It's inconceivable until it happens. But everything can change in a heartbeat.

I hardly ever do this. This is maybe the fourth time in my 20-plus years. I just couldn't take it any longer. I had secluded myself in my little bungalow far from town, doing contract coding. My only real contact was with the delivery folks, and even they usually left stuff at the door. My nearest neighbor was miles away, so I had plenty of privacy. I lived on the edge of nowhere. On the cusp of the grid. And that was the way I liked it.

I had no problem with the 'outside world' or the people in it. I had a problem with me. I had never been comfortable in my own skin, and I used to hide under it. 85 pounds overweight and obscured by a sea of frizzy hair and a beard that grew like kudzu, I'm sure I resembled two eyes buried inside a bristly dandelion. There was a definite 'mountain man' vibe when I interacted with the world. People kept their distance, and I was relieved.

But this time in public, I was utterly unrecognizable. I had become so sick of the self-loathing that I decided I must do something. Suicide was one option. That would stop the pain. I knew there was another option.... a real long shot... one that I'd avoided all my life. I decided to take the hard road, knowing that if things didn't work out, ending it all would always remain an option.

Thanks to the internet, everything I needed was at my fingertips and I didn't need to explain myself to anyone. With my slowly growing self respect, losing the weight and getting in shape was surprisingly fast and less difficult than expected.

I liked becoming who I finally decided to be and it was a joy seeing all the work pay off. The beard was gone, the hair was trimmed and in a ponytail. I always ate healthy and had good skin. Growing up I was often told with barely hidden scorn, that I had inherited my mom's features. The countless online makeup tutorials were profoundly helpful and my skills had become adequate. Some brutally effective body shapers rounded out my hips and behind, conveniently cramming away the troublesome bits, while cinching my middle and supplying an adequate imitation of what nature had neglected up top.

I put on my peg leg jeans, low heel leather boots, a crew neck top and suede bomber jacket. I deliberately dialed down the femininity. I didn't want to look like a cross dresser going to a DAR meeting in my wool skirtsuit and pearls. I wanted to look like an ordinary woman, in sensible but stylish clothing, going out for errands and to get her hair done.

When I drove into town, I didn't expect anyone to recognize me as the burly mountain man. That was 80 lbs and an acre of facial hair ago. I did worry that I'd still look like a dude in ladies clothes, so I was really quite stressed. Especially at the prospect of walking into the hair salon.

I needn't have worried. If they did clock me as a male, they didn't let on, and were happy to sit me down and take my money. It was the best money I'd ever spent.

I tried my best to wrestle my unruly hair into a ponytail before visiting them. I didn't want to trim or do anything to it, because I wanted them to have the most raw material to work with.

While initially a bit shocked when they saw what they had to work with, they quickly got it washed, rinsed and detangled and came to share my view that all that now-lustrous hair gave them much more styling latitude. They cut and styled it, and I immediately embraced their suggestion to do something with the coloring. A deep bronze with foil highlights made me feel a bit like Jessica Rabbit.

They were nearly as stunned with the outcome as I was. I tipped them so generously, I think I became legend. If not for the mousey tomboy they turned into a stunning diva, then for my 100% gratuity.

They strongly suggested I go next door to their affiliated salon for a mani-pedi. I was reveling in the moment, so I jumped at the suggestion. My 'girls day out' was going far better than I dared hope. I had initially dreaded it, but the further I went down the rabbit hole, the more confident and believable I felt - and the less I worried about being read.

Then it all went to shit.

I had spent a few carefree hours shopping for shoes and clothes, getting some really helpful makeup advice and another bag full of cosmetics & fragrance. I was looking and feeling more like who I was really meant to be after each stop & mini-makeover on my shopping spree.

Waiting to cross a busy street, a van blocked the crosswalk when suddenly I was grabbed from behind by a couple of big guys in hardhats and sunglasses wearing utility worker coveralls.

They threw me headfirst into the van where the doors shut behind me, and a someone threw a sack over my head, cinching it tightly at the neck and plunging me into darkness. I was immediately groped by a sea of hands. I thought was this some twisted trans-bashing cult? Am I about to get the living shit kicked out of me – or worse? They yanked my arms behind my back and ziptied my wrists and ankles, then bound them to each other. I had been hogtied with zipties. It was still pitch dark, so I couldn't see how many there were. We got tossed around as the van sped to its destination. I instantly knew I'd better keep my voice as feminine as possible because a masculine voice could only make things worse. “What the FU...” I started to say when someone wrenched my head back and lifted the hood enough to slap duct tape across my mouth.

“Tell renops we got her.” someone said to the panel separating us from the front seat.

“Copy that.”

“Yeah... we got her GOOD” another chuckled. As he forced the burlap hood back down and tightened the collar around my neck.

“You didn't think you'd evade us forever did you? You of all people should know our eyes are everywhere.”

“Who are you and why would I even want to evade you? I was just walking down the street minding my own....”

“Cut the shit Eve. Do you think we're stupid? You elites think you're so much smarter than the rest of us”

“How do you know my name? Elites? What do you mean 'elites'?”

“All you computer types with your fancy college degrees, decadent morals and wiseass attitudes looking down on the rest of us.”

“You have me tied to a chair, I have no idea where I am or even who the hell YOU are, you hold all the cards in this situation.”

“Damn straight”

“So why are you so neurotic?”

He had been pacing like a tense animal, his hands clenched into fists like he wanted to strike out at something, but that was when he completely lost it.

“I'll have you know you arrogant bitch, that I went to college too!” He bellowed, pressing his nose against mine and covering my face with his spittle. “Ever heard of Quantico?”

I raised an eyebrow and looked him straight in the eye, I couldn't imagine this volatile man cutting it in the FBI. “You graduated Quantico?” At which point his face turned so red I thought his head was about to explode... which I took as my answer. He said 'went', not 'graduated'.

He turned his back to me and addressed his minions with menacing calm. “Get. That. CUNT. Out of here.”

“Hey!” I said, my indigence suddenly overriding my fear. “I don't need to take that kind of abuse!”

Suddenly his fury was replaced by something much much darker... malevolent humor, as he turned back to me with the most chilling smile I'd ever seen.

“Yes. Yes you do. Lady, you don't know the meaning of abuse. But you're about to get a graduate course.”

“Don't I get a phone call and a lawyer?”

This question truly caught him by surprise and he laughed with unexpected delight.

“Who the christ do you think we ARE? The fuckin' COPS?” At that he motioned with his hands and his two goons dragged me off.

OK. It wasn't the police, or the FBI, but there was something cop-like about them. Maybe more like the Gestapo or other old school secret police. They photographed and fingerprinted me like real police, then they held me down while they swabbed my cheek for a DNA sample. They then took me to my 'hole' a 3 by 3 concrete room with a very crude sink/toilet contraption in one corner and a ccd camera embedded in the ceiling. They forced me to strip but let me keep my underwear. Fortunately, I was well tucked and had covered my silicone breasts with makeup to better blend into my own chest. They hadn't realized I wasn't actually female. But it was inevitable. And I knew with these goons, it could only make things worse.

I don't know how long I was in the hole. There was no light, so I had to grope around to find and use the toilet-thingy which would have been foreign enough had I actually been able to see it. I was sure the ccd camera was infrared capable and that my captors could see everything at all times. I took great pains to conceal my secret for as long as possible while trying to sort out who these people were, and who they thought I was. I was not wearing well. I could already feel slight beard growth and knew it was just a matter of time.

“LADY Eve!” the voice boomed from somewhere in my tiny cube. I raised my head.”Time for a chat”. I guess they ran my prints. I was made. The lights came back on and two goons hauled me out again. I was marched back to another interrogation room, this one seemed more like a walk in refrigerator, with a large metal door and some kind of thickly insulated metallic walls. My tormentor was back. Pacing like a pleased predator deciding just how he was going to strike.

“Yves Guillaume Derosiers 21. Born St Albans VT to Marie and Laurent Derosiers. Only child. Parents deceased. CS degree RPI, abandoned graduate studies and disappeared 2 years ago. Actually all of this fits the profile we already had worked up on you.... except for this.” He pointed to a blow up of my drivers license with the M circled repeatedly in red sharpie.

“See? I told you you had it all wrong.”

“You were right. We never took your boyfriend for a fag.” he smiled “his LADY Eve was a dude all along”

“I still have no idea what you're talking about. OK. You caught me. I'm a crossdresser. But you know everything about me, I quit school because I got too many good offers to do lucrative contract coding. I figured I could go back to school later and be better able to afford grad studies. I'm sure you've run my tax returns and know this. So I'm not who you think I am.”

“Well, we didn't know you were a male. That was a surprise, but everything else still fits the profile. Of course you would forge a solid cover while you were collaborating with your terrorist boyfriend.”

“Terrorist boyfriend?”

“Don't play dumb with me bitch.... I, um, mean buddy.”

I don't know why, but I took the fact that he still had a hard time addressing me as male as a small victory.

“I really don't know who you're talking about. Just assume, that I'm not who you think I am and explain to me all the details that you think the real Lady Eve should already know. What leverage would you lose?”

He thought about it for a while.

“OK. We know you have been collaborating with Aaron Cohen in his repeated acts of treason and subversion of U.S. interests domestically and abroad”

“Who the hell is Aaron Cohen?” I sighed.

“I suppose that with you people, he might never have told you his real name.” He suddenly had a thought that made him laugh. “Hell, for all I know, somehow you managed to keep him from learning that you're a fucking guy!” His distant stare indicated that he was filing away that notion for later. “OK. Maybe your boyfriend never told you his real name and you only knew him by his hacker name..... 'R00tkid'”

“Holy shit. The grayhat who leaked the bank records of the payoffs to financial regulators?”

“We're going to get him back”

“What is this, the Federal Bureau of Revenge?”

“Look lady... er... just look... if you actually don't know who we are, it's because you're not cleared to know, so just shut the fuck up and keep it that way.”

“So you think I'm R00tkid's girlfriend?”

“Don't THINK”

“Got THAT right” I smiled.

“Shit. What if it really isn't his girlfriend?” one of the others said.

“The recognition engine made a 98% match. It almost never scores that high, even in tests”

“Yeah, well it told us to abduct a GUY.”

“Does that look like a guy to you?”

“Well, a little bit more now with the 5 O'Clock shadow”

“What if it isn't his girlfriend?”

“What if he isn't a fag?”

“The plan doesn't change. The recog says 98%. He'll run it and think we've got her. Then we'll have HIM”

“So, I'm BAIT?”

“This isn't going to work, he's looking more like a dude all the time.”

“Yeah... We're going to need outside help.”

They held me in the metal room they called the thermos, which I later surmised was some kind of super secure sound & vibration proof faraday cage. Apparently the 'outside help' they called was the black ops version of a style channel makeover team. I was waxed and preened, and when they were through, I looked better than I'd ever been able to do on my own. They also gave me a couple of jabs in the buttocks. When I asked, I was simply told this would help with the beard growth problem since they were too busy to attend to me daily. My tormentors also did a little work between my legs, securing things up inside and gluing the scrotum skin into something that really did resemble a labia. They arranged things so I could still pee, but due to the geometry, I would have to squat and wipe. I just shrugged, thinking I always struggled with the desire to be female, and here under these draconian circumstances, I had come closer than I'd ever dreamed. After my “makeover” my tormentor – who I heard someone call “Lynch” returned to inspect their work.

“Damn. You look good enough to fuck. ….If I were bent that way. I get what he sees in you.”

“You still think I'm his 'girlfriend'?”

“Doesn't really matter what we think. Doesn't matter whether you are or not. Only matters that HE thinks you're her, and that we've got you....which we certainly do”

“So I'm just bait?”

“Let's see if he takes it.”

...to be continued