not helping much. Once upright, he also removed his mouth piece.

“Good fight Javier! You had me worried for awhile.” She said.

“Yeah … yeah … thanks. You were pretty good too Pee.” he replied. She slaps him on the arm and he rubs his aching kidney.

I walk up to the ring, she reaches through the ropes, hugging me around the neck for a few seconds then releases me, stepping back. She is smiling ear to ear, eyes bright, hopping lightly from foot to foot. Her breasts are bouncing quite a bit due to her wearing a normal bra instead of a sport bra … and her nipples are as hard and prominent as bullets! Could she be aroused by this? The fighting, the physically fit boys, the contact? I’ll have to speak with her later, now we need to get home.

“Get your things Patricia, we need to get home.”

“Okay. I’ll shower and be right with you.”

“Just get your things, you can shower at home.”

“AWWW Mom, I‘m a mess! Sweaty and my clothes stink! You don’t want me messing up the seats of the car, do you?”

“Fine, but be quick.”

She laughs. “I’m always quick!” Climbing back through the ropes, she jumps to the ground. Several of the other boys gather round. She slaps some hands and bumps some fists, plus there are a couple of rather elaborate handshakes, then she trots off to the locker room. The boys move off to work out on various pieces of exercise equipment scattered around the room while an older, slightly paunchy man dressed in classic gray sweats approaches me.

“Excuse me, are you Mrs. Conner?”

“Ms. Conner.”

“Sorry.” He offers me his hand. “I’m Jerry Tobias but everyone calls me Coach Tobey.”

I shake his hand. “What can I do for you Mr. Tobias?”

“Where did Da’Pee learn to fight like that?”

“Da’Pee?”

“Sorry, Patricia. They guys just couldn’t call her Patricia, or even Patty, particularly when she kicked their asses, so they gave her the nickname of ‘The Pee’ or ‘Da’Pee’. So, where’d she learn all that stuff?”

“What did she tell you?”

“Picked it up, here and there, but that’s crazy. I’ve never seen anything like her. I mean, what she did to Joey, that back flip, and Cruz … he didn’t have a chance. Nobody could catch her, let alone hit her. Crunk is as fast as a cobra, fastest son of a bitch … ‘scuse my French … I’ve ever been around and it looked like he was wearing cement shoes against her.”

“Well, far be it from me to call my daughter a liar but she’s never had any formal training as far as I know. It’s all natural talent.”

“Damn! She don’t hit that hard, hard enough, but it’s so fast!”

“I believe you mean quick.”

“Yeah! Yeah! Quick! Boom, boom, boom, before the other guy can even get out of the way! It adds up fast! Look, we don’t have a program here at the Y for girls in mixed martial arts, but I’d be happy if she wants to join our group. Once the girls get a load of her, they may want to join up. Either way, she’d be a great addition.”

“We’re new to town and Patricia is going to attend St. Ann’s so she should have a rather intense scholastic curriculum.”

“Yeah, but all work and no play.”

“That is the axiom. We’ll just have to wait and see what kind of free time she has.”

“We’d be happy to have her.”

Just then Patricia comes jogging out the locker room door, drying her hair with a towel. Several of the boys call out to her, Da’Pee, and she responds, waiving to them with that same girlish, feminine wave. Maybe it’s just my imagination but a couple of the boys appear to have more than friendship in mind.

“Did you see me, Mom?”

“Just the very end.”

“I was pretty good, wasn’t I Coach?”

“GOOD?! You were God Damn … ‘scuse my French, ladies … terrific! I was just seeing if your mother would let you join our team.”

“Is that something you want to do, Patricia?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “It sounds like fun, but I’m gonna have lots of school work, it may not be possible.”

I gently grab her shoulder and begin to walk towards the door. “Great minds think alike. We’ll see how everything works out, Mr. Tobias. Thank you for watching over my daughter today.”

“Oh it was my pleasure Ms. Conner. You come back soon Da’Pee, give my boys a chance to get even.”

“Sure thing Coach. BYE GUYS!” There’s that wave again, completely natural. I hurry her from the room and we head back to the lobby. I want to wait until we get to the car before the questions start. Once we reach the car, she opens the back door, throws her bag in, closes it, then opens the passenger door and jumps in. I start the car and pull into the traffic, headed for home.

“What was that all about … Da’Pee”

She actually giggles, I’ve never heard her giggle. “I know. It’s silly. I tried the weights but I’ve always hated weights, even back in high school when I played football and wrestled. A change in bodies didn’t change that. Aerobics seemed kinda pointless, just jumping around, lift this, twist that, on and on … though a couple of the women were definitely hot …. ‘scuse my French.” She giggled again. “Wasn’t Coach Tobey something? All polite and considerate. My football coach used to come up and kick me in the ass. I’d be in my three point stance, he’d be behind me, screaming about something, and then it’d get all quiet. I knew that he was walking up behind me to give me a swift kick. I would even count it down. Three, two, one, boot. God, I hated that bastard. Where was I? Oh yeah, Coach Tobey. When I walked in the door, he thought I was either somebody’s girlfriend or wanting to become somebody’s girlfriend. I did about five minutes on the speed bag and he changed his mind. I started at the lowest weight class, which was Spikeman, and worked my way up to Javier, the heavyweight. I took it easy on them. No one even came close to laying a glove or foot on me.” She settled back in the seat. She talked like she was on speed or something, one, long, nonstop sentence.

“I wonder if that’s what it’s like being a hummingbird.”

Now I’m getting worried. “What are you talking about?”

“You know … hummingbirds.”

“I know what a hummingbird is, what does that have to do with our situation?”

“When I was young, my mother fed hummingbirds. Well, actually, she fed a lot of birds but the hummingbirds were amazing! They’d zip this way and that way, then stop on a dime, hover a moment, then zip off again. You talk about quick! Any way, when the feeders were empty, I’d go out to fill them. All the other birds would scatter but the hummingbirds would just park themselves a couple of feet away, sitting on these unbelievably tiny branches and wait for me to finish. Sometimes, they’d actually zoom in and start drinking before I ever got the feeder back on the hook! I always wondered how they viewed people, or even other birds. They were so much quicker than everything else. Did they just think of us as slow moving landscape? They knew we weren’t a threat. It was like we were on two different planes of existence.”

“Very deep. How does it apply to us?”

“Not to us, to me. I felt like a hummingbird against those guys, small and ungodly quick. I could do whatever I wanted, go where I wanted, hit them where and when I wanted, there was no challenge whatsoever.”

“So, you’re not interested in going back?”

“It was fun and everyone was nice, particularly considering how badly I beat them. They might have been mad if it had been close, but I beat them all so easily, no one could pick on the other, the all got faced and bad. I actually felt a little sorry for Javier. He got to watch everyone else before him and my strength was his weakness, quickness. I think I had him beat before we even started.”

“So, no interest in going back at all?’

“There may be some other sport. I haven’t played basketball in some time. I used to be pretty decent as a defender and rebounder, which says I had no skills and got by on hustle and meanness. I had an endless supply of meanness on the court.”

“I just thought that you might have found some of the people there attractive.”

She chuckles. “You got that right. I didn’t say anything because I thought that it might upset you.”

“Why would I be upset, it’s only natural.”

“Sure, it’s natural but who’d believe it? I didn’t think about it myself until I was starring at the door. I get to walk into the women’s locker room and see all the naked females.”

“That’s not what I was …”

“Of course, not all of them were lookers, particularly the senior citizen swimmers, especially AFTER getting out of the pool, talk about wrinkles. But there was this group of advanced aerobic students, I mean DAMN! … ‘scuse my French.” More giggling.

“I wasn’t referring to that! I just noticed that you appeared … uhh … to be … somewhat … excited … in the ring.”

“Hey, if I wasn’t I could have got my head handed to me. Just because it was easy didn’t mean I was lazy. Taking it easy on someone can require just as much discipline and hard work as crushing them.”

“I’m sure that’s true. I’m referring to some rather obvious signs of … ahh … sexual arousal.”

“What?! No! … what? Uhhhh … what are you referring to?”

“You’re nipples were quite engorged and extended.”

“They were?! What were you doing checking out my nipples?”

“They were hard to miss. If you had hugged me a little harder, one of them could have put my eye out.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I can’t think of any reason other than the girls’ locker room. Remember, I said that I’m a virgin and plan to stay that way.”

She did say that, now that I recall, and it may be a problem.

CHAPTER TEN

Dear Diary.

I know, I know, it’s ridiculous. Mom suggested that I use a diary to keep track of and organize my thoughts as we get closer to starting the job. She says she’s done it for years and that it has helped her. Lots of girls keep diaries. I agreed, so long as it gets burned before the job starts. Having something like this where the wrong person might find it could be disastrous. She wasn’t willing to burn hers but will send it away to a distant relative for safe keeping. That’s probably good enough for now. Here goes.

Another night, another nightmare.

It’s been almost five weeks since the transfer and things are shaping up. We’ve moved into our new place, a little house in West Miami, 2110 South West 60th Court, just off Coral Way, two stories, Mom’s bedroom is on the first floor and mine’s on the second, giving both of us some privacy. Most of the furniture was bought at Goodwill and other thrift stores, as was the balance of my wardrobe. We did get a couple of pieces of furniture off Craig’s List. Most of this stuff isn’t half bad. I’m thinking of taking some of it with me when we’re done.

We’ve spent a lot of time shopping together. When you buy at thrift stores, they’ve usually only got one of whatever it is. It might be the right color and style but the wrong size, or have a tear in it. That’s where my sewing machine comes in handy.

Turns out that one of my new skills is seamstress. It’s another one that Matthews just threw in because he thought every girl should know how to sew. I was a handyman type growing up, fixing things around the house, making things like shelves or a workbench, rough stuff, not fine furniture or anything. Mom suspects that my interest in that made accessing the sewing skills easier. Whatever the reason, I’ve been sewing up a storm. I made curtains for a couple of the windows, a bed spread, and a table cloth. There’s a smaller bedroom on the second floor where I’ve set up shop. I think Mom actually enjoys seeing the results of my work because she’s always complimentary, though she could just be saying that since I’m her daughter and all.

The whole thing is feeling more normal all the time. Once I stopped worrying about being so short and weak, it was easier to relax and experiment with the situation. I’ve actually spent time by myself, watching other girls out in public, seeing how they act together, how they walk, talk and what they wear.

Mom insists that I wear dresses most of the time, to get used to them. I’d still rather wear shorts and tops, it’s more comfortable but she does let me pick out the dresses. I’ve also spent a lot of time altering the clothes we bought. It’s tough to find anything remotely stylish for someone my size. If it fits my chest, it’s too long. If it’s the right length, too tight in the chest … naturally. It’s a minor miracle that I find something that fits off the rack that isn’t for younger girls. Altering the clothes has kept me busy. My little hands are an advantage, as are my young eyes. I’d never been able to see well enough to do most of this stuff before the transfer.

I’ve been seeing Matthews once a week for check ups, which have gone well, everything as he expected. I always stop and check in on my old body. And it’s an old body. I know it looks the same every week but I just see an aging, decrepit man when I see it.

I’m not vain or anything! I’ve only gotten my hair permed and tinted once and wear hardly any makeup, though I could because that’s a skill Mom ordered. Last Thursday, we had a kinda Girls Night. She fixed lasagna, which is a favorite of mine, and she had me practice my makeup, first on her and then on me. When I finished with her, she was a streetwalker’s streetwalker, whore 2.0! Funny as heck! I did a much more reasonable job on myself but I was ready for the prom before it was over, though, good as I look, it’s always more “cute” than “beautiful”, I’ve just got a baby face.

Mom doesn’t know that I know what she’s doing. I don’t object, it’s a smart play on her part. Makes my life easier and we’ve all got the same goal so I’m gonna have to get there eventually if this is to work.

I figured it out while sparing in the gym with the mixed martial arts team. If I concentrate on the moment, on what I’m doing right then, and what I need at that moment, it comes to me, like I suddenly remember it. I call it an “Oh Yeah!” moment. It’s like the information has always been there, I knew it was there but just forgot about it, but now, it’s oh yeah, that’s exactly what I was looking for! And once I get it, it doesn’t go away, it stays there. I don’t know if that means the piece of information got transferred to my part of the brain and it’ll go with me when I return to being Peter Harris, or there’s just some kind of connection to the other brain that remains on all the time. I don’t ask Matthews because it doesn’t really matter, it is what it is, but I hope it goes with me.

I’m pretty sure Mom’s figured it out too, that for me to get access, I have to want it, like the time I first bought high heels. She’s gone out of her way to make it enjoyable in some way anytime she wants me to be more girly. Every shopping trip ends with a food reward; ice cream, pie, or this chocolate fudge cake syrup thing that’s as close as I’ve every come to an orgasm since the transfer! The Girls Night had lasagna. The spa day was its own reward. The whole point is to make the process more a positive experience than a negative one, which is good for me, it’s a lot better than being bitched at … I shouldn’t say that.

I know this is changing me. I didn’t recognize it at first because I insisted on spending as much time at Fifty Blue as possible. Even now, I only, truly feel like Peter Harris every night when I get that one hour before I go to bed. The rest of the time, it’s usually in the low teens or high single digit Blue numbers. Last Saturday, I spent the whole day at a Mall set on Pink 20 … that was a trip! Everything was beautiful or darling or gross or stupid or I had to have it right then.

It was also the last day of my period. Don’t get me started on periods! That’s one thing I won’t miss when this is over. I don’t know how women put up with that for, like forty years. I say bring on menopause ASAP. It makes me a whole lot more sympathetic toward my three ex wives.

The most disturbing thing was all the boys at that Mall. Every where you looked, there was a guy, tall, short, fat, thin, ugly … handsome. Every where. I thought girls hung out at those places but I only saw guys. And they saw me. Oh yes, they saw me in my heather gray V neck sweater mini dress with a flounce skirt that I added and black leather knee high boots with 4” heels. $5.00 at the Salvation Army store and they fit puuurrrfectly. We had dinner at Red Lobster that night, so Mom must have been pleased.

Even at Pink 20, I’m still there; it’s just harder to assert myself. It’s easier to just sit back and go with the flow. Pink 50 still haunts me. It was like being trapped in some kind of movie with Sensesurround. I heard and felt everything but had absolutely no control at all. I’m sure Mom did it just to scare me, which it certainly did. That’s when she was being all Bad Cop.

Now it’s mostly Good Cop, except when I leave a mess somewhere in the house. Who knew she was such a neat freak! She actually punished me for leaving my clothes out on my bed instead of putting them away. It’s my room, for heaven’s sake! We had this big argument and I said some things I probably shouldn’t have said and then she told me to go to my room and stay there until I was ready to apologize. APOLOGIZE! Who did she think she was! There was no way I was going to do that! It was late anyway so I just went to bed.

Of course, I had another nightmare and woke up screaming. Mom was there like a shot and after I calmed down, we both said we were sorry, so I got away with one that time.

Any way, I’d say we’re making good progress.

I just wish the God damn nightmares would stop!

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Dear Diary,

I don’t know how that poor girl gets any sleep at night. In the past five weeks, there has not been a single night where she hasn’t been awakened by some kind of bad dream at least once, sometimes she actual cries out loud enough for me to hear her downstairs.

She seems to be reliving her entire undercover career, though not exactly as it occurred. At first, the dreams seemed to be actual reenactments, word for word, moment by moment, starting with that terrible gun running incident. Lately, the dreams seem to be more allegorical, focusing on betrayal, either actual or emotional. The beginning situation of a given dream seems to be related to one of Peters’ assignments but then the dream veers into the fantastic, as dreams are wont to do. Regardless, they’re disturbing to Patricia, as they would be to anyone. Why these dreams are persisting is unclear. Daniel insists that his vivid dreams ceased weeks ago and he was sorry to see them go. Patricia was less than sympathetic towards him.

In fact, she seems more and more uncomfortable in his presence. Most of our contact with the rest of our group is limited to the weekly examinations by Thomas. Thankfully, Patricia is doing quite well physically and mentally, with the exception of the dreams, of course. Daniel has been present only twice at those examinations and both times, Patricia was some what withdrawn and curt. I asked her afterwards what the problem was and she was surprised both times that I asked, claiming that there was nothing wrong and that everything was normal. I’m sure that it is not my imagination but there is no explanation for now.

My revised techniques seem to be bearing fruit. Patricia is making excellent progress, I could not be happier. She has shown an active interest in observing other girls in an attempt to learn how they behave in various situations. I have offered to guide her in this but she insists on doing it her way. Since she’s the expert in undercover techniques, I plan to defer to her, at least for the present.

None the less, she seems to be unaware of my new encouragement and reward system. We are not where she needs to be by August, but there is a very good chance we will get there in time. Her mannerisms become more feminine by the week and naturally, subtly, feminine, not some kind of affected behavior. I’m not sure of the exact source of this, whether it is her observational skills, the programs I created or a combination of both, but it is working.

Most recently, we were at the Pinedale Mall and Patricia had agreed to a setting of Pink Twenty, which surprised me, it was my original suggestion and expected to have to negotiate down to a low Pink or even a Blue number but she thought about it for a moment and agreed. She may want to push her comfort zone, which I can only applaud. The stores were quite busy, being a Saturday, and it was the usual mix of boys and girls, moving in packs, along with all the older customers who were actually spending money instead of time as the teenagers were doing. I caught Patricia eyeing a number of reasonably attractive boys, who, not surprisingly, responded. She went on to display some of the classic flirting behaviors, the hair toss, the over the shoulder glance and others. I actually saw her lightly suck on her finger when a particularly good looking boy was watching her and she was aware of his interest. I am sure that a number of them would have approached her if I had not been there. While that may have been interesting, she’s not nearly ready to deal with that aspect of her new life yet. That will be one of our final hurdles.

She has proven to be quite adept at altering clothes to fit her small frame … well mostly small frame. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I envy her well endowed figure. In that respect, we do not appear to be mother and daughter. Those skills are another one of Thomas’ unauthorized additions, but it seems to be paying off. We have been able to buy a number of very nice skirts, dresses and tops that she has been able to adjust so that they are quite attractive on her, things that I thought were hopelessly too large or out of style. She’s even done a number of things for me, all well finished. On her own initiative, Patricia has created window curtains and other items for our home, which are very attractive and makes our cover better, at least that’s why she said she did it.

Last evening, I instigated a fight over how she was keeping her room after dropping the setting to Pink Ten without informing her. My plan was to see how she dealt with that kind of argument when there was a Pink bias. Patricia’s not the best housekeeper, but she’s within reason. I’d have her be a little neater if it was my choice. The subject had come up before so I thought that it would make a believable subject for a fight.

She was quite angry with me, accusing me of being unreasonable … which I was. She resisted resorting to using profanities, visibly struggling to do so at times. The strongest word she used was “frigging” but it was mostly “darn” or “heck”. When I ordered her to go to her room, I was extremely surprised that she did … but if looks could kill, I’d have been in serious trouble. I was afraid that I may have pushed her too far but she had another of her nightmares and I was able to use the opportunity to comfort her and soothe over any hurt feelings from earlier in the day. All in all, the dispute went almost exactly like those I had with my mother when I was Patricia’s age … or like those I had with Alisha, normal mother-daughter fights. It was very promising.

I have found, as I suspected, that when we make a breakthrough at any Balancer setting, most of the change remains, regardless of the future setting, except for Blue Fifty, of course. It might be easier if I kept the Balancer at high Pink settings most of the time. But Patricia won’t agree to that and it might overwhelm her if I did it on my own. Adequate progress is being made and I won’t change the process unless compelled to do so by circumstances yet to occur.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I was eating breakfast, having gotten up early after the most recent disturbing dream, when mother came into the kitchen, wearing a blouse that I had made for her. It was a simple pattern that I had found in a magazine on the Free Cart at the local library branch.

I’d been spending more time there in the past couple of weeks. It turns out that I’m not limited to whatever subjects they decided to put in my head. I can add my own information by simply reading it. And I’m a darn fast reader, practically a computer scanner, zipping down each page, page after page, and have perfect recall. If I see it, I remember it. I prefer to read slower than that but my slow is still extremely fast compared to everyone else. It’s easier to establish context and make connections at the slower speed. I can do the same with the faster reading but I have to review it in my mind after I read it, so why do it twice?

“Patricia, we need to start working on getting you ready for entrance exams at St. Ann’s.”

“I thought Daniel had already taken care of that.”

“Daniel used a contact of some kind to move you up the admission line. There will still be exams to make sure you are qualified and a personal interview with the Mother Superior, Sister Carmela.”

“Well, if he hasn’t gotten me in school, what good is it?”

“The waiting list is quite long. Jumping to the front is no small thing. Daniel has acquaintances in high places that owe him a favor or two, who can get you this far but apparently has no influence on the school directly, nor Sister Carmela.”

“I think I like her already.”

“There’s little we can do to prepare for the interview but we can make sure that you do well in your exams. The knowledge is already in your mind, we just need to start having you get some practice in accessing it.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“I thought that we could run you through some SAT preparation workbooks. It’s unlikely the entrance exam for St. Ann’s could be more difficult than the SATs or ACTs. Remember, we just need you to pass and get in, no need to show off. The objective is to blend in, go unnoticed, just be one of the girls.”

“The practice tests sound okay to me, but we need to talk about this blending in thing. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think it’s the wrong approach.”

“Patricia, I know what I’m talking about. The only way to get by in this kind of school is to not be outstanding. The existing social groups will be well entrenched and you are an outsider. Trust me; this will be difficult enough without the additional problems of confronting the existing social structure.”

“I understand about being the new kid in town, but in order for me to make this work, the Hobbes girl has to come to me. How is she going to do that if I’m trying to be inconspicuous?”

“Why does she need to come to you?”

“It’s one of the basics of undercover work. The best way to get inside an organization is for them to bring you in. Anybody who tries to force their way in is automatically suspect. If they seek you out and ask you to join, they have no reason to question your loyalty, at least at first.”

“This isn’t some criminal organization, it’s just a teenage girl.”

“The rule still applies. If someone from the Hobbes gang checks into how she and I became friends, it’s best that she says she approached me. I’ll need to figure out some way to catch her eye, and maybe not just her eye. We’ve got very little information about any of the students and I’ll be flying by the seat of my pants at first. I’m going to have to do something that attracts the right kind of attention from the right people. The initial stages are always dicey.”

“Social relationships between young girls are quite complex. The most important thing to a sixteen year old girl is her friends, much more important than her parents or her boyfriend.”

“Well, I won’t have to worry about the boyfriend part.”

“Probably not at first but you never know what kind of social situation may develop.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“There could be dances, group dates, we don’t know anything for certain.”

“But it’s a GIRLS school!”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t have boyfriends, they just come from some other social circle other than school. St. Ann’s isn’t affiliated with an all boys school so boyfriends could be from anywhere.”

“Well, I draw the line at dating some grabby, hormone challenged, zit faced boy.”

“Hopefully it won’t be necessary, but you’ll need to keep an open mind.”

“Fine! But that’s the only part of me that’ll be open!”

“Patricia!”

“I’m just saying. Are we done here?”

“Ahhh … yes. I’ll get some sample tests and we can tomorrow.”

I don’t say anything, just start reading the newspaper. Mom begins making her breakfast.

I don’t know why I was so snappy about the possibility of fake dating a boy. It’s completely logical to consider the possibility. God knows I’ve had fake relationships in the past while on the job; it’s one of the better ways to get information out. Wife number two started as a fake relationship. For some reason, the thought … unsettles me.

I remember what I was like as a teenager, sex obsessed and stupid. I had hoped that I was done with all that once I’d gotten older. Nobody had asked, apparently it didn’t matter, but I haven’t been able to get a reliable erection for a couple of years. Don’t know if it was medical related or what, but I didn’t care enough to find out. After wife number three divorced me, there weren’t a whole lot of opportunities and that suited me just fine. I hated even dealing with other people, let alone a relationship.

But now, the damn hormones are back. I try to ignore them as much as possible but … sometimes … I just burn. Not like the old days either. I get antsy all over. As a boy, everything was … concentrated … to my crotch and my head, what I thought about and how my dick reacted to those thoughts. Now, sometimes, I can barely concentrate at all, and the physical feelings are all over my body. Even at Fifty Blue. I’ve not done anything about them, besides checking out the plumbing now and then, but it’s getting harder to ignore. Maybe focusing on these tests will help.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Patricia really has taken to the test preparation, much more enthusiastically than I expected. Peter Harris never struck me as an intellectually curious person so I thought that the school work portion of this job might be a problem but it appears that I was wrong.

She started out having some trouble with the tests but has made very rapid progress. She has had a number of perfect scores and has moved on to the LSAT and GMAT prep tests. Obviously, this will all need to be minimized when she gets into St. Ann’s. Nothing will alienate her from the other students like perfect grades. It certainly caused me no end of trouble when I was in high school.

Patricia has also spent a lot of time on her sewing projects. We found a lot of discount fabrics at the local Walmart, they were closing the fabric section so it was all on clearance. Patricia has made more curtains for all the windows, placemats, and some more clothes for me.

In addition, she made some practice equipment for herself, something she called a “heavy bag” and a stuffed, full sized dummy. She hung them in the basement and works out down there. I offered to get a YWCA membership but she wasn’t interested, at least for now. She seems intent on burning up energy and staying busy. I told her that she should relax a little but she said “Idle hands are the Devil’s tools” … or something like that.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I’m dancing around the dummy, throwing combinations of punches as quickly as I can, working from head to torso and back. I try to put as much into each punch as possible but it’s not a lot of impact. It’s better than it was last week but a ninety pound girl can only hit so hard. I make up for it by knowing where to hit for maximum effect and hitting those spots a lot.

After twenty minutes on the dummy, I switch to the heavy bag and work on my strength. This would be a lot easier at the Y, particularly working with the Mixed Martial Arts Team, but I’m not sure I can trust myself in mixed company right now. I was watching a baseball game last night on TV and found myself paying more attention to the player’s bodies than the damn game. Mom had me set on Pink Five, but I should have been able to keep my eyes off their asses. If I go to the Y, the setting will be no better than the low Blue numbers and some of those guys weren’t bad looking … particularly Spikeman, the lightweight. He’s closer to my size, taller and heavier naturally, but reeaallly fit, probably less than five percent body fat.

It’s the same as wrestling, all the lighter weight classes are full of guys who’d naturally weigh more but fight to keep the weight off so they can work at the lower class and improve their chance of winning. When I was wrestling, I moved up a class because our man at 190 pounds was sick. The guy I fought had to be six inches taller and arms like an ape. He must have been hollow to weigh 190. Son of a bitch kicked my ass but good.

Spikeman was like 5’6”, pretty quick on his feet, blonde hair, blue eyes, veerry taught ass. I actually let him grab me once just so I could get a good squeeze of that ass. Then I tossed him across the ring, just so he knew who was in charge, but still … .

DARN! I’m just standing here, staring out into space! Get with it Girl!

I go back to working the heavy bag, grunting in this tiny, ridiculous, high pitched way with each punch. Yeah, that’ll put the fear of God in ‘em.

“Patricia, are you down here?”

It’s Mom, calling me from the top of the stairs to the basement. “Yes. Do you need something?” I keep hitting the bag.

She comes down the steps. “No, I was just looking for you.” She stops when she reaches the floor and watches me for a couple of minutes until I stop and step back, breathing hard.

“You … want … to take … a couple of whacks … yourself?”

“No thanks, not right now.”

“You probably should … get some practice … in. Never know … what might … happen.”

“You’re likely right. Maybe later.” She walks around the basement, giving the dummy a gentle shove, causing it to swing in a small circle. “You seem to be keeping very busy lately. Perhaps you should take a break.”

I strip off my gloves. “I’m fine, just working off some energy. I’m not used to being this … physical. My old body was tired most of the time.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Sure” I lie. “What other reason could there be?”

“Oh, like maybe working off some frustrations.”

What’s she up to? “What kind of frustrations? Everything’s going okay for now. I’ve got the entrance exam down cold. I’ll miss enough answers to make the score very good but believable. We’ve made a lot of progress on my social skills. You said it yourself when we were at the store two days ago and I helped those girls with their makeup selections. You said I could have been a salesgirl.”

She pushed the dummy again, sending it spinning the other way. “But we’re not completely ready yet.”

“No, we’re not. I still haven’t figured out how to attract Gretchen’s attention.”

“Gretchen?”

“Hobbes’ daughter. Her name is Gretchen, remember?”

“Oh yes … right.”

“But I will get it figured out. The only other thing right now is the interview at the school and we’ve decided to play it straight down the middle, proud mother and happy daughter, anxious to begin the academic challenges and help create a better world for kittens, puppies and unicorns, right?”

“Right … though I wouldn’t mention unicorns, a little too old for that.”

“I’ll make a note.”

She pushes the dummy a third time. “I’ve just noticed that you seem to be a little … edgy lately.”

“Maybe it’s that time of the month.”

“No, that was two weeks ago.”

“How do you know?”

“I do the laundry, remember?”

Oh yeah. “It’s probably your imagination then.”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I know it’s not.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I took up jogging when I was your age.”

“You’re sixty? You don’t look a day over fifty.”

“You know what I mean, Patricia.”

I pick up a towel from the back of a nearby chair, dry off my face and hang it around my neck. “Can’t say that I do.”

“Do I have to spell it out?”

I shrug. She walks over, reaches out to remove the towel from my neck with both hands, then quickly moves her hands to my breasts and tweaks my nipples. I jump back, covering them with my hands.

“Hey! What’s that for?!”

“You’re headlights are on high beam again.”

I move my hands away slightly and check them out. She’s right, my nipples couldn’t be any bigger. “Maybe I just like exercise.”

“And sewing. And reading. And eating. And breathing. Patricia, you’re sexually aroused and are doing you’re best to ignore it. But you can’t ignore it, trust me.”

“Really? What do you know?”

She laughs for several seconds. “Oh my! What do I know? I was a teenager too, though that may be hard to believe. A teenage girl who didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s easier to believe”

“Ha ha. I did all sorts of activities to take my mind off … the situation, and, as I said, took up jogging, but, ultimately, only one thing truly helped.”

“Getting laid?”

“That would probably have worked, but no boyfriend, so it was masturbation.”

OH JEEZ! “TMI Mother!”

“TMI?”

“Too. Much. Information. Waaay too much!”

“What? You didn’t as a guy?”

“Sure, but that’s what guys do!”

“And women don’t? We have needs too you know.”

“Well none of my three wives did.”

“How do you know? Were you home all the time?”

“Of course not. But we never had any of … those kinds of problems.”

“Maybe because they masturbated.”

“Would you not say that!”

“Doesn’t matter what I call it. Jack off, polish the pearl, self-love, it’s all the same. And I still do it regularly.”

“UUUGGGHH! There’s an image burned into my mind for like, ever! Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, since you’ve made it clear you’re not planning on dating, you better get used to … polishing the pearl. Look, part of being a girl is learning how to handle your sexuality. It can’t be ignored and if you try to ignore it, it affects your ability to pass as young woman. If you don’t embrace your sexuality, you’re never going to be able to pull this off.”

“Come on! Mothers everywhere are not telling there daughters to go get … you know or to … masturwhatever.

“No, they’re not, mostly because their friends are telling them. I told you that for girls this age, friends are more important than parents. What do you think girls talk about during sleepovers?”

“Obviously, I’ve got no idea. Why’s this so important?”

“You’re going into an environment where you need to be confidant, competent, maybe even commanding if you need to make a good impression on the right people. This will be a lot harder if you’re hiding from an important part of your personality. It’s no big deal. You’ve already said you did it as a man. Why have you been avoiding it?”

“You remember that first day of the transfer?”

“Yes.”

“You remember what happened when I just touched my breasts?”

“I don’t … no, yes I do. That won’t happen again, you hadn’t yet adapted to higher activity levels of your brain. You asked me if it was that way for all women and I told you it wasn’t.”

“What if it’s so good I don’t want to go back?”

“I don’t know where you’ve been getting your information, but sex is just sex, it’s different for women than men but it’s not better. We’ve all got the same brain chemistry, the same pleasure centers. Men may travel different roads than women but we both eventually get to the same place.”

“Well most men and women are similar, but I’m not exactly a normal woman, am I? My brain has three times the connections. What if sex is three times better?”

“I’d say lucky you.”

“I’m not joking! Something like that could be addictive.”

“Is food three times as tasty? Are smells three times as enticing?”

“No, but they are different. Everything is still sharper, brighter, more intense than before. Why wouldn’t it be the same for sex?”

“Maybe it is, so what? You’ll be giving up improved taste and smell when you go back to your old body any way. Good sex is just one more thing. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something that sticks with you after the transfer.”

“I don’t know what to do … at least not exactly. I mean I’ve … touched myself … down there and … you know … checked things out. And it was fun and all but I don’t know much more than that.”

“I can help you, show you what to do.”

“When hell freezes over.”

“Fine. I was just making an offer. Frankly, I’d like to avoid another birds and the bees speech anyway. I’ve ordered some things online, including a DVD. It all arrived today. It’s up to you. I’ve got one final test for you.”

“What’s that?”

“The YWCA has a teen dance this weekend. You’re going. If you can make it through that, act like one of the girls, you should be ready. If you can’t, then we’ve only got two weeks left to get you ready and, frankly, I don’t know what else I could do in that two weeks.”

“How will you know if I succeed?”

“I volunteered to be a chaperon.”

“You don’t think that’ll cramp my style?”

“Probably, but that’s part of the test. What do you say?”

I give the dummy a swift kick in the cloth ribs. “Let me see what you bought.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Damn!

I was pretty sure I knew all about women and their … special places, but … damn! None of my wives ever complained about sex with me. They complained about a lot of other stuff but not sex. After watching that DVD … damn!

And all the stuff that mom bought. Vibrators, butt plugs, realistic soft plastic dildos, lotions, the works. There’s one at least twelve inches long and almost as wide as my wrist. There is no way in the world I’m ever going to use that one! It’d kill me just to try to get the tip in my … you know. She also bought this inflatable, round, flat top pillow type thing with a battery powered ten inch long vibrator attached to the middle, pointing straight up in the air, like a big, fat, pink plastic birthday candle on a giant pink plastic cake. That’s another bunch of wasted money. I wonder what Lipscomb’s gonna say when he gets that bill.

She’s probably right, I need to get past this. It’s not like I don’t enjoy sex, it’s just been awhile and I’ve never … been on the receiving end before. Since the transfer, I’ve done some touching and rubbing stuff, how could I not? But nothing inside me, at least not more than a couple of fingers a few times. I don’t even use tampons, just pads.

Probably, the easiest thing to do is just follow along with the DVD. The instructor, actress, who ever, said that I should get comfortable. Yeah, right, fat chance. She had a king size bed, silk sheets, a bunch of enormous pillows, scented candles and mood lights.

I’ve got a queen size bed, cotton sheets, three normal pillows and two sixty watt overhead bulbs. Very sexy. Oh, plus enough hardware to start my own sex shop.

The girl in the video was dressed in heels, stockings and a garter belt. She started with panties too but they didn’t stay on for very long. I don’t have any stockings or garter belts, though mom has been strongly suggesting it. Either way, I think I’ll just start out naked. And on Blue Thirty five.

Mom wanted my setting to be in the Pink numbers, she thought it would be easier for me to get into it. She’s likely right but I remember Patricia’s little show just before the transfer and I’m gonna be in as much control as I possibly can. That’s another reason I’ve been avoiding the subject. I don’t want to trigger some kind of kinky, hidden program of some kind and end up on my knees or back in front of some strange guy. I reeeaally don’t! We compromised on Blue Thirty five. I’m used to that setting and should be able to keep control.

I pull the cover down on my bed and place the pillows were I want them, one at the head and one on each side. The TV is turned so that I can easily see it and the mute is on. I’ve already watched the DVD once so I remember what it said, I just want it for the visuals this time. A couple of pieces of equipment are on the top of the bedside table, a small, beige, hard plastic vibrator, a larger, blue silicon dildo with a handle at the base, and an even larger pink silicon vibrator, about nine inches long.

Each of my wives had one of those little vibrators, they said it was for relaxing their muscles. Looks like mom was right about them. Never thought I’d be joining the sorority.

I strip out of my top, jeans, panty and bra, then climb up onto my bed, lie on my back, adjust the pillows and spread my legs a little, trying to relax. Unfortunately, the more I try to relax, the more nervous I become. Looking at the sex toys, I don’t even want to touch them, let alone sticking one into my … vagina.

Yes. My vagina. There, I said it. I have to admit that I’ve done as much as possible to ignore it as I could until now. I know I’ve got one, god knows the periods remind me. I’ve done the hygiene thing but it’s been more a case of what I didn’t have … a cock … than what I do have.

I really gave my cock a workout when I had one. Lot’s of sex, either with women or by myself. It was my favorite body part, by far. Even though it wasn’t in exactly great condition before the transfer, I still miss it and look forward to the day I get it back.

Now I’m supposed to test the organ I do have and I’m scared to do it. I close my eyes and breathe slowly. I can do this, women do this all the time … apparently. If they can, I can. Just take it slow and easy at first. Opening my eyes, I reach for the remote, turn on the TV and start the DVD.

She’s very good looking, very sexy. Nice hair, good smile, killer legs, great ass, but my boobs are bigger. My ass is just as nice too. The mute is on but I remember what she’s saying. She’s displaying some of the toys she’s going to be using and saying how important it is to keep them clean. I fast forward to where she gets down to business.

She’s on her back, legs sexily splayed out as the camera zooms towards her pussy. I try to match her pose. God … I feel so stupid!

She reaches out languidly with her right hand, removes a bottle of lubricant from the nightstand, flips the top open and squirts some onto the palm of her hand. Then she rubs the palms together and gently caresses her vulva with both hands, spreading the outer labia with her fingers and carefully lubricating the inner labia.

When I squeeze the bottle of lubricant, it shoots a stream across my breasts, hitting me in the left eye. As I reach up to wipe my eye clear, the bottle slips out of my hand and falls to the floor, spilling onto my jeans. After cleaning my eye with a tissue, I lean over the edge of my bed to check out the mess. Thank heavens the stuff is water soluble. This is not a good start.

I salvage what I can of the lubricant and coat my labia as best I can. It feels warm and slick … kinda nice. I keep rubbing the slick skin, edging towards my clit. Looking back to the TV, the girl has started the first demonstration, spreading the outer labia with the fingers of the left hand a slowly rubbing around the clitoris with the fingers of her right hand. She starts with smaller circles and short strokes but mixes in bigger circles and long strokes.

I try to match what she’s doing but I can’t get my small hands to follow hers. She’s got those long fingers and my fingers just won’t work the way hers do. It all feels good though, particularly when I touch my clit, that sends small shivers down my spine and causes my breath to catch. In fact, my breath is coming in short, quiet gasps as I continue to rub and stroke.

When I return my attention to the TV, the girl is concentrating more on the clitoris and the inner labia, stroking up and down, back and forth with her two middle fingers. This is nice too but I think I prefer the first style, the circles. I close my eyes and settle back into the pillows, trying to take deep breaths as I return to the small circles with three fingers, pressing on the clit’s hood. In a few minutes, I feel my clit swell and emerge from the hood like a tiny dick.

This is sooo cool! I can actually grasp it with two fingers, rolling and stroking it. The sensation is incredible! Not anything like jacking off. My pelvic muscles clench and release as I stroke it. If I consciously flex the pelvic muscles, the feelings intensify. My hips actually twitch in rhythm with the stroking and I hear myself softly moan between breaths.

I open my eyes and glance at the TV. She’s doing something with a vibrator but I don’t care, this is all too good. I stop pulling on my clit and return to rubbing in circles but, since it’s swollen, my clit is also being rubbed.

Ooohh yeeeaaah! That’s it, right there! Ohhhh my!

The pelvic muscles are clenching faster, squeezing my pussy with each cycle. I try to slow my breathing but they’re becoming more like out of control gasps.

“Uuuuummmmm Yeaah!” I squeal just as a muscle spasm shoots through my cunt. Another follows it and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. I don’t want mom to hear me. If she asks me what all the yelling was about, I’d just …

“Ooohhh My God!” a big spasm hits hard and I can’t help myself. I try to turn my head and bury it in a pillow but it’s too far away. Maybe I could …

“Uuuhhhhh Yess! Ohhh damn, Ohhhhhmmmmmmm!”

Fuck it! I cry out as the orgasm hits me, rolling through me like a wave, and then another wave, a third, a forth, and on and on. My muscles spasming out of control. I keep stroking my clit as my hips thrust harder. The girl on TV has got a vibrator of some kind stuffed deep into her pussy, looks like she’s having a lot of fun. Guess I’ll try that next.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I already have had breakfast and am sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper and nursing my last cup of coffee when I hear Patricia come down stairs. I think she was up late last night. I had a fan set on high in my room to mask the noises coming from upstairs. They went on for some time. I finally fell asleep around twelve thirty. I hadn’t heard anything from up there this morning until her shower started at about ten. Normally she’s down fairly quickly after the shower shuts off but today it’s been almost thirty minutes. I hear her walk into the kitchen but don’t turn away from the paper. Suddenly, her arms have reached around my neck from behind, giving me a big hug and she kisses my cheek!

“Good morning, Mom!’ she says brightly, kissing my cheek again and releasing me after a second hug. I’m almost afraid to look. I slowly drop the paper and turn towards her.

Instead of her normal jeans, top, and cross trainers she’s wearing a yellow sundress with sandals. Her hair is actually braided! A French braid of all things. She’s wearing just the right amount of makeup, plus both her nails and toenails are polished to match the dress, and I think I smell body spray lingering in the air from the last hug, something citrusy.

As she walks around the kitchen getting out the bowl, glass and silverware for her breakfast, I think I detect a subtle change in her movements. They are freer, more sway in the hips, smoother, more … sexy. Before, there was just the slightest hint that she was fighting her body, just a little clumsy, halting, everything not quite in sync. Unless she was exercising or fighting, then she was in total control. Not today though, today she was grace personified.

“Would you like some more coffee?” she asks sweetly.

“Uhh, no thanks, I’ve already had my two for the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for asking though.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.” She slides onto the chair, smoothing her dress as she does.

“Did you sleep well last night?” I ask.

She actually giggles a few seconds before answering. “Weeelll, what little sleep I got was good. It was the first time in weeks I didn’t have any nightmares! If masturbating keeps those nightmares away, order me a case of KY jelly and a gross of AA batteries.”

“So you …”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you enjoy …”

“Uh huh!”

“So … uh, how was it?”

“You remember how much I said I love watching the Super Bowl every year?”

“Yes.”

“How I’d get everything ready, invite people I knew, have all this booze and snacks, the whole nine yards?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Screw the Super Bowl.”

“Really?”

“Really, really and really.”

“Really?”

“Once this job is done, I’m taking a months vacation on Lipscomb’s dime before going back to my old body and I’m not leaving the hotel room. It’ll be nothing but room service, me and all those toys.”

“Sounds interesting. You know sex with the real thing is even better.”

“I’ll take your word for it; I can live with the plastic.”

“You never know until you try.”

“Then I’ll never know.”

“Seems a shame, someone as pretty as you.” She actually blushes. She’s never done that before. “That’s a new look for you, at least outside of the fitting room.”

“Yeah, about that. I just thought that I should be a little more willing to … ahhh, you know, get into the role a bit more. Not that I haven’t been up until now. It’s just that I realized that I might have been a teeny bit resistant to fully immersing myself in the total female experience.”

“A teeny bit?”

She holds up her right hand, thumb and index finger separated about half an inch. “Just a teeny bit.”

“I see … it was that good was it?”

She smiles, eyes bright, big dimples “Oh yeah, that good.”

“I’m happy for you, but if you had a boyfriend …”

“Don’t push it, mother.”

“Fine … we’ll just see how that goes in the future. For the present, we need to get you some school uniforms.”

“More shopping?”

She is trying to sound upset, but it’s an act. “Afraid so. By themselves, a uniform isn’t too much. White cotton blouse with collar, blue skirt, wool or wool blend, knee socks and saddle shoes. There’s also a skinny black necktie. The problem is that you’ll need several sets to avoid doing laundry every day.”

“Doesn’t sound very interesting.”

“It’s not supposed to be interesting, it’s a uniform. The objective is to keep competition between the students to a minimum. They don’t permit jewelry beyond religious necklaces and watches and absolutely minimum makeup.”

“What about underwear?”

“No rules about that, other than you have to wear it, top and bottom. There’s a shop that specializes in second hand school uniforms, I thought that we’d start there.”

“Let me finish breakfast first. Seems that I’ve worked up an appetite some how.”

“I know, I heard. Hurry up, we need to get to Dr. Matthews today for a checkup too.”

She suddenly tenses up. “Is Lipscomb going to be there?”

“I don’t think so. Thomas said he was in some kind of hearing.” She relaxes and starts eating her cereal. That’s not the first time Daniel’s name has put her on edge. I need to remember to ask her about it later. For now, I think I’ve exhausted my daily quota of motherly questions.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“You said that these uniforms were supposed to make everybody look alike. You didn’t say they were supposed to make everybody look ugly.”

Patricia is dressed in the official St. Ann’s uniform, standing in front of me, arms spread wide. She’s right, it is quite ugly, though her problem is that it is also too big for her.

“You don’t look ugly Patricia. It’s not very becoming certainly.”

“A potato sack would look better.”

Much better. “Don’t be so judgmental. We just need to find you something in the right size.”

“It’s not the size, it’s the cut. Even if it was the right size, the whole uniform is designed to hide the fact that I’m a girl … other than the skirt of course.”

“Of course. I’m surprised you’re not happy about the bagginess of the pieces. You should like that they are … nondescript.”

“Ugly, mother.”

I can’t deny it any longer. “Fine, yes, they are ugly, but they are equally ugly for everyone, so no problems.”

“If I was one of them, I’d have gone on strike, boycotted or done something to get some decent clothes.”

“You would have? YOU?”

“Weelll … yeah! Would you look at this blouse, it’s a disaster!”

“It’s a size too big, when we find …”

“It’s the smallest one here, everything I’m wearing is, but it’s all too big!”

She’s right, though the socks and shoe’s fit, we bought them new. “We can take care of that. You’re really good with that sewing machine of yours. You can alter them until they fit you just so.”

“I guess. If I take the skirt in here and I reduce …”

She suddenly goes quiet, rubbing the collar of the blouse between her fingers. After a moment, a grin creeps across her face, then blossoms into a full smile.

“That’s it! It’s perfect! I should have thought of it myself! Mom, you’re a genius!”

“Of course I am … but how exactly did I display my genius this time?”

“Shut up. I’ll need … seven complete sets. Don’t worry about the sizes, as long as they’re within two of being correct.”

“What about condition?”

“As long as it’s decent, I should be fine.”

“What’s you’re plan?”

“You’ll see.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

They came into the office together, laughing. I’d never heard either of them laugh ever before. Jessica’s was a deeper, throaty kind of laugh, one that spoke of experience, both good and bad. Patricia’s was more difficult to describe. It was high and clear, like bells ringing. She might have a lovely singing voice, but there was more there than just the tone, you could hear the emotions behind it; joy, freedom, exuberance. It was the kind of laugh that would lighten your day if you heard it, it was practically contagious.

“Well ladies, you both appear to be in a good mood today. Is there a reason?”

“Yes,” said Jessica. “We’ve made quite a bit of progress towards getting Patricia ready for St. Ann’s.”

“And I may have found a solution to my nightmare problem” added Patricia.

“Indeed! What did it?”

“I, uuhhh, can’t be sure it actually worked. It was only one time.”

“I would recommend regular and frequent testing of the supposed solution until you have sufficient data.”

She laughs again, that entrancing laugh. “You heard him Mom, doctor’s orders.”

“I heard him, honey.” They both laugh, sharing a private joke that I have apparently inadvertently stumbled into.

“Daniel will be glad to hear everything is going so well,” I say.

Patricia’s good mood immediately evaporates. Jessica notices it also.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks.

“No … no, nothing. We’ve got a lot get done today so we better get started. What do you need me to do Dr. Matthews?”

“The usual, disrobe and put on the paper gown.”

She pulls her arms up, tight against the sides of her chest. “Is that really necessary? I mean, nothing you’ve done before couldn’t have been done if I was in this dress.”

I hadn’t noticed, she was wearing a dress, a lovely yellow one. In all her prior examinations, it was jeans or shorts and some kind of top. And she had never shown any signs of modesty before. Obviously, there have been some changes since the last exam. “If you don’t want to wear the gown, that’s fine. It may be tradition more than anything else. It also limits contamination of any samples taken. If you are uncomfortable, you may remain dressed as you are.”

She smiles and relaxes. “Thanks. Do you want me on the table?”

“Yes, please.”

She quickly jumps up onto the table and settles back into the raised portion, which is at a sixty degree angle to the base. I swing the helmet over to her head and lower it. Someone has braided her hair. It is very attractive but makes fitting the helmet a bit difficult, though it should not interfere with the readings. I also attach the blood pressure cup, then switch on the helmet’s monitors. “Alright, have there been any changes since the last exam?” I inquire.

“No … not really, nothing important.”

“Patricia, tell Thomas the truth.”

“It’s not important, mother” she hisses.

“Yes it is. Patricia had her first orgasms yesterday.”

“MOTHER! Why don’t you put an add in the paper!”

“He needs to know honey, this is a big step.”

“I know … but … can’t we keep it between, you know, just us?”

There is that modesty again. Before, Harris had had no problem discussing his sexual history. Now Patricia is reluctant to even consider the subject. Something major is happening.

“I need to do some additional testing and speak with each of you privately, but first, I need a blood sample.”

“Is all this really necessary? It wasn’t a big deal, just a little … .” She stops talking.

“A little what?” I ask her.

“You know … you’re alone. At night. In bed.” She looks at me expectantly but I say nothing. “You know … alone … no pants.” I still don’t respond. “Oh come on! You’re a guy!”

“Are you referring to masturbation?”

Patricia immediately puts a finger to her nose.

“Yes, it is necessary” I say.

“Darn it!”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I have Jessica wait in the outer office, I want to speak with Patricia first. “It is vitally important that you tell me the complete truth Patricia. Apparently, there have been some recent … occurrences that you feel embarrassed to discuss with or in front of me. I need to know everything! The most minor detail could be of vital importance. I am not asking because I get some kind of sexual thrill from the answers. I am a scientist and this is my life’s work. You are a part of the greatest experiment in the history of neuro science. I have theories but they are just that, theories. The facts may or may not support them. These theories predict certain things, but they could be wrong. So far, they appear to be correct but I am not conceited enough to believe that I cannot be wrong. For your own safety, you need to tell me the truth. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. I want to know how you are feeling and don’t say ‘fine’ even if you are. I want you to verbalize as best as possible what is going on in your mind.”

“You mean every single thought?”

“No, I mean the process, how are you integrating your thoughts with those of the Constructs?”

“Haven’t called it that in some time.”

“If you are Patricia, what is it?”

“We are Patricia, I’m still Peter Harris, at least when the setting is Blue Fifty. Even at Blue Fifty, I can feel … the Construct, if that’s what you call it.”

“I do. Go on.”

“I decide what we do and how we do it, at least at every setting except Pink Fifty.”

“How often have you been at Pink Fifty?”

“Just once.”

“What’s the closest you’ve been to Pink Fifty since then?”

“Uhh Pink Thirty five, I think, but that was weeks ago. Normally Mom has me in the low Blue or Pink numbers most of the day, except for one hour before bed and all night, then I’m Blue Fifty.”

“So, what happens during the day?”

“Like I said, I’m in charge; we do and say what I want. It’s like … like a movie with subtitles. All the time, no matter what I’m doing, in the background there’s subtitles, though, instead of being a foreign language, it’s the Construct, with duplicate dialog or suggested behaviors. I can do what I want or take the suggestion but it’s my choice.”

“Why would you ever choose what the Construct is suggesting?”

“Sometimes it’s better. If I’m arguing with Mom, I may say something really mean or say something not so mean. The not so mean could be better so I say it instead.”

“That is a lot to consider. Every word, every action, being reviewed and cross-examined. How do you keep everything straight?”

“It didn’t start out that way. In the beginning, it was just a general feeling that maybe I ought to do something other than what I was doing. The start of the subtitles was … I don’t remember exactly when they started, but it was gradual. I’m used to it now.”

“How does what you want to do vary from what the Construct wants to do?”

“It doesn’t, like I said, I’m in charge.”

“Then how do the subtitles differ from your choices?”

She shrugs. “Usually they’re just nicer. I didn’t care much about other people’s feelings before all this. The subtitles usually show a nicer, better way to do or say something. It’s nothing big, just a different way to do the same thing.”

“So what makes you chose one way or the other?”

“That’s easy, which ever one makes me feel better.”

“Isn’t that a little … selfish?”

She shrugs again. “Maybe, but it seems to be working. Mom and I are getting along a lot better now than before.”

“And how is it different at the higher Pink settings?”

“About the same, the subtitles are just … louder I guess, harder to ignore. I can still make the choice, it’s just harder to do something other than what the subtitle says. At Pink Thirty five, it was practically impossible, though I think I’ve gotten stronger since then.”

“Stronger?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a lot of practice at the lower settings since then. Maybe we should try the higher settings again?”

“Uummm that may not be a bad idea, if only for a brief time. You might want to wait and do that after I’m finished with this series of tests.”

“Series? Is something wrong?”

“No. As you say, everything seems to be going well; I am just not sure why it is going so well.”

“Why look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“You are the first person to ever walk this road. We need to document everything, to create a map for the next person who might come after you. It’s what we scientists do. Nothing to worry about.” I open a drawer to my desk and remove a small electronic device. “I would like you to wear this for the next two days. It is a recorder of neurological activity. It will record your brain activity for me to review so that I can see how it cycles throughout the day.”

“How’s it different from what you do in the lab?”

“In the lab, I can only get a snap shot, a very detailed snap shot but the lab is not a real life situation. With the recorder, I get a movie instead of a snap shot. The movie is not as detailed but I can focus on just one or two activities and make reasonably accurate suppositions about the rest.”

She takes it from my hand and inspects it. “How does it attach? I don’t see any sensor pads or anything.”

“There aren’t any, they are built into you. There is a tiny data port on your hip that looks like a freckle. The recorder plugs in there with a very fine wire. The recorder itself can strap around your waist. I realize that it won’t be very comfortable but the data is extremely important. Will you do this for me?”

“In for a penny.”

“So … yes?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Thank you Patricia, I am quite grateful. I will show you how to attach the recorder after I have spoken with Jessica. Would you please ask her to come in?”

“Sure Doctor Matthews. You think everything is okay though, right?”

“I have no reason to think otherwise Patricia.”

She smiles brightly. “Great! I’ll go get Mom.” She smoothly rises from her chair and strides from the room.

I must be spending too much time with Daniel Lipscomb. Lying is becoming easier to do.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I was relived that Patricia seemed so happy when she was finished with Thomas’ interview. I’m certain that he would have given her any bad news if there was bad news, though he would have likely brought me into the room before doing so, I am her mother after all. Obviously not her real mother, more of an adoptive mother. He is typing some notes on his computer when I enter.

“Have a seat Jessica, I’ll be right with you.”

I sit down and he continues to type for a minute or so. I try to catch a look at the screen without being too blatant about it but the angle is wrong. He finishes up then looks up at me, smiling.

“I had a very interesting conversation with Patricia, very interesting. She has agreed to wear a recording device for two days so that I can have a continuous record of certain neural functions. It won’t be comfortable for her but the discomfort is temporary and the data will be invaluable.”

That doesn’t sound good. “Is there a problem of some kind?”

He smiles again, though it appears a little forced. “I have no evidence of any problems.”

“But you suspect something.”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘suspect’. I get concerned when things happen that I can’t explain. Patricia believes that everything is going well. Do you agree?”

“Yes. Yes I do. We had a rough start, which is hardly surprising, given what we are attempting to do. But things have settled down and we are getting along much better. Patricia has made absolutely remarkable progress, though she has had limited contact with large groups of teenagers. I plan to have a test this weekend to see how she performs in that kind of environment.”

“What kind of test?”

“The local YWCA has a teen dance scheduled for Saturday. We’ll attend and I’ll see how she does.”

“How will you get in?”

“Volunteer chaperone.”

“Ahhh yes. Quite clever.”

“Thank you.”

“How do you think she will do?”

“I’m confident she’ll do very well. Getting her to accept her sexuality was the last major hurdle. Just today, there has been a dramatic improvement in her attitude. It may not last though, teenagers are so volatile.”

“But Patricia isn’t really a teenager, she just looks like one.”

“Because she is a teenager. Her hormones, her reproductive system, her endocrine system, all that of a teenage girl.”

“And her mind?”

“Clearly not, at least not exactly, but I believe that my training techniques have helped Patricia understand how teenagers think and behave.”

“What training technique is that?”

I edge closer to Thomas’ desk and lower my voice. “I found things that Patricia enjoyed or wanted and subtly linked them to appropriate behavior.”

“Such as?”

“She was concerned about her sudden reduction in height. I used that desire to be taller and directed her towards high heeled shoes. She handles them very well, better than me actually. In fact, she’s wearing a pair of heeled boots to the dance Saturday and it was her choice.”

“Her choice?”

“I didn’t make the first suggestion!”

“Interesting. You believe that it is this technique which brought about these changes in her attitude and behavior?”

“I certainly do.”

“Have you discussed it with her?”

“Heavens no! If she became aware of it, it would defeat the whole program! You won’t tell her, will you?”

“No, mums the word.”

“Thank you. What was most interesting was that once one breakthrough was achieved, it was easier to make others. I believe that once a connection was made between Peter Harris and Patricia on a given subject, other similar connections were easier to make, like they traveled the same path or a similar path. The biology is not my area of expertise.”

“That is an interesting observation. I will need to give it some thought. I may need to modify some of my testing to look for groups of connections. You don’t object if I attempt to confirm how the current success was achieved?”

“Not at all! As long as Patricia is willing to cooperate.”

“She said that we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

That makes me chuckle. “It sounds exactly like something she would say. I’ve not seen a lot of introspection from that girl; hopefully, she’ll grow into it.”

“When would she grow into it?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is a short term project. Once Patricia obtains the necessary information from Raymond Hobbes, we are done. Peter Harris returns to his body and we all go our separate ways.”

“What happens to Patricia?”

“You mean the Construct?”

“Yes, yes, what ever you want to call her.”

“She will likely return to her prior state of limited consciousness. I would hope to find volunteers willing to be transferred to further my experiments.”

“And Patricia, her personality?”

“Would disappear, to be replaced by someone different with each new transfer.”

I had forgotten about that. In all my preparation and planning, I had forgotten that, if we are successful, Patricia … dies.