”Oh, and welcome to Phase 3…”

Those words haunt my dreams for a week… Cindy is completely comfortable with the fact that I am ‘a woman’ now… I am not so comfortable with that idea--nor am I really willing to admit that it is a fact… Although, it is getting harder and harder to refute…

If I just think about the major changes, to date, I have well-endowed, C+-cup breasts and my hips are inches wider than my narrow waist… That certainly screams ‘woman’. Cindy just passed her cosmetology exam and is now licensed to cut hair, among other ‘girly’ things. She has been using me as one of her practice ‘heads’ and, as a result, my light-blonde hair is now down to my shoulders… Not that that is inherently ‘woman’, I usually keep it in a low ponytail, but together with the other changes, it sure adds onto it. She has also been using some of her ‘products’ on my face, like moisturizer and stuff. I still have the stubble from my beard, but it grows really slowly now…and shaving really irritates my skin. That is the only reason I have let her…but my skin is getting smoother and softer, despite the now blonde, soft whiskers that are still there and her ‘products’ help soothe the irritation…

And now, ‘Phase 3’ is all about reversing my previously male attributes and turning them into female ones. It has been a week since Crick gave me that last treatment and it seems to be doing something. She had called it ‘Phase 3a’… She told me it focuses on the skeletal changes that happen during puberty…and, obviously, my feet are shrinking, since my shoes are now slightly too big… Not really by much, just maybe half a size, but who knows how far that will go? My wedding band is a little looser and my Adam’s apple seems smaller, too. Those are just the things I can see, though. It is driving me crazy not knowing what else is going on in my body. If the extent of the ‘fire ants’ after the treatment was any indication of where changes are occurring, then they are everywhere.

I pull myself away from staring at myself in the mirror as Cindy asks, “So have you thought about it?” I look at her, knowing what she means, but playing dumb. I ask, “Thought about what?” She sighs and says, “You know what! What do you want your new name to be? Raymond really isn’t very befitting anymore—even if you do try and hide your female assets. If you don’t decide soon, I am just going to start calling you Ramona, or something.” I sigh and say, “I really don’t care. It is not like I had a choice when my parents named me Raymond. So, you can call me whatever you think is right. I can’t guarantee that I will respond to it, though.” I smile a little to take the sting out, but I am serious—and she knows it. She sighs again and says, “Well, OK, I think I will go with Reyna, then. And you had better respond when I call you!” She gives me an impish grin as she says, “Or, I may just have to ignore you, too.” And she starts taking my shirt off…

The next four weeks are some of the strangest ones in my life. Growing breasts had been weird, but nothing like watching my body reshape itself. My feet are now four sizes smaller than they had been when I started this and are now a man’s five—I fit into Cindy’s woman’s size six and a halves perfectly (I had to borrow a pair of her sneakers once). My hands have shrunk to the corresponding size, as well—I will have to get a new wedding band. My shoulders have narrowed and my arms and legs are, along with my smaller hands, well…dainty, I guess is the best description. My Adam’s apple is completely gone…and my voice is changing…back to the higher pitch from my pre-pubescent days. My face has changed, too. My nose is smaller and my brow is much less prominent. My cheeks are higher and my chin is rounder and less pronounced. I am a couple of inches shorter; and my new pelvis gives me a woman’s posture. Cindy and I are now even at five foot eight inches. According to her measurements, I would fit into her size two clothing perfectly. So far, I have refused to try—even though, it is pretty obvious that I am not going to be able to realistically present as a male anymore…and I don’t have much that will fit.

I am getting tired of the arguments. Cindy is once again berating me, “Reyna, you can’t keep trying to hide the fact that you are a woman. It is too obvious. Let me first get you dressed correctly…then we can get you fully sorted out as the woman you are. See, like these nice pants with this blouse… It is not like I am asking you to wear a dress…yet…” I sigh…the ‘Reyna’ still annoys me, but, honestly, I am getting used to it. It is all she calls me anymore. I say, “If it will get you off of my back—give them here!” I take off my T-shirt and jeans (which are girl’s, by the way…just unembellished and too big at the moment) and slip on the blouse. It feels…nice. I struggle with the small buttons that are on the totally wrong side, but finally get it buttoned. Cindy stops me from going all the way up, “Leave the top two unbuttoned to show a bit of cleavage.” I pull on the pants—and they feel really nice, too. Much softer than my old guy stuff; just like the girl’s jeans. I struggle again with the backwards buttons, hooks, and zipper. She then hands me a pair of low-heeled shoes that go with the pants. I look at the heels, sigh, and slip them on my bare feet. Then I look at her and say, “There are no pockets in these pants. Where am I supposed to keep my stuff?” She hands me a purse and I groan.

I look at myself in the mirror and have to admit that I do look better…all I see is a woman looking back at me; not some woman trying to look like a guy like a few minutes ago. Cindy hugs me and says, “See? Doesn’t that look better? Now, we just need to polish you up. I have booked us spa-time for this morning. Prepare to be pampered!” I should have known that as soon as I gave in on putting on the clothes that it would not end there. But, deep down, I know she is right. I look pretty good right now…but, well, incomplete…

Five hours later, my skin has been waxed, buffed, and polished. My hair is trimmed into a full-female style; feathered and layered. My fingernails are extended, shaped and polished; my toenails painted a bright red. My eyebrows have been painfully shaped into feminine high arches. My face is lightly made up in what I am told is appropriate for day wear. On top of that, my ears are now pierced.

And then it is time to go to the lab…

Crick looks at me and smiles, “Well, Reyna, you look lovely. I see you have finally given in and accepted what you are.” I shake my head and say, “I have given in, yes…and it doesn’t feel completely…wrong…but it doesn’t feel completely right either… I just don’t know what to do… How do I explain this to the bank…my bosses and coworkers” She says, “The feeling part will come with time—I am sure. And I have a letter that you can give them at the bank explaining that you are transitioning and under my care. That should take care of that—and is not like they can’t have noticed.”

She smiles a little devilishly and then says, “Now, there are several things we need to do today. I have some tests that I need to do on you and some I want you take…and then, assuming you are still up for it, we will start Phase 3b.” I nod and say, “Look at me. Do you think I am going to quit now? I want the last of what you owe me.” She laughs and says, “Well, after today, you will have ninety percent of the total sum. Then there will just be one final step for the rest.”

The next hour is taken up with Angela and her taking various measurements of me and then taking full body scans. Then I have to take a bunch of computer-based tests again. More intelligence/IQ and psych tests—similar to the ones I had already taken months ago, at the beginning of all of this. After that she asks, “Are you ready for the next round?” I sigh and nod…and we go back over to the ‘treatment’ area where I lay down on the table again…

This time she just gives me three shots in the butt and one in the vein in my arm. They don’t particularly hurt—nothing like the ones she had given me in the spine… There are no ‘ants’ that start crawling all over me…just a slowly spreading…warm glow… She says, “OK then. As I explained before. The first part of Phase 3, the ‘a’ part, was to work on your skeletal and cartilage structure. This part, 3b, will fix up your soft tissues…put them where they belong in accordance with your repaired genes. To be completely honest, I have my doubts as to whether it will work at all. Each of the steps that we have taken are more and more complex. But, frankly, I never thought even Phase 2 would work. I am amazed at what we have accomplished, so far…and it will keep my funding going for sure…no matter the outcome of this…”

She reaches over and grabs a tablet from a nearby table. She scrolls through some screens and says, “You may be interested in knowing the results of the tests you took today. Your IQ wasn’t terrible at 127, which was your baseline when we started. Based on the test that you took today, your score is now 169. I believe it will go as high as 200 in the next month or so. That is what mine is…and you received the appropriate genes from me as a stipulation for a portion of the military funding I have been receiving—to prove I could do it. I will explain more about that when this is all over with… The other interesting thing is that your psych/gender score has moved you into the definite realm of ‘feminine’… A very masculine female, so far, but female none-the-less…”

I look at her and ask, “And what would cause that?” She just shrugs and grins as she says, “Oh, lots of things could have. But that is a good thing, right? I mean since you are a woman. So, tell me…how is your love life these days? Are you still OK with being married to a woman? Are you starting to look at men differently?” I look at her like she has grown horns… I am not so sure she doesn’t have any hidden under that blonde hair of hers… I just say, “Ewwwe! Have you completely lost it?” She just laughs and says, “See you in a week…”