The
Rigby Narratives:
The Ultimate TG Experience

by
Andy Hollis
and
Jaye Michael

It was a dark and stormy night. The lightening flashing through my basement
studio's high casement windows was bright enough and frequent enough to interfere
with my enjoyment of my favorite video. Of course, I knew the scenes and the
lines to Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde by heart, so I wasn't really watching
so much as using it for background noise as I typed away at my latest novel,
The Placebo Effect. Placebo was going to be my opus magnum, the
finest, most comprehensive, work of transgender fiction ever written. It was
going to be the story of a man who turns into a woman a la Kafka's "Metamorphosis,"
with subplots including a man who runs afoul of his bosses and has to hide.
In the same tradition as "The Purloined Letter," he decides-actually
his girlfriend convinces him-to hide in plain sight. Did I mention that one
of the characters was to be a scientist and that she was to have been raped
in high school? If I did this right, know one would know what was really happening
until the very end, where there would be a surprise worthy of O'Henry.

Anyway, the lightening was so bad that I finally gave up my writing, turning
off and unplugging the computer. Better to have it off now and live to type
another day. Actually, even Jekyll and Hyde was getting hard to hear above the
cacophony from without so I also turned off the television and, like mama taught,
unplugged it too. After all, I was not so rich that I could afford to replace
all my electronic equipment.

At that point, I would have gone over to Barbie's place, but her roommates
had made it clear that she did not want to see or talk to me any more, not since
she'd found I had used a pair of her panties to…well, you know. In keeping
with my bland life, I'll save the graphic details for my stories. The bottom
line was, no girlfriend. She hadn't even bothered to take them, or any of her
other clothes, with her when she'd stormed out, saying she didn't even want
to try to remove the stains from my pathetic sex acts from them. I admit Barbie
is tall for a girl at five-foot ten, but geez, you'd think I'd been wearing
them; like I could fit my six-foot eight-inch, three hundred twenty pound frame
into her size sixes even if I wanted to. Actually, she was another reason why
The Placebo Effect was languishing. I missed her and just couldn't seem
to concentrate on my plotting when all I could think of was her.

With no television, no computer, no job, no girlfriend and even the dog asleep,
I was at a loss as to what to do and 3 AM is way too early for bedtime when
you've been on the night shift for the last five years. I would have been there
now, playing night watchman while waiting for a better paying job in management
and finishing off the great American transgender novel, but the owners had torched
the warehouse in order to insure maximum return on their investment and, as
the cop who questioned me noted, "There ain't no reason for ya ta guard
ashes."

The good news was they didn't think I had set the blaze, although they still
wanted me to stay in town and available. "S.O.P." the cop had insisted.

So, what was I going to do? She had taken her collection of Barbie dolls, but
I could feel her clothes beckoning me. They were still in her closet and the
top three drawers of my dresser. I hadn't had the heart to box them and try
to send them back to her. I think, deep in my heart of hearts, that I still
hoped we could be together again, but then I glanced at her picture, hanging
above my computer, smiling joyously as she glanced over at me as I snapped her
picture. I had taken it just after she had aced her serve during this year's
semi-final game at the regional volleyball tournament. Her long blond hair framed
her angelic, heart-shaped face and sparkling blue eyes-and the bikini didn't
hurt either. Slowly that smiling visage was replaced by hers as I saw her last,
hurt and angry beyond words and I knew I could never win her back. She was too
angry.

I ambled over to the couch and stood on the back so I could get high enough
to look out my basement window at the night sky. Looking out the window into
the storm, the flashes from the lightening were even brighter and more blinding
than before, so I used one hand to shade my eyes while holding onto one of the
water pipes suspended near my ceiling for balance. The sky was so brightly lit
that, for a moment, it reminded me of that old SciFi movie, The Day of the
Triffids, and I chuckled to myself for my foolishness. Everyone knew that
all that stuff about aliens and ghosts and magic was just bunk, but it might
help with a story line someday, so I filed it in my memory for later consideration
and cranked open the window in order to get a better view. I was going to have
to break down and wash them one of these days.

That was when things got strange.

This huge, six-foot glowing ball of light appeared in front of my open window
as if examining me. It gave off a faint hum as it hovered above the sidewalk
before me. I had heard of St. Elmo's fire, but I had thought that that was usually
found out over the ocean or some other large body of water since most of the
reports were from sailors. This was Columbus, Ohio and the largest body of water
near me, besides some poor excuses for rivers that flowed through the city was
the Hoover Dam on the opposite side of town.

If that wasn't strange enough, a smaller ball of lightening, this one only
about a foot in diameter, separated from the original and leaped at me. I didn't
even have time to react before it was on me, encircling my body so that I too
was glowing.

I initially felt just a mild tingle, like lying on one of those magic-finger,
vibrating beds in a motel. I know I never actually felt pain, but the next thing
I remember, I was lying on the floor with Igor-that's my dog-licking my face.
I had singed hair and tingling skin to go with the bitter, acrid odor in the
air. Everything hurt, and I mean everything, so I cautiously dragged myself
into a standing position, using the couch to lever myself up, and staggered
off to bed.

When I woke again, after some of the most amazing dreams of my beloved Barbie,
the storm had passed and it looked like it was late afternoon from the position
of the shadows on the building across the street. My skin still tingled and
I felt dizzy, but the pain was mostly gone. Nature was calling again-you'd think
she'd have given up in the midst of a major metropolitan area like Columbus-so
I visited the bathroom and relieved myself, sitting for safety.

After getting shocked by the ball lightening I had basically crawled into bed
and slept off the major effects. I knew it was time for a shower and some major
cleaning up, as there was a thin layer of soot on the bed that must have been
the remains of my clothes and hair. I didn't even want to look in the mirror
until after cleaning myself thoroughly, but I must admit that I was cautiously
examining myself while I showered to see what might have happened to me. I knew
very little about getting struck by lightening, but I felt certain that it was
not good for the human body. Thoughts of burns (there were none), blindness
(I could still see) hearing loss (I could hear the sounds of the shower running
and Igor whining outside the bathroom door like he does whenever I close the
door) were just a few of the fears that ran through my mind and I probably would
have gone to my doctor or an Emergency Room (if I weren't deathly afraid of
them and I could afford it). I didn't and I couldn't, but the fears were still
there so I kept checking for anything different, anything at all.

I had lost all my body hair, but I was pleased to find that I still had hair
on my head. It felt fuller than before and I wondered if my body still held
a small charge of static electricity that might be fluffing it out like when
someone touches a Vandegraff generator. I also noted that the tingling had not
gone away. It didn't seem to be concentrated anywhere, but I imagined it felt
stronger than when I had first woken up. Maybe I was going to turn into a woman,
like the people in the stories I wrote. I laughed dismissively knowing the impossibility
of such an event.

When I finished my shower, the mirror was steamed up as usual. I checked for
some paper towels to clean it off, but I was out again. Leaving the warmth of
the bathroom to dig a new roll out from the kitchen cabinets really didn't appeal
to me, so I just opened the door to let some of the steam out. I figured that
if it was still steamy after I had dried off, I could use the towel to clean
it off. Off on the far wall, over the computer, I could see Barbie's picture
staring back at me through the crack in the door. My first thought was for the
fantastic dreams I'd just woken from, but then things changed. I could almost
imagine her beautiful smile transforming into a sneer as she waited for me to
melt into a puddle of primordial slime as partial penitence for my crimes against
her.

My skin was definitely more sensitive and I had to pat myself dry after my
shower instead of rubbing myself off as usual. Another thing, my hair definitely
felt longer as I toweled it dry. Some of my characters had used a form of electricity
called electrolysis to get rid of hair. Could electricity also stimulate hair
growth? Paper towels or no paper towels, it was time to clear the condensed
water from the mirror. I almost felt like it was an unveiling, like I was going
to see someone different in it. I marched back into the bathroom and balled
up my towel. Then, I cleaned the remaining steam off the mirror.

There was a body staring back at me. I was relieved as I realized I had half
thought the lightening had killed me and I was really a ghost. But the fact
that I was alive was the only good thing, since it wasn't me, the "me"
I'd grown up as, in the mirror.

It was Barbie.

The hair was dark brown instead of blonde, but that was probably because it
was still wet. There were no breasts and the hips did not swell like her luscious
curves, but the face was hers, the arms and hands were hers, even the long,
slender legs were hers.

Quicker than I could consciously track, my mind went looking for, and found,
additional similarities. Her mole, the cute little one beside her mouth. I had
one too. Her long, slim, graceful neck. I had that too. Her nipples, full, large
and reddish brown. I had them too.

As I continued cataloging the changes, I absently wondered how I could have
missed things like the changes in my nipples in the shower. A moment later,
the answer came as the tissue under my nipples began to slowly expand outward
from my body, reminding me of two small, round balloons being inflated. In shock,
I watched them grow, certain that when they stopped, they would be the same
D cup beauties I had, until recently, fondled. I remember thinking, in a detached
and demented way, that now I wouldn't have to make up with Barbie. I'd be able
to play with her boobies whenever I wanted.

When the twins were done filling out, I looked further south, waiting to see
if the process continued as expected. I had been so engrossed with them that
I had not realized that my waist had narrowed and my hips had widened. It was
almost anticlimactic when my genitals slowly migrated back into my body leaving
me with a completely female body.

The voice in my head was the final straw as it said, "We claim this structure
for the Electrolytic race. Let the invasion commence."

-=-=-=-=-

Interlude Two

McKenzie removed his glasses and wiped his tired eyes. The sun was up and it
was time to stop writing and go to sleep. Unlike the unemployed character in
his most recent story, tomorrow would be another boring day of work. His job
as a night shift security officer at a customs warehouse would give him plenty
of time to decide where to take the story in the next chapter, if when he got
around to it. With a lifestyle that left little time for friends or fun, the
praise of his anonymous friends on the Internet was the high point of each day.

He didn't remember how he had found them, probably stumbled across a website
and from there been directed to the mailing list. It wasn't even that he cared
about transgendered issues. He'd just read a few and thought he could do better.
He did. He got a bunch of messages asking him to write more and he was hooked.

His computer beeped, telling him that the piece he had just written had been
sent to the list and that it was shutting down. Standing and rubbing his bulging
belly, Mac headed for bed. He stopped first to ruffle Igor's head. The dog yawned,
wagged his tail for a moment and the, wisely, went back to sleep. Next McKenzie
stopped for a check of the refrigerator, looking for a quick before bed snack
for Igor and himself. The deep fried, breaded sauerkraut balls tasted great,
but neither of them slept well.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER THREE
[Dominatrix Barbie]

More [The Rigby Narratives]