Maximum Warp, Chapter 4: To Boldly Go . . . .

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Maximum Warp
Chapter 4: To Boldly Go . . . .

We had about an hour and a half drive to retrieve my car, once I had recovered sufficiently from the shocks of the morning. It’s a lovely drive, but I wasn’t in the best of moods to appreciate the joys of nature.

Nevertheless – or nonetheless, they are used, if at all, interchangeably – it was time well-spent.

Janet quizzed me carefully about everything the damned termites had said while I was in their hands. Pincers? Whatever.

Then we started trying to think through the implications. They had shot me with something that, over the course of a month, was going to make me both younger – but we didn’t know how young – and better-looking. And, as had become superabundantly clear this so very fine morning, female.

“So, if you’re about a week in, you’ve got a bit more than three weeks to go before the process is done,” Janet said. “And those weeks are gonna be weird as a tap-dancing emu, if your experience so far is any indication.”

I could only agree with that assessment. But I was also thinking about the next hurdle. “Janet, I’ve got an identity. A history. All of that will disappear – I will disappear, for all intents and purposes. I’ll still be me – at least, I hope I’ll still be me, even if I’m an emotional, weepy, not-very-rational version of me. But the rest of the world won’t believe it. As a young woman, or God help me, a young girl, I won’t have any kind of identity at all. No job, no income, no healthcare, no access to funds!”

She nodded as I spoke, pondering my words for a few minutes while she drove. Then she said, “It’s a problem, sure enough. A whole constellation of problems, I reckon. Add ‘em to the list. But . . . there’s a more fundamental problem that you’re maybe missin.’ At least I think y’are, based on what you’ve been sayin.’”

I looked at her, chewing her lip in thought, and said, “Ah? Things are even worse? Splendid. What extra catastrophe do I need to add to my burgeoning list?”

“Patience, patience,” she said, swatting away my comment. “Gotta think about how to say this right. And throwin’ those five dollar words at me isn’t gonna help.” She chewed some more as her car ate up asphalt.

Then she said, “It’s your ‘tude, James. Like I said this morning, you’re handlin’ this really well. Like a trooper. Stoic and all that. Very John Wayne. Maybe even Gary Cooper. An’ it’s better’n lyin’ on the floor cryin’ about it, I s’pose. But . . . bein’ a woman – even bein’ a girl . . . It’s not a frickin’ prison sentence. It’s not somethin’ to be endured, or conquered. It’s . . . it’s . . . “

She pounded the steering wheel in apparent frustration, then finished, “Alright, I’ll say it. It’s a privilege. Understand? Maybe bein’ a man’s a privilege too. I’ve had my doubts sometimes, that’s for sure. But you! – You have an opportunity to see the world in an entirely new way. To have experiences that James Marshall Wainwright could never have dreamed of havin’ . . . . You get to . . . I don’t know . . . .”

“Boldly go where no man has gone before?” I asked, dryly.

YES!!!” she said. “Yes, damn it. You do! And you’ll get through all of this – and it’ll be a lot to get through, I’m sure – in a whole lot better shape, if you start appreciatin’ what a truly wonderful opportunity you’ve been given. If you march along, grimly determined to bear what must be born, you’ll damned well miss everything that makes being a woman fun and worthwhile. You’ll just be a man in a woman’s body. How’d you describe it? A weepy, not-very-rational version of yourself? Shit, James! No wonder you're grim. Who’d want to be that?”

“Janet,” I said, surprising myself by how gently it came out. “What’s this all about? I need a change of attitude. Splendid. I’ll put in an order for that. But is this really about me?”

“Yes it is,” she said forcefully. “I care about you, idiot. But . . . sure. If I’d been given the chance that you’ve been given? If I’d been crazy enough to be hiking the AT all by myself rather than sittin’ at home, thinkin’ about the kids I never had, or the grandkids I never will have, or what goddamned nursing home I’d have to settle for down the road? I’d be turnin’ cartwheels right now. I’d be turnin’ cartwheels just at the idea that I’d be able to turn cartwheels again!”

She paused, thought a moment more, and added, “And if you told me I’d have to switch genders for the privilege, why . . . I’d view that as a plus. Not ‘cuz I don’t like bein’ a woman; I do. Not ‘cuz I want to be one of you lunks! I don’t. But ‘cuz sure as hell, that's not somethin’ you get to do every day!”

I had been so wrapped in my own problems that I hadn’t really thought about what Janet would be thinking. Feeling. From where she was sitting, I was getting an incredible adventure. One she couldn’t share.

Keeping my voice gentle, I said, “You do know we’re in New England, don’t you?”

“Yeah, why?” she responded, confused by the non sequitur.

“Nothing really; it’s just that we normally drive on the right side of the road in this country,” I said warily.

“Oh, fuck you!” she said, exasperated, as she swerved us back where we belonged and dropped the speed down to within ten miles per hour of the posted limit. I relaxed my death grip on the door handle fractionally.

“Hey,” I said, “If you’re going to get weepy, or emotional, maybe I ought to take the wheel?”

“ . . . And the sorry, lice-infested excuse for a nag you rode in on!” she added. “I can cope. You don’t have a clue. Yet.”

We drove a bit in silence. I could see that Janet was still hurting and I didn’t really know how to deal with that. I tried another conversational gambit.

“What are the good parts of being a woman, Janet? What can you do, that I don’t get to do as a man?”

She decided to take the bait. “Well,” she said, “I find women tend to have better conversations than men. Deeper. More meaningful. It allows us to be closer to other women; men seem to be more emotionally isolated.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I said in response. I like my solitude, after all.

“Too much of a good thing is a bad thing,” she said.

“Huh,” I said, before adding brightly, “Well, then, we’ve got at least forty-five minutes left to drive. Let’s have a deep and meaningful conversation! What shall we talk about?”

“The fifty different ways to dismember a distinguished professor of linguistics?” she suggested acidly, adding, “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”

“Not to my face,” I said thoughtfully, “though it has come up in some anonymous student evaluations. From time to time.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t put it on a goddamned billboard,” she growled. “Maybe we should hold off on meaningful conversations until you’ve had a period, lost half your ego, and filled out at least a C-cup.”

Ouch! I should have known better than to try a rubber of repartee with Janet. Might as well try to keep both ears while going three rounds with Iron Mike Tyson. Still, Janet riled up was better than Janet distressed. But it was time to throw in the towel.

“You’re right,” I said. “On all counts. But I’m scared, Janet. There is no way I can manage this alone. Will you join me on this little adventure? Share it with me?”

She kept her eyes facing forward. Firmly. She said, “I might slow you down. I’m not getting any younger, but you are.”

“You always said your students keep you young. They have, too. But it doesn’t matter. Even if I’m suddenly supplied with good looks and ‘youthful vigah,’ God help me, all I’ll be doing is falling on my increasingly plump and lovely ass. I only just figured out that women use toilet paper when they piss.”

“Seriously?” she said, incredulously. “What on earth did you think we use? Our prehensile tails?”

“I’d never given the matter any thought,” I said. “Not once. Why would I? It wasn’t germane to my research. But now I need to know it, and probably a million other seemingly obvious things just like it. Please, Janet? I can’t do this without you.”

She kept driving, but a smile slowly began to spread over her face. Not, I hasten to add, the sweetest smile I’d ever seen, either.

“Oh, Honey,” she said, “Count me in, but you may wish you hadn’t asked!”

I gulped. “Why?”

“Don’t worry your pretty golden head about that,” she said. “But just as a bit of an appetizer, before we get back to Northampton, we need to stop and get a few things. To help you learn. Think of them as educational supplies.”

“What kind of supplies?” I asked, warily.

“Oh, nothin’ much,” she said cheerily. “You’re gonna need some new clothes. Some things that have some give, in case you keep, ah . . . y’know . . . shrinkin’. Some decent underwear. A pretty dress or two. Some makeup. Some tampons, just in case. And a bra.”

“Surely it’s too soon for all that,” I protested weakly.

“You need practice, girl,” she replied. “And don’t call me ‘Shirley’!”

I didn’t want to offend Janet again, so I managed – just barely – to avoid repeating what I was thinking.

* * * * *

We stopped at the Target in Lennox after we had picked up my car. I was still getting over the fact that I had needed to adjust my seat and all of my mirrors before I had been able to drive safely. Not for the last time, I wondered just how bad this was going to get.

When we got inside, Janet got a cart and resolutely marched me to the nearest gallows: in this case, the area where the store showcased “intimates” for women. I gritted my teeth and tried to remind myself to improve what Janet – and anyone under forty – would call my ‘tude.

“Alright,” she said, neither raising her voice nor making any effort to lower it, “let’s start with some panties. What do you fancy?”

“Asphyxiation,” I replied, sotto voce. “As a way of dying, it’s far preferable to mortification. At least, that’s my assessment at this precise moment.”

“Drama much?” she asked sardonically. “If it helps, James, just tell yourself that it’s for science.”

“You could try to keep your voice down, at least,” I whispered furiously.

“I could,” she agreed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

I gave her a glower that should have reduced her to a puddle of quivering jelly.

She looked at me quizzically. “You’re gonna have to retire that look, James. Without your bushy eyebrows, your glare just looks . . . I dunno. Cute?”

I tried gritting my teeth, but she just shook her head. “Nope. Not that either.” Then she reached out and touched my arm lightly. “No-one’s paying any attention. But if they do, why should you care? We’re a long ways from home, and you’ll never see any of these people again.”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and reminded myself, once again, about my ‘tude. Without opening them, I said, “Fine. Something basic. What’s the female equivalent of tighty-whities?”

You are!” she retorted. “Or you will be, if you don’t get over yourself.”

I opened my eyes to see Janet just staring at me impatiently.

“Got that outta your system?” she asked.

I nodded, chagrined.

“Good,” she responded. “Now listen up. Is there a female equivalent of ‘tighty-whities? I’m sure there is. At very least, there are things that are boring, even if they don’t actually go out of their way to be grotesque. I mean, really? Tighty-whities?”

I wanted to glower, but I had been warned. It wasn’t working.

She continued, “You go down that path, though, and you will end up becoming just a double x version of yourself. Less emotionally stable, I expect, as you suggested before. Not because women are unstable, but because you won’t have learned to handle your emotions. And . . . you won’t be any more emotionally connected. Or connected to the physical world. The world of sights and sounds and smells and feeling. If you want more – and, honest to God, Honey, you do – you have to stop thinking like a man.”

“Okay, okay!” I said. “But you can’t really be suggesting that women have deep and meaningful thoughts about underwear, for God’s sake?”

“I can, and we do,” she said. “Maybe not every day, but it happens. Honestly, does that shock you? Why else would a discount store in a town of maybe five thousand people have so many options?”

I just shook my head. No clue. The question was far beyond the scope of any intellectual inquiry I had ever pursued.

She said, “Sometimes we want underwear that’s just useful or comfortable, sure. But sometimes we want to wear an outfit that requires different underwear. Other times we may want to feel sexy. Or just pretty.”

“Janet,” I said, panicked. “I’m not trying to pick up a date, for the love of all that’s holy! I just need some underwear! Why would I want to feel pretty? Much less . . . er . . . sexy?”

I was blushing so hard that all traffic would likely stop until I turned green again.

Janet gave me a pitying look. “Sure, sometimes we want to feel pretty or sexy for some guy. But other times we may just want to feel pretty or sexy for ourselves. As a reminder of that part of our existence. Feelin’ pretty, or sexy, is one of those things about being a woman that can be a very special experience. One you’ve never had. Why wouldn’t you want it?”

She gave me a look, chuckled, and said, “You might want to control your saggin’ jaw, James. You look funny with your mouth hanging open.”

As I endeavored to bring my facial expression back under control, she continued, “Remember, the main point of this exercise isn’t to get you clothes. There’s a good chance you won’t fit them for long anyways, ‘cuz you’re still shrinkin’, remember? The main point is to get you to start thinkin' differently. Women pay attention to things. Like color, texture, cut. Including when shopping for underwear. What colors do you like? Look at them. What fabrics? Touch ‘em. Use your imagination. Imagine how they would feel on you.”

“Janet!” I said, “that’s practically pornographic!”

That earned a grin. “If you say so,” she said. “Now: Look. Feel. Imagine. Choose.”

I wanted to protest, but I had asked for her help. I had to take it on faith that, while she might enjoy embarrassing me, that wasn’t why she was doing what she was doing. I had to start thinking in different ways. Women didn’t just dress for comfort? Fine. Got it.

I looked at the racks of panties. Black, white, off-white, pink, red, blue, peach. Animal prints. Why animal prints, for pity’s sake? Why would anyone want to make their ass look like a cheetah pelt? Some idiot in camo and an orange vest might just load you up with buckshot!

There were also different fabrics. Cotton, clearly, was a minority option. Most looked more like nylon of some sort. Then there were the actual shapes. Lots of fabric. Next to no fabric. The decorations. Lace. No lace. Little embroidered flowers. What was the purpose of this many choices?

Glancing furtively around and seeing no-one, I reached out and ran a finger down the front of an innocuous looking nylon pair as I had been instructed.

I almost jerked my hand away. Just the act of running a finger down the front of a pair of panties had given me a shock of pleasure, not unlike the shock I had gotten when I lathered my chest earlier in the morning. I felt something – something almost . . . squirrely? In the newest parts of my anatomy. A warm, pleasant feeling that made me want to squirm.

I stroked the front of the panties again, more thoughtfully. It’s for science! Again per Janet’s instructions, I imagined what it would feel like, to pull these panties up my legs . . . my suddenly smooth legs . . . to settle them where they belonged; feel them touching me. Cradling my new equipment . . . .

YIKES! Yeah, I hadn’t been kidding! It was practically pornographic. I felt flushed and looked up, embarrassed, to find Janet looking at me, a bit of mischief dancing in her eyes.

“He likes it! Hey Mikey!” she said playfully. “See? Bein’ a girl ain’t all bad. You like that color?”

The panties I had been fingering were a sort of light brown. I said, almost without thought, “I guess so . . . .”

“But they’re maybe a bit boring?” Janet probed.

I felt my blush growing stronger. I opened my mouth. Closed it again. And finally said, in a small voice, “Yeah, maybe they are.”

“Now you're talking,” Janet said approvingly. “Can you imagine yourself wearing something in red? With your new coloring, you could pull it off.”

I closed my eyes again, my body and senses at war with a lifetime of living, and imagined myself wearing red panties. My first mental image was me as I had been, up until a week ago. The panties looked absurd. But I forced myself to adjust my mental image. To imagine myself as female first . . . . My breath quickened, ever so slightly.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Okay!” Janet responded. “That’s one small step for a woman – pretty much just another Saturday, really. But sure as hell, it’s one giant leap for mankind.”

She put several pairs of panties in the cart, including two in a cherry red. All of her selections appeared to use fabrics that were softer, silkier, than anything I had ever had next to my skin.

Next she took me over to where the store had arranged racks of bras. “This’ll just be for practice,” Janet said, “since we don’t know either the band or the cup size you’ll need once everything has, ah, shaken out. Although . . . .”

She appeared to have been caught by a thought she was reluctant to share with me.

I decided that if Janet thought discretion was the better part of valor, I definitely didn’t need to hear it. Whatever it was.

She shook off the thought and said, “let’s just get you something you can wear now.” She flashed me a grin. “In red, of course!”

My blush came back in full force.

“Excuse me,” a female voice said behind us. I froze. The voice continued, “I’ve got a tape measure if you need one.” I couldn’t bear to turn around. I wanted to sink into the floor. Liquidate, like the Wicked Witch of the West.

But Janet, naturally, took it completely in stride. “Do you? That’d be a big help. Thanks, love.” She reached a hand behind me and it came back with a roll of something in it.

“Lift up your arms, Hon,” she said to me.

I was flashing panic signs at her with my frantic eyes, but she ignored me and unwound the roll of measuring tape. Feeling like a circus performer, I raised my arms to the height of my shoulders.

Janet wrapped the tape around my torso and said, “Forty.” She wound the tape and handed it back to the other woman, still behind me.

I felt foreign fingers run through my hair, and the woman said, “I’m just in for some . . . supplies. But I’m always on the lookout for new subs. What do you say, Toots? Looking for a walk on the wild side!” Her voice was low and sultry.

“Great good heavens!” I barked, stepping out of her reach and spinning around, “Just what kind of a job are you subcontracting!”

Before the woman could do more than chuckle, Janet said, “Now, now, dearie. No poaching. This one’s mine. Run along, now.”

The woman – dyed red hair and fairly dramatic, er, curves, puckered her mouth in a strange expression. “Such a pity!” she said, and sautered away, chuckling.

“What the hell was that?” I asked. “Another fun part of being a woman?”

I was a bit caustic, and I was certainly louder than I intended to be. I looked around frantically, but with the woman’s departure we were again alone.

“Nah,” Janet said. “I doubt you’ll run into that kind of problem once you can pass. So we should speed the day, right?”

I felt so much better. I was hoping that the incident would lead Janet to cut short our little shopping spree, but I should have known it wouldn’t.

She just went to the rack, found what looked like a really large bra, in red, and put it in the cart. She got something else as well – something I’d seen some of the girls around campus wearing when they were jogging. It looked very different from the red bra, but the functional elements were sufficiently similar that I had to conclude the garment served a similar purpose.

“Sports bra,” Janet said in answer to my quizzical look.

I looked at it. It was a royal blue and had to have twenty criss-crossing straps in the back. “I don’t get it,” I said. “How does that help you with sports?”

Janet gave me an evil grin. “Well, now, that depends on the sport, doesn't it?”

If I got any redder, someone was going to call the paramedics.

Janet did spend less time on the other items that she wanted to get. I had the sense that I had managed to jump whatever gate she had set for me, and she was now eager to get what she needed and get out. Good by me, though . . . damn! The woman was a whirlwind of activity. Nylons. Two shirts (she called them “tops”). A short, stretchy black skirt. Something she described as a “shirt dress.” A nightgown. The thought of the nightgown gave me another shiver. A robe. Two pairs of “leggings.” A few cosmetics. Some of what she described as “feminine hygiene products.”

We brought them to the register and I got a kind of funny look from the guy who rung it up. I decided the best thing to do was tell myself, as firmly as I could, that I would never see him again, and even if he saw me . . . he probably wouldn’t recognize me. Hell, I probably wouldn’t recognize me.

In the parking lot, we loaded the purchases into the back of the Forester. Then Janet said, “James . . . Why don’t you just follow me home. Your condo isn’t the most private place in the world. I’ve got a spare bedroom you can use, and this way I can keep an eye on you. I won’t be much help when you’re at home.”

I thought about it. I like my privacy, but . . . as Janet had said, too much of a good thing is a bad thing. Right now, I found that I had a strong desire to stick to my friend like a cocklebur to a terrier. That was worrisome. Extremely worrisome, really. But I decided I wasn’t going to fight it.

* * * * *

We were back at Janet’s place by 1:00, or so. She had me bring the Target bags into her spare bedroom. The room was clearly used as her study. Desk, computer, a wall of books . . . . my own study looked pretty similar, though the book titles were of course different. There was practically an entire shelf of books on Nathaniel Hawthorne – titles like Hawthorne and Women: Engendering and Expanding the Hawthorne Tradition; Understanding The Scarlet Letter: A Student Casebook to Issues, Sources, and Historical Documents; and Student Companion to Nathaniel Hawthorne. I knew Hawthorne held pride of place in Janet’s pantheon of authors. But I have a hard time reading fiction itself. Reading articles and books about fiction . . . I think I’d prefer giving a lecture while wearing nothing but lingerie. At least the students might stay awake!

The room had a twin bed tucked against the wall that had drawers under it, as well as a narrow, deep, typically useless old New England closet. Fortunately, while it had felt like we bought an enormous amount at Target, it was actually about what one might pack for a weekend away. It didn’t look like much when we put it all away.

When we were done with that project, Janet said, “Okay, I’m gonna make us some lunch. What I want you to do is to spend some time tryin’ on your new purchases. See how you like them. Don’t worry about the mirror just now. That’s gonna be unhelpful for a bit, I expect. Just try your things on, see how they feel and how they fit. Then pick something to wear and join me in . . . forty-five minutes?”

I nodded, trying not to allow my trepidation to show. I didn’t want another sermon about my “beatitude.”

She smiled and left, closing the door behind her.

I stood for a long moment, cursing fate and termites alike. Then I sighed and stripped.

Unfortunately, my male genitalia had not seen fit to re-emerge from their hiding place over the course of the day. Instead, some peach fuzz had started to sprout in the triangle above my new equipment. Naturally, it was both fiery gold and itched like poison ivy. Figures.

I opened the drawer, and the silky red panties stared back at me. I growled, “I’m not Maria, for God’s sake! I’ve got no business feeling pretty . . . or witty . . . or effing bright!”

But I reached down anyway. I picked them up, feeling an absolute shock of . . . something. Of knowing, maybe. The logical part of my mind – which is to say, all of it, dammit! – told me to stop fussing. It was just a piece of fabric, and it was absurd to invest it with some deep meaning. It was stupid to delay putting on undergarments that had been designed for my body’s current, ah, configuration. To instead be standing bareass naked in the middle of the room holding them, like I was about to declaim an Ode to Red Panties.

But my mind, I realized with something like a thermal shock, was wrong. The panties positively screamed “girl-woman-female-feminine!” If I put them on, it would be like I was accepting my new reality. Becoming an accomplice. It wouldn’t just be something that had been done to me anymore, it would be something I was actively advancing. Could I live with that?

My mind turned to Janet’s words earlier today. I considered how I would feel if Janet was the one who had been injected with . . . with whatever. If she were the one who was growing younger, better looking. Changing genders. Would I feel horrified for her? Or would I be jealous? If I could switch with her right now, give her the big adventure and return to my old life, would I?

Yes, I would. Absolutely.

But . . . Not because I didn’t want the adventure. I’d switch because I knew how much it would mean to her. Because she was my best friend, and I wouldn’t want her to feel left behind. Or . . . old. Before her outburst today, I had never thought of her as old.

So I’d switch in a heartbeat, and inside, where no-one would ever see, I would weep. For what I might have done. What I might have been.

I found myself tearing up again, but I shook it off. No! I’d give the gift to Janet if I could, but since I couldn’t, the least I could do was try not to squander it. Resolutely, I put one foot, then the other, through the appropriate holes and pulled the panties up my legs. I settled them into place. I ran my hands down the sides. Across the bottom. They felt . . . .

No. . . . I felt.

I felt pretty. And sexy. Oh. My. God.

Before I could chicken out – or, for that matter, pass out – I bent down and grabbed the matching bra. In for a dime, in for a . . . .

How in hell does the contraption work? It was obvious where everything went, but how were you supposed to fasten it? There were no buttons or zippers. Just rows of strange hook-looking things.

After a couple minutes, I figured out how the two sets of hooky thingies connected to each other, so I did that. But now how was I supposed to get it on? It was apparent that the hooky thingies weren’t supposed to be fastened until my arms were through the straps, so I undid them and tried that. But then the things were behind me. I couldn’t see to fasten them.

I tried putting it on backwards. I was able to get everything connected, but now the parts that were supposed to hold my still non-existent breasts were over my shoulder blades. I sure as hell hoped that the termites hadn’t screwed up and put my breasts on backwards!

I tried rotating it, but the shoulder straps held it in place. What lunatic invented these things?

Finally, I managed to get my arms out of the shoulder straps, then I was able to rotate the cups to the front, then I put the straps back over my shoulders. It was crazy, and uncomfortable, and about as efficient as a Soviet-era collective farm. All of my good intentions were dissolving into intense frustration.

Janet knocked on the door and called out, “How are you doin’ in there, Hon?”

I froze. I wanted to scream my frustration. But . . . I didn’t want Janet to see me. I would cheerfully have lied, but I was strangely tongue-tied. While I wallowed in indecision like a rowboat in heavy chop, Janet walked in.

I stared at her, panicked. Feeling ridiculous. Absurd.

But she looked calm, and there was no hint of her usual sharp wit in her eyes.

“Good start, Hon,” she said in a kindly tone. “Those things are harder than they look. Let me help.” I could only stand, silent and petrified, as she walked over, reached behind and did something with one strap, then the other. Then she tugged the front of the bra lower, until the tight band was a couple inches lower than my nipples. Suddenly, it felt fine. Strange, of course, but not uncomfortable.

She put a hand on each of my shoulders. “You okay?”

I thought about it, but not for long. I’d already done my thinking. I put my hands over hers and gave them a squeeze. “Yes. I’m okay now. And I’ll be okay. Mostly. Prolly. Except when I’m not. But I won’t . . . I won’t waste the opportunity, Janet. I promise.”

She gave me a long, searching look, her eyes radiating concern and kindness both.

“Your panties are on backwards,” she said. “You know that, right?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?” I asked, with suitable affection.

“Every day and twice on Sundays,” she replied proudly. “Do I get a medal or somethin’?”

I giggled. I’m the Carter Cecil Jackson Distinguished Professor of Linguistics, for God’s sake. I’m giggling?

It felt good.

She giggled with me and eventually we were laughing like loons. That felt even better.

Finally, she wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes and said, “Girl, you need a new name. James won’t work, and Janet’s taken. How ‘bout Jessica?”

To be continued. Oh, surely.

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Comments

that first pair of panties

sadly, because I still have my male equipment, it wasn't quite as good an experience for me.

DogSig.png

Thanks, Dot!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Yeah, James got an extra treat. :D

Emma

Soon, please

erin's picture

This is fun. :)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Yes, Ma'am!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

So glad you are enjoying it. AND I get another chapter of SFX to read soon!

Emma

New name

Why don't she calls herself Shirley? >:->

Well, I lacked the patience to work through the shopping trip, so I skipped most of it.

Otherwise, thx for a good chapter^^

Shirley

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Now, THERE'S a good idea!

I'm glad you are enjoying the story.

Sorry . . . I kinda skimmed over your second sentence there . . . . :D

Emma

Cultural references . . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

This story is just filled with my mental closet’s cultural references. You get the gold star for catching this one. There was a different Airplane reference in Chapter One, too. ;-)

Emma

I wonder...

where Jessica will be at the end of this five-year mission. Thusfar, the mission has been wonderfully captivating! We get to explore a whole universe of possibilities.

Well done,
Ellipsis

I think she's wondering that too!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

But then, so's your author. I prolly need to figure that out . . . .

Glad you are enjoying it!

Emma

Jessica's mission is to obtain weapons grade uranium

Julia Miller's picture

I wonder how the heck she is supposed to pull this off, not to mention not getting a lethal dose of radiation. This will continue to be an interesting story.

Aliens

Maybe they will find out that nuclear waste has an even more intense effect.
Then there would be a very good way of disposal :D

Martina

Hopefully

Hopefully the aliens can hook Janet up as a friends of the emissary discount on her own rejuv :)

Hmmm

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Intriguing suggestion, Captain. Fascinating.

:D

Emma

The Shopping Trip

The shopping trip offered tremendous insight into both of the main characters. Skim at your own risk. As Spock warned, "Insufficient facts always invite danger."

Eager to see what troubles (tribbles??) our hero faces.

Jill

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Shopping can be fun . . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Who knew?

I am so glad you are following this one, Jill. I'll see if I can't make some good trouble!

Emma

I have no problems shopping

I have no problems shopping myself, but I have difficulties reading about (longer) shopping trips.

How long is "longer"?

Patricia Marie Allen's picture

I didn't think this was a long shopping trip. I don't like the long drawn out shopping trips where each outfit is tried on; described in detail ad infinitum, in no less than 5 stores. This one only went into detail one item and only mentioned three while they were in the store and ended with a synopsis of what was bought. The rest of the shopping trip gave us a look at the inner turmoil of the two characters involved.

All in all well handled.

Hugs
Patricia

Happiness is being all dressed up and HAVING some place to go.
Semper in femineo gerunt
Ich bin eine Mann

I kind of feel the same way . . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

It is easy to overdo on descriptions of shopping. For this story, it might well have made sense that Janet would have had James go through the same choosing exercise for the other items on the list (well, other than the hygiene products; he would really be out to lunch there). But I couldn't think of a way to write that in a way that would be interesting, since the important point had been made. For those of us who aren't fashion mavens, and I'm certainly not, less is more.

Emma

I will add my concurrence

Shopping trips in T-stories are a snooze generally unless handled with intent that moves the story along.

Angela's comment is spot on, much like what I would've said.

The actual outfit descriptions to excruciating detail is a bad sign the shopping stuff has run amok and need to be reined in. For people like myself who is post transition/full time for over three decades it is an absolute eye roller.

There was little of that here. The trip was merely a prodding and a preview, a therapeutic step to help James acknowledge a change. For those who are into rocketry it is like running cryogenic fuel through the engine to pre-chill the engine before launch so the engines survive that experience when they finally light up to launch.

Other analogies abound of course.

Finally, another approach that is far less taken (if ever really) is not to go through the in-store blow by blow experience and have the story skip to post-trip and have the character reflect on the key points from their POV and what seemed to stand out. I am not saying this is better or not or a better fit for this story but I propose it can be an alternative approach.

Thanks Kimmie

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Very useful feedback.

Emma

Feedback

That said, I must diverge in the whole silky fabrics thing.

Yes, early transition I bought some nice silky gowns and slept in them but found myself waking up sweaty and sticky, straps digging into my body etc and regretfully, as beautiful as they were, I never wore them again. Nylon panties and the like even with liners retain far too much moisture that may be a good environment for bacteria and such, possibly leading to UTIs as the urethra is much shorter for women.

Years ago, VS made some lovely classic cotton sleep shirts and lovely cotton panties in a classic cut that I don't see anymore. Point is, it is harder to make cotton look 'voluptuous' and glossy like some kind of wrapping paper for your partner to remove off of you like a gift but it is possible.

For me "longer" means 2+

For me "longer" means 2+ pages in a hardcover book. But then I'm probably damaged by reading a few too many drawn out shopping trips.

Quit while you can

Dee Sylvan's picture

They say if you find yourself in a hole, you should probably put down the shovel. Some of Emma's best one liners were unleashed in Target.

DeeDee

I love this story!

Robertlouis's picture

Less amusing and more thoughtful, but with much more profundity about James’s changes and little hints about his dawning realisation of both their inevitably and weakening acceptance of them.

And I love his little internal argument over the supposed interchangeability of nevertheless and nonetheless (strict grammarians would argue that they mean different things.)

James is still in there.

Lovely, and very sensitive writing, Emma. xx

☠️

Drift . . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Yes, the tone drifted on me a bit in this chapter. I find that, as characters lodge themselves more firmly in my brain, they start having a gravitational pull on the direction of their stories. But I’m committed to keeping the thread of humor strong. Or at least, the thread of my humor!

Also on the subject of drift, remember that semantics is not James’ specialty. He would reject the grammarian’s strict view where it conflicted with the drift of the language over a significant period of time. :D

Thank you, as always, for your thoughtful comments!

Emma

Ah…

Robertlouis's picture

Less overt humour, perhaps, but a plentiful supply of your delightful wit, Emma, and I’m sure that you recognise the distinction. The verbal sparring between two academics who have known each other for decades, but whose friendship is rapidly shifting to an entirely different plane, which one recognises and accepts, while the other struggles to deal with both conceptually and emotionally, is something that you are handling with great sensitivity as well as brilliant shafts of humour.

This is terrific writing of the very highest standard, regardless of genre.

Rob xx

☠️

I'm Still Laughing...

...at that "prehensile tail" line.

Fun chapter -- which I'm not at all sure I expected, between James's initial mortification and the need(?) for a shopping trip scene. (As others have pointed out, you certainly used it to good purpose and made it integral to our impressions of the two characters. I'm only saying that I hadn't been looking forward to it.)

Eric

Lordy!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Note to self: avoid that trope!

Glad you enjoyed the prehensile tail line. Writing dialogue for two tenured professors who have known each other for years is pretty fun. Lots of space for repartee!

Emma

Reminds me of another TG tale with a tail

Published in some SF magazine in late 70’s or early 80’s. Protagonist finds his male brain is now in a female body, which he accepts, but what is hard on him is that attached is a prehensile tail.

Beyond Rejection by Justin Bieber

erin's picture

There were two sequels. :)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Bieber?

I think it's Lieber. Begins with an "L" I'm sure.

I have the first story in paperback, but never could find the rest.

Damaged people are dangerous
They know they can survive

Yep

Fritz Lieber's son.

Beyond Rejection is very hard to find. It is well written though.

Yes

erin's picture

Justin Leiber was a professor of philosophy and the son of Fritz Leiber. The typo above was a Cupertino, caused by one of those predictive speed-typing programs that don't know for shit. :)

And yes, it's EI, not IE.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Can programs able have a

Can programs able have a Freudian slip? o.O

I must still have my faculties

I was pretty sure I wasn’t confabulating; so happy you confirmed it. Wow, Erin, is there anything you don’t know?

Loving the interaction between our protagonists

and hope we see more of the aliens!

The shopping bit is something of a trope which is, I suppose, inevitable, but the dialogue makes it enjoyable - particularly liked the domme-type trying to tempt James / Jessica away, and Janet's comeback!

Alison

Bugs be back . . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

. . . But not next chapter. Jessica’s still got some growing down to do. :D

Note to self: Don’t misplace the last note . . . !

Emma

Linguistics

joannebarbarella's picture

Are going to play the principal role in the termites' negotiations with humanity. Jessica is going to be the main intermediary whether she likes it or not....no choice.
I'm sure she is going to be the epitome of human pulchritude when she is called upon to perform her duties.

Pulchritude

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Now that there’s a TEN dollar word! And I expect you’re right about it, too. . . . Glad you’re having fun!

Emma

That word always gets me

First time I heard the word I thought 'What?!!! She got turned into a chicken!'

^_^

I wouldn’t be…

Robertlouis's picture

…entirely sure about the new woman’s pulchritude (ah, the benefits of a classical education!). If you go back to the opening chapter and recall Worm’s, shall we say, “quirky” appearance, based on the aliens’ received notions of humans, based on narrow TV stereotypes. There has to be some chance of a few oddities.

Back to you, Emma.

☠️

A Gift Horse..

Dee Sylvan's picture

I'm going to have to start a collection of Emma-isms. “Maybe we should hold off on meaningful conversations until you’ve had a period, lost half your ego, and filled out at least a C-cup.” We should all be so lucky!

That shopping trip was a treasure trove. I think my favorite was “I’m just in for some . . . supplies. But I’m always on the lookout for new subs. What do you say, Toots? Looking for a walk on the wild side!” Moi?

Great stuff, my dear.

DeeDee

Thank you, Dee!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

So glad you’re having fun too. :D

Love ya!

Emma

James no longer need keep his feelings stoppered up

Speaking of which, the speed of witticisms in this episode reminds me of a lecture I heard about 40 years ago by Tom Stoppard.

Enjoyable writing, Emma. Hope you don’t mind my little setup for the pun.

All puns welcome!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Always!

Glad you are enjoying it. The dialogue has been fun to write. :D

Emma

Sexy Just Because

BarbieLee's picture

Female and male minds develop differently in the womb. Because of the difference, the thought processes develop and work differently whether a male or female. With the advances in medical science and the amazing equipment one is subjected to when inserted into a tube. The dissecting of minds by the Scandinavian countries. The medical papers they published detailing the physical differences, that most hospitals, doctors, psychiatrists, and almost every one else in the medical and political arena dismissed. Most everyone now has read or heard there is more than beauty and muscle to the difference between males and females.

After reading several of her chapters, even if it is SF, Emma has a heck of an understanding of the hidden nuances between the sexes. She's tossing those little innuendoes into her tales, funny and outright laughable though she may place them in there. She is one of those special women I'd love to meet but what would we talk about? I'd be so outclassed Although only conversation not an argument it would still fit a comment by Samuel Clements. "Never argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience."

“Sure, sometimes we want to feel pretty or sexy for some guy. But other times we may just want to feel pretty or sexy for ourselves. As a reminder of that part of our existence. Feelin’ pretty, or sexy, is one of those things about being a woman that can be a very special experience. One you’ve never had. Why wouldn’t you want it?”

Over the years I've tried to counsel the girls to accept themselves. Until they do they will never get the world to fully accept them. Believe in ESP or don't but the silent signal is there. Until they believe in themselves they are sending out that doubt to everyone around them. Call it the silent "deer in the headlights look" if one must.

Janet is trying to teach James what she must think and do to accept herself. Pretty deep writing unless you're a psychiatrist MsTate. Lot of word bending, humor, and of course tongue in cheek so it's only a very funny SF with sarcasm to spare. "These aren't the droids you're looking for. Move along."
Hugs Emma, you have the setting, action, dialog in your writing down to perfection.

Barb
Life has speed bumps, barriers, not to break us but to make us stronger. Make the right choice.

Oklahoma born and raised cowgirl

Shucks, woman . . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

I’m just a country lawyer . . . . ;-) No fancy degrees. Nothing but watching people and loving it.

Thank you for your kind words; it’s been a delight to follow your progress as you binged the story today. Because I have to focus on each chapter as a unit, it’s occasionally difficult to know how it will read as a unified whole. I’m so glad you are enjoying it!

Emma

Gary Cooper

If you long for good ‘ol days,
When Jimmy led us in a haze,
Just pass the grits,
Puttin’ on the Fritz.
If you go for Democrats,
Who court the poor in tails and spats,
Then it’s the pits,
Puttin’ on the Fritz.
Wish that he were more like Gary Cooper,
Speakin’ style’s excitin’ as a grouper,
In a stupor.

Emma, do you remember Mark Russell’s ‘84 special?

I missed this comment . . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

But I absolutely didn’t miss this song, back in ‘84! Damn, it was funny!

Emma

Charming!

Erisian's picture

To steal a line from a kind comment of yours, I'm late to this party...but will try to catch up! ;)

The first person inner dialogue is fantastic, but what really makes this story wonderful is the spoken dialogue with perfectly smooth descriptions woven in. The 'voices' for each character are marvelously distinct and make it a pleasure to read - to which the injected humor is just a cherry on top!

Aha!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Sucked you in! Good! I hope you enjoy it half as much as I enjoyed binge-reading your first “Light” series today. Based on what I have read of your work so far, this is . . . Ah . . . well. Kind of silly. But there’s a story in there too, so . . . have faith!

Emma

"You’ll just be a man in a woman’s body."

Iolanthe Portmanteaux's picture

Excellent episode, this one. The remaking of James; not just an external renovation, but also an internal, voluntary process. It's brilliant the way you parsed it out.

Excellent writing. Top marks.

hugs,

- iolanthe

Interior journey

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Thank you, Iolanthe! It was very important to me that James’ transformation wasn’t just skin-deep. Being a woman is more than that, and I wanted James to experience the whole journey. And, while he may not have chosen the transformation in the first instance, the decision to embrace the change rather than fight it was voluntary. Fortunately, he had Janet around to explain why he should!

Emma

This is

Sunflowerchan's picture

Some of your best work to date that I've had the pleasure of reading. If this chapter is anything to go by, them I'm in for the long haul! I can not wait to see were you take Jessica! I'm loving the fact that Janet has stepped in to help her durning her transformation. Oh and I loved the Target scene. I've never shopped at one, I don't think we have them in my neck of the woods. That or my characters have never been given the chance to visit one. Also if he knows it or not James has take the first step, the biggest step, a step he can not take on his own. I often found being 'gifted' a name is special, it kind of acts like a bridge. So the fact that you had Janet gift James a name, showed her accepting her into the world wide sisterhood! Thank you can Ms. Emma for the highly entertaining chapter.

So glad you enjoyed the chapter!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

I really enjoyed writing the Target scene. The dialogue was fun to think about. But there was also a lot of opportunity to delve into the relationship between the two professors. So it warms my heart that you enjoyed it as well.

Emma

Pleasure to re-read

Erisian's picture

Had time at lunch to read again, and once more did the wonderful dialogue and characterizations make for an enjoyable escape in the middle of the work day.

All the comments about the shopping trip trope also had me wondering about my own tales, but certainly here it was well done with how the characters' struggles (both of 'em!) were woven in. With a dramatic and sudden transformation story such as this the need for new clothing is an obvious required event in some form, but as writing guides say: every scene needs to serve to advance plot and character - which this scene does very well. Great job, Emma!

Shopping

Emma Anne Tate's picture

I think the comments on the chapter dissuaded me from ever writing another shopping trip!

Emma

Know what you mean

Erisian's picture

Yeah, it'd certainly be something I'd have to carefully consider. Dealing with tailors and seamstresses, however, can be especially fun! Especially when they're fae! ;)

But really, for any mystical/sci-fi transformation story they've got to get new clothes somehow - unless it's a reality shift and voila / presto! All clothes in their wardrobes are transformed as well!

Hey...we can spin the tales of our dreams, right? :)