---

 
 
February 23

-- For two days Jaime had noted that George hadn’t shaved his legs or underarms. The fear chip had been used to impart a vague anxiety, increasing to unfocused fear, but he still didn’t obey. Apparently Seá±or Deon was a slow learner. Today Jaime appeared with four thugs. “Seá±or Deon, buenos dá­as. I sorry to see that your body no is shaved. Don Pablo tell me I must to give you a reminder. Desde ahora tenés que llevar los zarcillos–you wear earrings. Hold still while I hole your ears, por favor.”

George tried to run, but they pinned onto the bed. Jaime ordered, “Efraá­n, Paco, hold him tight. Flaco, grab his head. Juan, help Flaco. Hold his hair. Now turn his head that way. Keep it still.  ¡Still, I said!” George felt a stab in his left ear, and cried out, “Aaaaaiiiihhh!” Laughing, Jaime asked, “ ¿No podés tolerar la dolor?  ¡Las niá±as de seis aá±os son má¡s valientes que vos!  ¡Qué vergá¼enza!” Then to his men, “Keep it there while I put this little tube in, to hold the hole open.  ¡OK! Turn it the other way now.  ¡Yes, good!  ¡That’s it!”, and his other ear was pierced. “Muy bién, Seá±orita. Now I put on you.” His strong fingers seized George’s lobes and two pendant earrings were inserted. His head was released. He shook it. The earrings gave off a light tinkle. “Llevas campanillas–You wear little silver bells en tus orejas, chica,” Jaime told him. “Ahora es muy popular con otras muchachas aquá­. I use un poco de cola–a little of… paste? glue?–to sure they stay firm placed. Cada vez tu cabeza se mueve, las oyés y te acuerdá¡s de tu desobediencia y su consecuencia. Next week you wear different pair. If you disobey otra vez, Don Pablo conclude you need a more big lesson. Now, por favor, shave for me?” George did so immediately. Jaime nodded with satisfaction. “Maybe you get acostumbrada. Como lipstick. You is just like otras muchachas, want to look pretty for your boyfriend.”

George kept his head as still as possible after that, but he was accompanied by a light tinkling wherever he went for the rest of the day. The girls in his class giggled, but as before, they didn’t comment and he didn’t explain. Evelina was delighted, though. The only good thing about the day was his chicken dinner: he finally succeeded in transforming a live chicken into a decent meal.
 
 
February 26

-- Doctor Garcá­a checked Seá±or Deon’s pierced ears, which were healing well. “It was nothing to worry about,” he told him. “Most girls have it done, and there are seldom any difficulties. But I think Don Pablo is carrying this too far.” Encouraged by the doctors sympathy, George begged for help. “Don Pablo promised I’d be able to have sex after he’s finished, but I don’t trust him. I can’t just sit here and wait for him to cut my balls off, but I haven’t been able to find a way out. Can you help me? Do you have any suggestions? I don’t even know where I am, except I’m somewhere north of Comayagua, but I’ve got to try anyway.”

“This place is called Finca Las Rosas. It’s south of the Montaá±as de Xicaque, on the west side of the Comayagua valley, northwest of Comayagua. It’s a long walk out, and I don’t think we can get a vehicle to this building without arousing suspicion. If you can get a few hundred yards away, I think I can get a jeep here to pick you up. It’s quite dangerous, though; there is only one gate out of the finca, and it is well guarded. If you’re caught, you’ll be punished. Very severely, I’m told.” George agreed to try anyway, and they set the attempt for the following week, on March 3.
 
 
February 29

-- Before George left to teach, Jaime inspected his ears. They were completely healed. The bell earrings came out, and the liners. “Ya no necesitan estos,” Jaime told him; “Tus orejas está¡n sanadas. Tenés que continuar a llevar zarcillos. Tengo para vos una selecciá³n que la gusta a muchacha cualquiera para llevar. Cada maá±ana, escojá¡ una pareja y pongalas. Pues,  ¿cuá¡les preferés hoy?”

Jaime was speaking English less often, but with time George was finding him easier to understand, even with his Honduran dialect; he was being given a selection of earrings that would please any girl, and he was to choose a pair to wear each day. He looked at Jaime with dislike, and at the earrings with disgust. All of them were feminine pendants. He chose a pair of silver hoops and, with some fumbling, managed to insert the posts into his lobes.

“Con tu pelo largo, tu cara lisa, tus labios rosados, y tus zarcillos, ya me parecés como la Seá±orita Deon. Maá±ana es el primero del mes otra vez, y tu semblante a una seá±orita crecerá¡ un poco má¡s. Si aparecés sin zarcillos o si desobedecés en otra manera, tu semblante crecerá¡ mucho má¡s rá¡pido.” George wasn’t happy. Jaime had said that his resemblance to a young woman would increase a little more tomorrow, but that he could rush matters if he disobeyed again.
 
 
March 1

-- Early on the next morning Jaime reappeared. “Buenos dá­as, amiga.  ¿Com’ está¡s? Favor de remove shoes and socks.” George obeyed, and his keeper proffered a vial of rose-pink nail polish. “You must use this desde ahora, please,” Jaime ordered politely. “Tus uá±as necesitan ser pintadas.” Taking the bottle, George looked at Jaime, who folded his arms and looked back, waiting. George recalled his experiences with shaving his legs and plucking his eyebrows, and his impulse to rebel died. He uncapped the bottle, put a foot onto a chair, and slowly, carefully, painted each toenail a vivid pink. He repeated the process with the other foot. His feet, tipped with brightly-tinted nails, acquired a womanly appearance.

“Is that all?”

“No,” Jaime replied. “Your fingers también. You got to let tus uá±as–your… your nails–grow long, too, and to shape them como mujer. Es tiempo que otros ven que te cambiá¡s a mujer. Your ears show it…” George’s hand went involuntarily to his right earlobe, where a red ceramic rose swung. “Your lips, and tus dedos.” George complied; his hands too became feminine. He put on his shoes and socks again, and he looked as before, except for his nails. Before Jaime left he admonished George, “You remember, keep nails pretty. Like your lipstick. Tenés una lima para las uá±as–a fila… a file for the nails–en tu bolsa.  ¿Vos comprendés?” When George agreed reluctantly, Jaime smiled, bowed, and left. George filed his nails as required, then applied his lipstick carefully. As he looked in the mirror, he saw no trace of masculinity. Running his hand over his cheek, he could feel no trace of his beard. His face was as smooth as any girl’s.

The students giggled when George appeared. He wanted to flee, but he knew better than to try. “Girls, you know that I am punished by Don Pablo. This is part of my punishment, and I must accept. You still must learn algebra.”

The girls said they understood–Mapy with sympathy, Consuela with visible satisfaction, Ana Mará­a and Elena with embarrassment. Raising his hand, he told them, “Do not worry about it; not your problem. Thank you all for your concern, though. I will survive. Let’s make sure you survive your test.” They returned to the study of simple linear equations.

After class the girls discussed George’s plight. Jaime had warned them of his punishment, but the details hadn’t been clear. Ana Mará­a thought Seá±or George would be forced to look like a woman–makeup, clothes, etc. Certainly Seá±or George already appeared feminine. His hair was like a woman’s. He wore makeup. A week ago he’d started wearing earrings. Today Seá±or George had pink nails, matching his lipstick nicely. Consuela thought he meant that Seá±or George would become a woman. What else would happen to poor Seá±or George? Would he end just looking like a woman? Or was Consuela right? Would he really become female? Completely? No, that couldn’t be possible. Their class would run until June, so perhaps they would find out before they left.
 
 
March 3

-- At 10 o’clock Doctor Garcá­a arrived. “Everything is prepared.  ¡Vá¡manos, Seá±or!” At the same time George’s fear chip was turned up, and his cheek began to twitch. As they left, the chip was turned higher.

George said timidly, “Doctor, I’m… I’m not sure we should do this. They may k…kill me!”

Garcá­a told him he’d be protected. “Don Pablo won’t harm me, and he wouldn’t dare kill you. He knows I wouldn’t permit it. Besides, that would interfere with his plans for you. Come on, Seá±or!” They went farther from the room, and the chip was turned to a moderately high setting.

George felt terror, but still persisted. “I don’t know if I… I can do this,” he told Garcá­a. “I don’t think we can succeed! But I have to… to try.” Doctor Garcá­a agreed. They reached the truck.

“Get in,” Garcá­a whispered. They climbed into the cab. Garcá­a set the chip higher, and George crumbled.

“No! I c…can’t! Let me go… go back!” he cried out, and tried to leave the cab. Garcá­a kept him there, and began to start the engine. At the sound of the engine Garcá­a turned the chip to its highest setting, and George became hysterical, fighting to escape. At that point men emerged to take both conspirators into custody, and George was knocked unconscious by one of his chips.
 
 
March 5

-- The escape attempt brought on a nightmare. George had known, somehow, that something was wrong, and if Doctor Garcá­a had just let him return as he had wanted, perhaps they could’ve made the attempt on a more auspicious night. George didn’t know how he had known, but he had been sure; something had been wrong. After he had been caught and locked back in his room, he felt better for some strange reason. Perhaps it was only that the terror of uncertainty was gone. All he had to do, all he could do, was wait.

At dawn two days later two large men entered George’s room. They seized him, bound him hand and foot, and took him to a waiting car. George soon stopped his futile struggling, but watched to see where he was taken. They left Las Rosas, passing through a massive gate guarded by armed men. The chain-link fence around Las Rosas was double and topped with razor wire. If this section of fence was typical, it was secure. They passed through high pinelands and dropped into a semiarid valley–the Comayagua valley, he knew. They turned south on a newly-paved road and passed through the old town of Comayagua. At least now he knew the approximate location of Las Rosas; Garcá­a’s description had been accurate. They turned northwest onto Route 1, the main road from Tegucigalpa, and soon climbed back up into the pines. They passed Siguatepeque where he had lived for a short time, with its wood buildings surrounded by broad grassy meadows and open pine forests, so unlike his conception of a tropical town. Lake Yojoa passed; the densely forested sides of Cerro Santa Bá¡rbara were wreathed in clouds, as usual. The road dropped again into the flatlands of the Sula Valley, where they were met by the familiar heat and humidity of the Caribbean coastal plain. The land here was more settled, and they passed into the outskirts of San Pedro, industrial and agricultural center of the country. The road was lined with small industrial facilities, farm-supply dealerships, and the tiny food stands found in all Central American towns. If not for the food stands (and the bananas!), he could have been in a small city in California.

They entered the city and turned west onto a narrow cobbled street. Small adobe or concrete buildings lined the sidewalks, each washed with pastel colors. Soon the car pulled up to an ornate iron gate. The driver got out, talked to a guard, then opened the gate. They passed onto the grounds of what seemed to be a large estate, but a large sign proclaimed it to be “Centro Médico de San Pedro”. The car pulled to the back of the building; his ankle ropes were slashed by his escort, and he was taken inside.

The building had been remodeled, but ornate carvings remained from an earlier time. A fluorescent glare and a medicinal odor told of present its use. George was taken to an antiseptic room furnished in chrome and tile, where his guards seized him, lifted him to a padded table, and held him there, face up. In spite of his struggles, they strapped his wrists and elbows, ankles, and knees to the table until he was completely immobilized. When they were done, he heard a voice behind him.

“Ah, Seá±or Deon, you are back. I am Doctor Heinrich Weiss.” Weiss was short and slightly overweight, with a moon face. His fair skin and thin blond hair were out of place in Honduras. He went on in a soft and precise voice with a strong German accent: “Seá±or Herrera has charged me with disciplining you, after you disobeyed an order. I do not know what you did, or did not do. It is not my concern. I apologize for any distress, but I must carry out my orders. I will remove one testis now. The other will remain until you commit some new infraction.”

George gasped: “No! Please! Don’t! Don Pablo promised…”

The doctor held up a hand. “I must and will. There is no point in struggling. It will not help.”

George tried to fight anyway, rolling his head back and forth. He begged again: “No! Please…”

Weiss motioned to his aides, who held George’s head firmly and covered his mouth and nose with a small mask. The sickly sweet odor of chloroform assailed him, and he quickly passed out.

Five hours later George awoke in a hospital bed. When he returned to full awareness, he frantically felt for his genitals. As he feared, only one testis met his exploring fingers. A slight soreness remained, but it was minimal; Doctor Weiss had done a professional piece of work.

George’s convalescence was uneventful. Escape was even less feasible than at Las Rosas; he was chained to the bed. Drugs kept his despair from overwhelming him, and he slept much of the time. Weiss was satisfied with his work, the first of his part of the grand project, and the simplest.
 
 
March 8

-- Three days later George returned to Las Rosas. “Amiga,  ¿aprendiste tu lecciá³n?” Jaime inquired. “Tenés que ser má¡s obediente.” More and more, Jaime spoke in Spanish, but George continued to reply mostly in English; Jaime understood it well, even if he mangled the spoken language.

George replied quickly, “Yes!” Satisfied, Jaime left. Although George was sure that capture would result in total emasculation, he’d have to attempt another escape anyway. Nevertheless, he broke into a cold sweat at the thought of it. He’d have to wait for exactly the right moment, or the only result would be to speed up Weiss’s timetable. “I’d be nuts to try now,” he told himself. “They’ll expect me to be desperate, and to run again immediately. They’d love an excuse to finish the job!” He was almost grateful that he couldn’t try that night.
 
 
March 12

-- A week after his partial orchiectomy, George had recovered, at least partly, from his psychological shock. Security seemed looser; maybe escape would be possible soon. Even Evelina was less abusive as he learned to satisfy her demands. He had become accustomed to the lack of a sex life, even if he still retained a desire for sex. “Doctor Herná¡ndez should be satisfied,” he thought; “I’ve been dead down there since arrival. I was neutered properly even before they took my ball, and the women were in no more danger from me than from Jaime.” He was allowed out, if only to work, and he was certainly getting exercise. Unfortunately, life would become worse if he didn’t escape soon. His masculinity would be attacked further, he knew.

That evening he noticed that his chest was sore. Perhaps he had strained his pectoral muscles? He had been scrubbing floors for Evelina without a break all afternoon. But complaining was useless. If he protested, she only made him work harder, saying he needed to toughen himself for the women’s work that was now his work.

Jaime noted that Seá±or Deon was more obedient after losing a cojá³n. His grooming and behavior had been exemplary. He accepted Evelina’s badgering without backtalk, and was beginning to show some competence as a servant. However, he still complained about his restriction to his cottage and the casa, and he asked Jaime to request more freedom for him. The reply had been, not yet. El Patrá³n told Jaime: “Tell him this: Seá±orita Deon, not Seá±or Deon, will be allowed the freedom of the finca, as I promised back in January. If he persists in his demands, I will accommodate him, and Seá±orita Deon will arrive more rapidly.” George appeared shaken by the response, and Jaime doubted he’d press for more liberty soon. The price promised to be higher than he’d choose to pay.
 
 
March 15

-- When Jaime entered, he inquired after George’s health and asked if he needed anything. George mentioned his strained muscles, and said his chest was sore to the touch. Jaime promised to inform the don. He added, “Ahora, good news. Petunia ask for you. She return today and live with you. She teach to you Spanish.”

George knew the purpose of the lessons. It wasn’t to teach him Spanish, but to allow Petunia to observe his humiliation. “I’d rather not see her. Can’t I learn from someone else?”

Jaime frowned. “Amigo, Petunia quiere vivir con vos. Y Don Pablo no ask you. Las lecciones comienzan esta noche. If you no learn el espaá±ol, you suffer.”

“Very well,” George reluctantly agreed. “And what, if anything, can I tell her?”

“Lo que querés, amigo, lo que querés,” he replied. “She learn tu condiciá³n en toda casa.” He left.

At 7 PM there was a knock at the door. “Come in!” George said, hiding his hands.

Petunia entered and cried, “George, I missed you! I’ve been so worried about you!” She noted George’s appearance with dismay–he looked like a girl in man’s clothes, with a smooth face touched with makeup, faux-pearl earrings, and shoulder-length hair done in a feminine style–but she didn’t say anything as they embraced.

“Petunia, darling, I missed you, and I love you too.” She felt good in his arms. “But I don’t trust Don Pablo. He brought you here for his own reasons. I don’t think they’re good ones.”

She nodded and looked unhappy. “Yes, you’re probably right.”

George went on: “The don told me I have to learn Spanish from you, or I’ll be punished.”

Petunia nodded. “Yes, Jaime told me that this afternoon.”

“Petunia, what did they do to you?”

“Nothing. The don didn’t punish me. I could go free, as long as I promised not to talk about you. If I did, you’d suffer. He promised I could return to stay with you, to see that you remained in good shape. In fact, he offered me a position teaching here if I wanted, and I accepted. But I couldn’t return until now. He told me what you’d done with his daughter, and I don’t really care. Oh, I agree you were bad. But he told me that Susana was equally to blame. Don Pablo doesn’t really hate you, George, but he told me he had to punish you. I’ve been at home in Siguatepeque, arranging my affairs. I’m fine, really I am.”

“And what did he say about my punishment? What they’ve done already? What they plan to do?”

She gasped: “You… you’re intact, aren’t you? He said you’re impotent, and you’d have to work as a servant for his daughter, but not… I mean… Are you…? He promised me you wouldn’t be a eunuch!”

He wasn’t sure what to say. Finally he said: “Yes and no. I’ve lost one of my balls.” Petunia shut her eyes and cried out, but he rushed on. “He says he’ll let me go in a couple of years, but before then I’ll have to work as a maid. And I’ll have to behave like a woman.” He took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m… I’m impotent now–I guess that’s why Don Pablo allows you to be here, I’m unable to function like a man should–but he promised it won’t be permanent. I still love you, though. I still want to take you to bed. But I don’t… I can’t…”

She opened her eyes and began to sob. “George, George, you weren’t supposed to become a… a eunuch. The don promised you wouldn’t!” She collapsed into a chair and wept.

He waited until she had finished, then repeated, “He promised it wasn’t permanent. He said–he promised–I could make love to a woman again, after he freed me. But until then, he wants me to act like a woman. Including how I think. Especially how I think. When he’s done, he expects me to want to be a pretty little maid. You’re supposed to watch me change. You see my earrings and my lipstick. Here, look.” He pulled out his hands with their pink-tipped fingers. “I have to use makeup every day–and I have to use it well–or he punishes me.”

She looked at him in consternation. “He won’t do that, will he? I don’t believe it! Tell me he can’t!”

George sighed. “Petunia, I don’t believe it either. But I have to go along with his crazy punishment, or he’ll leave me with nothing between my legs.” She began to sob again. He let her weep a while–it was a girl’s prerogative–then insisted, “Petunia, please stop! Be brave. We can’t just… just give up. I’ll escape before the worst happens. But for the moment, I have to learn Spanish, or bad’ll turn to worse. Please, Petunia.”

After a few minutes, her tears stopped. She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Yes, George, you’re right. You have to do what he says for now, crazy or not. But I’ll help you get away.”

Later Petunia told him about the child that she carried, and he was pleased. After all, he still hoped to marry her after they escaped. “But your family?” he asked. “Will they let you keep it?”

She shook her head. “I can’t not keep it! Abortion’s not right, and the family wouldn’t permit a child of our blood to be raised by a stranger. But I wouldn’t want to lose it anyway. It’s ours, a reminder of our love. And my family–or my Uncle Juan, he’s the only family nearby–will treat the child well. He’ll dote on the child, even if he considers me disgraced for having it.”

That night the two lovers shared a bed. Again Petunia urged him to escape, but he told her about his earlier attempt and its disastrous conclusion. She promised to help. “I can arrange for help outside the finca,” she told him. “Even if you get sick, it beats staying here!” They embraced tightly; George desperately wanted to make love to Petunia, a desire that was reciprocated; but there was no stirring of physical passion. He had been well and truly unmanned. Petunia wept in frustration; George tried to comfort her, telling her that after he escaped, his affliction could be reversed. Inwardly he wasn’t so sure. Don Pablo seemed so confident–and if he lost his manhood entirely in another unsuccessful attempt to run, there definitely was no way he could be repaired.
 
 
April 1

-- A day later Evelina released George from his duties early. Jaime fetched him on the don’s orders, telling him that one of the doctors wanted to examine him.

Back in his room, a short bald man in a light tropical jacket met him. “I am Doctor Rafael Herná¡ndez, and I need to examine you. I…”

George interrupted: “Doctor, you–or someone working for Don Pablo–is making me impotent! That’s unethical! You swore an oath to do no harm! I won’t submit to…”

In turn he was interrupted. “Seá±or Deon, shut up. You will submit to whatever Don Pablo chooses, and he chooses to disable your machismo. Now I must examine you. You can be unrestrained or restrained, I don’t care; but you have been punished before for disobedience, and you know the cost. Strip to the waist.” George did so without further protest. Herná¡ndez stretched a cloth tape around his chest, then his waist–“Take off your pants”–and his hips. Nodding, he jotted measurements in a notebook. “Put your pants back on. I must palpate your chest.” George winced a little as Herná¡ndez probed, and complained, “Doctor, be more gentle! My… my chest is sore. I think… maybe I strained my pecs? My pectoral muscles?” The doctor ignored him, took more notes, and snapped photos from several angles, then told George to put his shirt back on. He took a blood sample and turned to leave.

George had to ask, “Doctor? Please, tell… tell me what’s going on. What’s Don Pablo doing to me? I deserve to know. As your patient, sort of, I have rights, don’t I? And what about my sore muscles?”

“Your rights are those the don allows you, and no more. But he hasn’t forbidden me to tell you what is happening to your body. In fact, he wants you to understand the process. To begin with, your muscles are not sore.” He took George’s right hand and pressed it to the left side of George’s chest, guiding it to the slightly swollen nipple. “Feel there, under the skin,” he ordered. “Do you find a firm mass?” He released the hand, and George continued to explore with his fingers.

“Y… yes, I feel something. Sort of a lump. It’s not… not very big, though. It… it’s not a tumor, is it?”

“Now feel the other side.” George obeyed and found a similar lump. “No, they are not tumors. Those masses are not muscle, nor fat, but glandular tissue. Mammary tissue. At this stage the masses are called ‘buds,’ and they may be tender and sore. As you are now discovering.”

“Mam… mammary tissue?” He felt dizzy, and sat heavily.

“Exactly so. Or to state it more bluntly: you are growing breasts. Your girlfriend went through this; ask her when she returns and she will confirm it. For some time, the estrogen level in your blood has been higher than that of most girls. That high level forces your breasts to develop more rapidly than normal, and that in turn makes them very tender. In part you receive the estrogen in the pills you take so faithfully.” He smiled proudly. “But even your single remaining testis has become a traitor to your vanishing masculinity. You used to be a chemist, no?”

Almost gratefully, George took refuge in anger: “I didn’t ‘used to be a chemist’–I am a chemist, damn you!”

The doctor waved a hand dismissively. “You are about to switch careers. But you might appreciate the amazing breakthrough you represent.” George didn’t ask for details–his mind was in turmoil–but Herná¡ndez continued anyway: “Your remaining testis still produces testosterone. In fact, it works harder than ever, trying to bring your hormone levels back to a male norm. But it works in vain. The sex hormones are similar in chemical structure–they differ in only one functional group–and testosterone converts to estrogen by a simple enzyme. I created a bacterium that produces that enzyme, and infected your testis. When it works harder, there is more testosterone to be converted to estrogen; therefore your blood now contains a very high level of female hormone. One effect was immediate: loss of erectile response. You may have noticed. Soon after, your body started to become feminized. You have already noticed the initiation of breast development. In addition, your waist will become more slender, and your hips and buttocks, broader. That is due to a redistribution of fat into a female pattern; because you are an adult, your bone structure–the pelvis in particular–is already fully formed and will not be affected.” Thank God for minor favors, thought George. “Other effects should be more subtle: perhaps a change in the timbre of the voice–but only a slight change–and a softer skin. Before the end of the year, you should appear to be female. Thoroughly and permanently female, and perhaps quite attractive. Your life will necessarily be different. Maybe better–how do they say? ‘Better living through chemistry!’” He smiled. “Amazing, how a minor alteration in an obscure molecule can bring about such spectacular effects! I tell you this because Don Pablo wants you to have the pleasure of anticipating your changes as they slowly take effect. Now, is there anything else?”

George was appalled. He had been told he’d have to look like a woman–but he had thought the don meant only that he would have to dress like one. That was bad enough–but this? It was intolerable! “No. But… but please, doctor! I… Please! I beg you! I can’t grow breasts! Stop this! Help me!”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You can’t grow breasts? I must disagree. They are growing–quite rapidly, too. Accept them.” He shrugged. “Or not. It makes no difference, I suppose. They will continue to grow.”

“But… I’m a man! That’s… that’s wrong!”

“Seá±or, you are wasting your breath. Professionally I am fascinated. You are a wonderful research project. Personally I approve. You deserve it. And practically I have no choice. Don Pablo orders it. You had better learn to enjoy having an attractive figure, Seá±orita-to-be, because it is already beginning to develop. But your acceptance and enjoyment of womanhood is the province of Doctor Ibá¡á±ez. Goodbye, Seá±or–although I expect that soon a different form of address will be more appropriate.” He turned and left.

George looked down at his chest. His shirt fit loosely, and the swellings on his chest were small. At least they were small today, and not at all obvious, even to himself–but for how long would that be true?

That evening Herná¡ndez made out his report to the don.

Seá±or Herrera: As per your request, I examined the subject. His partial orchiectomy is completely healed, and he is in good health. His remaining testis is functional, but his testosterone level is minimal (below normal female levels) due to the feminizing enzyme. Arousal and erection are impossible; he is, to all intents and purposes, castrated. Bilateral gynecomastia is incipient: his mammary glands are slightly swollen (visibly so), as glandular tissue has begun to develop. The mammae are somewhat tender. The subject complained of the soreness, and his involuntary reaction to palpation confirmed it. I believe he has been aware of his body’s changes but would not admit it, perhaps even to himself. I cannot yet detect other changes, but they will come. Were no further treatment given, it is my opinion that in sixteen to twenty-four months his body shape would be clearly feminine, and would remain so, because his remaining testis now produces estrogen. However, he also receives supplemental estrogen. Under the present regime, full development may be expected in three to five months. The time could be cut even further by higher doses, but this would run an unacceptably high risk of inducing a stroke or heart attack. As it is, such risk is already increased, although it is mitigated by the administration of neoheparoid in conjunction with the hormone. --With respect,Rafael Herná¡ndez
 
 
April 2

-- At 7:45 AM Jaime came to George’s room. Petunia had left to teach her class; George, not yet risen, peered at Jaime over the covers. Jaime addressed him, “Buenos dá­as, Seá±orita.  ¡Levá¡ntete!”

George objected, “Me llamo Seá±or Deon, no Seá±orita Deon. You know I’m a man.” Without replying, Jaime went to the closet and took out all George’s shirts, then to the drawer and removed the T-shirts.

“Don Pablo dice que hoy empezará¡s a llevar ropa de mujer sobre tus chichitas nuevas.”

George didn’t understand at first. “ ¿‘Chichitas’? What are you…?  ¿Qué me dices?”

Jaime giggled in his high voice. “Sá­, por supuesto. Tenés chiches.” He thought briefly, then grinned. “Titties. You grow titties. It what make you hurt in chest. Remember, you tell me?” He approached the bed and pulled the sheet. George’s bare chest was slightly puffy, and his nipples were rather more prominent than they should have been. “Tu cuerpo responde bién al tratamiento.  ¡Miré! Son nuevos y pequeá±os, pero claro que les tenés. You no need sostén yet, but the shirt of muchacha is right.” He paused, then went on: “This happen for todas las muchachas. You see. You get used to new shape when tus chiches–you… your titties–crecen. Hips, too, and your waist is smaller. Espero que te gustará¡ tu figura femenina. Es claro que the men will enjoy!”

“But I’m a man!” George exploded. “You’re crazy! I don’t have titties… breasts!” But of course he did.

Jaime ignored him and continued: “Por un ratito podrá­as esconderlas, pero pronto, no.”

He denied it again, more to himself than to Jaime. “No! It’s not possible! I do not believe it.”

Jaime’s response was a shrug. “Creés que querés. Tu cuerpo lo cree, y es la punta importante. O dos puntas,” he added, pointing to George’s chest. “Ahora, nuevas ropas para vos. New clothes. Son má¡s apropiadas para tu cuerpo cambiando.” He gave George a sleeveless peach blouse, lace-trimmed and embroidered with yellow pansies. At first George refused to put it on. Jaime agreed: he didn’t have to wear it. “You go without if you want. Todo el mundo admirará¡n tus chichitas nuevas, si preferés.” George realized that Jaime was right. He was already beginning to look like a girl; if he refused, he’d just look like a topless girl. He had no choice; he couldn’t appear in public with naked tits. He got up, put on underpants, then reluctantly donned the blouse, swearing under his breath as he fumbled with buttons. They were all on the wrong side. “Miré,” Jaime ordered, nodding at one of the mirrors. George looked, and saw an adolescent young woman; the face was smooth and hairless, the lips were rose-red, his long curled hair was held by lilac barrettes. His nascent bosom pressed lightly against the form-fitting sheer fabric of the blouse. “We see you change to muchacha more easy now,” Jaime noted. “Esas ropas muestran tu cambio bién. Clothes let us to see change good.  ¿Entendés?”

“Sá­. Entiendo.” This was bizarre! But what could he do? “I have to see Don Pablo! I…“

“Ya no, Seá±or. He see you pronto, but no yet” George could get nothing more from him.

After Jaime’s departure, George examined his new clothes. He’d been left ten tops: pastel pullovers and blouses, all thin and snugly fitting so that the outline of his new breasts would show through the cloth.

When he entered the classroom after lunch, he blushed bright red as the girls all giggled except Mapy, who was shocked. They knew why he was wearing a girl’s blouse, but he told them again anyway: “Don Pablo tells me I have to wear this. He wants me to act like I am a girl, as a punishment.” He said nothing about his changing shape.

Consuela believed it was even worse: el Patrá³n was trying to change him into a girl! She almost felt sorry for him, and thought, “ ¡This isn’t right! It’s wrong to try to change God’s will like this.” But then she recalled his sin. Seá±or George had broken God’s law. “He thought a woman was just to have fun with. Now he’ll be a woman.  ¡Men can have fun with him!” Ana Mará­a had told her that when Don Pablo’s doctor’s were finished with him, he’d have to work as a maid for Don Pablo’s daughter. He’d be put into a cute little maid’s dress, and do laundry and wash dishes. Good! Consuela hoped she could see Seá±or George after he became a maid.

George saw that the girls might have a problem, and he explained, “Look, this is between the don and me. I have to accept it, and you have to accept it too. Just pretend. It’s like dress-up and make-believe.  ¿All right?” They agreed. After Seá±or George let them out early, the girls chattered excitedly.

Mapy was unhappy. “ ¡Seá±or George is not a woman! Let’s see the don and try to change his mind.”

Ana Mará­a was more practical: “You know better, Mapy. El Patrá³n has made his decision. He’s done terrible things to other men, even worse than this. We mustn’t interfere.” They finally agreed that her opinion was wise, and they would ignore the clothing that was being imposed on Seá±or George. However, they had all seen the two slight mounds beneath his blouse. Elena pointed out, “I think Seá±or George is growing boobs. He just has little ones, like a young girl, but he really has them. I think he really is changing into a girl.”

Mapy disagreed: “ ¡No one can do that! It’s just your imagination.”

Consuela agreed partially with both her classmates: “’Lena, I think Mapy is right. A woman is a woman and a man is a man. Don Pablo may take his manhood…” Mapy giggled; they had heard that the don had done that to some men who had abused women. “But only God can make a real woman. Still, I saw the bulges too. I think Don Pablo is making Seá±or George wear padding, to look like a girl.”

They agreed that this was more likely, except for Elena. “Yes, it is so possible to make a man grow boobs, if you give him female hormones. I read about it in biology.”

They were shocked, and couldn’t decide who was right. They felt sorry for poor George, but Elena was fascinated by the idea that she’d get to watch him change into a real woman. They broke up without coming to any agreement and returned to their rooms.

Later Petunia arrived. She wept again when she saw him. “Petunia, please stop,” he begged.

“Oh, George, I can’t bear to see you like this!”

“Petunia, please, accept it. As my mother used to say: What can’t be cured must be endured . It’s only a different sort of shirt. I’m still your friend.”

She cried, “No! I don’t want you as my girlfriend. You’re George, my lover! And they’re changing you! I can see it. You have little breasts!”

He glanced around, worried. “Petunia! Please, you’ll get us both in trouble. Don’t defy Don Pablo. Not until I can escape. All this can be reversed later. It’s ridiculous, but humor him for the moment.”

She ran to him; he held her as she sobbed. She gradually stopped crying and pulled away from him. “George, I can accept that you’re forced to wear women’s clothes. But not that you’re growing breasts! Don’t you see? They’re succeeding! Eventually you’ll be changed all the way, and you will be my girlfriend! We have to do something! You have to get away from here before it’s too late!” They didn’t refer to their plans for June.
 
 
April 3

-- Celia changed her son’s diaper yet again. She blessed her mother for allowing her to move back in with her baby, and for caring for him during the day, even if she made life difficult. It had been almost a year since George had abandoned her, and for a while it seemed that she’d be completely without resources. Now she was back at work, and she’d even started going out again with a nice accountant.

She thought about George. She had read his obituary in the Atlanta Constitution–they said he had drowned in Honduras–but she didn’t believe it for a moment. He was probably groping some fool girl’s breasts right now, promising her his undying love. Well, as soon as possible, she’d resume her search. He’d pay: she’d have his balls!
 
 
April 8

-- When Petunia arose, George still lay asleep. He looked like a girl already, she thought. She determined to plead his case again. “He isn’t irretrievable yet,” she told herself, “ ¡He can’t be! I have to persuade Don Pablo that he’s doing wrong.” The guards, Paco and Hector, allowed her out; she knew George couldn’t move so freely. At the big house Evelina answered the door.

The bony little woman greeted Petunia with a reserved, “Good morning, Petunia.  ¿What do you want?”

“Good morning, Seá±ora.  ¿Would you ask Don Pablo if he’ll see me, now or later?”

Evelina disappeared into the house and returned a few moments later. “Don Pablo will see you at ten this morning, if that is suitable. Until then, Seá±orita.”

At the appointed time, Petunia was ushered into the don’s study. After the usual greetings, she begged him to reconsider his sentence on George. “I love him, and I cannot stand to see him suffer,” she told him.

“He does not suffer,” the don responded, pretending to misunderstand. “I gave strict instructions that Seá±or Deon is not to be mistreated. To my knowledge, he has been treated with courtesy.”

“ ¡That’s nonsense! You know he’s suffering. You didn’t decide to make him look like a girl because he would want it. It’s cruel, and the purpose is to humiliate him. To make him suffer. And me as well.”

Dropping his pretension, he told her, “Yes, of course you are right. It is punishment, and he does suffer, although that is not my only purpose. He must suffer for his sins. By custom I should have had him killed.  ¿Would your rather I did that? In two years I will free him. He will still be able to live a full life.”

She raised her chin: “But… but, Seá±or, he’s my fiancé. And you promised he’d be able to have normal sex.  ¡You promised! But George says you’re destroying his manhood, and trying to change him into an imitation woman.  ¡You lied!”

“Petunia, I never break my word. I promised that your lover would be able to enjoy normal relations with the opposite sex after release, and that marriage would be possible. My doctors assure me that, barring unforeseen complications, it will still be possible–although I cannot promise that she will be fertile. I repeat my earlier promise. More than that, I will not tell you yet. Now leave me.” She left in misery. He pitied her, but he wouldn’t soften his judgment.

After she left the don read the latest report from Ibá¡á±ez. A combination of drugs and surgery had been necessary, the doctor insisted, explaining that George’s comparative docility would be unlikely otherwise. “Yes, escape is impractical,” he wrote, “but without the blunting of the will induced by the drugs, the mild euphoria caused by the implants most of the time, and the fear induced by undesirable activity, including escape attempts, our guest would surely have not accepted his punishment so calmly.” Don Pablo agreed; it was inconceivable that any man could remain calm under his circumstances.
 
 
April 9

-- The appearance of George’s breasts (small, but plainly visible under his tops) marked a threshold. He felt almost as if he had entered a new life, distinct from that of three days ago. Alternately he was painfully embarrassed and numb (he recognized it as denial). Denial was understandable: his situation was both intolerable and inconceivable. His subconscious rejected the image in the mirror. It couldn’t really be his. He was a man, not the adolescent girl who stared back at him as she retouched her lipstick. It had to be a nightmare from which he would awaken soon.

At least he thought of a possible silver lining on the dark cloud of his existence. When Jaime arrived, George asked for more freedom. He pointed out that he hadn’t been allowed to leave the central compound in three months. “I only wish to look for orchids on the finca.” Then he repeated the promise of el Patrá³n: “Don Pablo said that Seá±orita Deon would be allowed the freedom of the finca. Seá±or Deon seems to be leaving us. Look at me! I have… I have a girl’s b…breasts,  ¿verdad? So ask him to keep his word.” He promised to remain on the finca, and not to attempt to escape during his walks–and he spoke honestly, understanding the futility of any such attempt.

Jaime passed the request to Don Pablo, who shook his head, chuckled, and commented, “ ¡Seá±or Deon is crazy!” Then he reconsidered and smiled. “It is a silly unmanly passion, but it is appropriate for a silly girl. I agree, on one condition. When Seá±orita Deon searches for her flowers, she must dress properly. Tell Seá±orita Deon exactly these words: ‘You will be permitted free run of the finca when you wear proper women’s clothing.’ That means underclothing, a skirt–everything.” He paused. “And she is to return wearing an orchid in her hair.” Jaime passed the decision on to George, but he refused the conditions.
 
 
April 15

-- Late at night George tried again to escape. He was only half a man now. Soon he’d look like a woman whatever he wore. June might be too late. He determined to hot-wire a truck and steal it.

He waited for dark. Petunia was asleep. He hadn’t told her, not wanting to involve her. He crept from the room at midnight; he had managed to leave the door unlocked, as his guards had grown slack. When he got a few yards from the house, his throat constricted. He felt someone watching. He recalled his last try, and his fear redoubled. Still, he scampered towards the garage, a quarter of a mile away. When he was out of sight of his room, he became terrified, and he felt a slight nausea. He knew he’d been seen; they were just waiting to grab him, so they could punish him again. He turned back to see who was watching, but he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t continue, so he ran back to his room and slipped in. As he did so, he felt much better. Perhaps his unseen watcher had been harmless, but it would have been foolish to risk it.

His attempt had set off alarms, and Jaime reported Seá±or Deon’s attempted flight. “He left around midnight and moved towards the garage. However, he didn’t reach it, but ran back inside.”

Don Pablo chuckled. “I would wager he recalled his last attempt. That, plus the his fear, kept him home. It seems that Ibá¡á±ez’s device is effective. Ibá¡á±ez tells me that attempts like this will only intensify our guest’s willingness to obey.”
 
 
End of Part 3
 
 
To Be Continued...