Synopsis:

The protagonist of a badly written piece of TG porn decides he's had enough abuse and fights back. Could this be Franz Kafka meets Mary Shelly?

Story:

Scarlet Begonias

By

Valentina Michelle Smith

* * * * *

Preface to my Readers:

This story came to my attention when its author, one Edna Vincent Manning, e-mailed me regarding my essay on Transgendered fiction. I followed the link she provided to a web site purporting to contain "…the most literate transgender fiction on the Internet." Normally I take such self-aggrandizement with a grain of salt, but I tried to keep an open mind and afford Ms. Manning the benefit of the doubt.

Since I did not have much time I copied the story and read it later. As I began to read, it looked like I was in for my customary disappointment. This story was unfolding with the typical canned plot (if it may indeed be considered such) one normally finds in TG porn. As the stereotype protagonist wound his hapless way down the well-worn path to pornoville I was just about ready to stop reading in disgust.

That’s when it happened. Suddenly the story branched off in a most unexpected manner. Quite frankly I was stunned to the point that I continued to the very end.

I was so impressed that I tried to return to the site. Alas, I was greeted with a notice that the site was no longer in operation. And after a few days, even this notice no longer appeared.

I have attempted to e-mail Ms. Manning with no success. Her e-mail server no longer recognizes her user ID.

What follows is the story I copied from Ms. Manning’s former web site. As for Ms. Manning, her fate remains a mystery.

Tina Michelle Smith, 2002

* * * * *

For the finest, most literate Transgender fiction on the Internet, you have come to the right place. Scarlet Begonias, the web site that respects your intelligence!

Scarlet Begonias

By

Edna Vincent Manning

Dick Johnson rose early this morning. He turned forty-five today, and Dick’s company gave its employees a personal holiday on their birthday. Dick was looking forward to a day of total self-indulgence. For one day, Dick could forget about his duties as a software engineer and allow his mind to relax.

As he stretched he looked back at the vivacious curves of his sleeping wife Doris under the blanket. Dick had retired about an hour earlier than Doris, who stayed up to finish the dishes and the laundry. Dick, of course, was of the opinion that staying up late to finish housework was foolish, bordering on idiotic. But domestic matters were his wife’s problem, not his.

Dick made his way to the bathroom to perform his morning constitutional. He took a great deal of pride in the size of his prodigious member, even when employed in so mundane a task as voiding his bladder. The strong urine splashed loudly into the toilet, creating a foam cap on the water. The sheer power of his stream brought a grin to Dick’s face, audible proof of his manhood!

He shook his tool a few times and flushed. He turned to the sink to wash his hands, the one small concession he made to his wife’s insistence on sanitation. Dick saw no good reason for habitually washing his hands after pissing. After all, he knew where it had been! But washing his hands was better than listening to Doris nag about infections. She was positively obsessed with the subject of germs, microbes, and bacteria. Sometimes he wished she had never become a nurse.

Dick opened the door to retrieve the morning newspaper, not caring one bit that he was clad only in his skivvies. He was just getting the paper, for Christ’s sake! The neighbors ought to mind their own business and look the other way if it offended them. So what if he made women swoon and men jealous? He couldn’t care less if the fruit was hanging out of his loom!

He put on a pot of coffee for himself and spread the paper out to read. Today he could enjoy himself and leisurely peruse the sports section. The chore of making coffee was not beneath his male dignity. Coffee was, after all, a very masculine beverage. Doris could rustle up some breakfast when she got up.

As Dick was sipping his coffee and reading the description of the game he had watched the night before, he noticed a floral bouquet and a small package on the kitchen counter. In his normal morning oblivion he had overlooked it, but the combination of the brightly colored blossoms and the iridescent wrapping paper along with the caffeine rush from his coffee combined to heighten his awareness of his surroundings as well as stimulate his curiosity.

Dick rose from his seat and picked up the package. It was small and flat, about the size of his wallet, and wrapped in silvery paper that seemed to reflect rainbow patterns as he turned it in the light. A ribbon the same shade of scarlet as the blossoms and tied in a bow decorated the package. A tag hung from the ribbon with the message "A Birthday Present for Dick, From Doris."

Dick was pleased. Doris must have wrapped this last night and set it out to surprise him. That was so typical of her, to spend days finding just the right present for the occasion, and then to wrap it so festively. Dick normally called the florist on Doris’ birthday or their anniversary and had a bouquet delivered to the house, or would pick up a box of chocolates on his way home from the office. Sometimes he would remember to get a card to accompany the gift, but he was just as likely to forget it.

As Dick examined the package he could not discern any seam or closure in the paper or the ribbon. He turned it over again and again, but could discover no break in the covering. It seemed like the paper formed a one-piece shell about the box, lacking so much as the characteristic folds one would find on either end of the package. In frustration, Dick pulled on a loose end coming from the bow.

The bow untied and the wrapping paper unfolded along an invisible line to reveal an emerald green jewelry box. Dick opened the hinged lid. Within the box, resting on a felt-lined presentation shelf, was a heavy silver chain from which depended a metal pendant in the shape of the classic male symbol, a circle with an arrow emerging at about two o’clock. The silken lid of the presentation case identified the jeweler, House of Transformations.

Dick removed the chain and pendant. It was a massive article, heavy and rugged in appearance with an antique finish. The metal from which it was fabricated resembled pewter, but was neither soft nor pliable. It was an impressive piece that seemed to scream "I am male!"

The bulk of the chain was in a plastic bag that had been hidden in the presentation case. The bag was sealed with a label cautioning any potential user to read the instruction manual included in the bag before wearing the chain. It also warned that breaking the seal constituted an agreement to read all directions before wearing the pendant.

Heedless of the warning, Dick tore open the seal and pulled the chain from the plastic bag, ignoring the booklet that came with it. The chain was about 24 inches in length and fastened with a barrel clasp. Dick did not bother with the clasp and put the chain directly over his head.

He went to the mirror to admire his new jewelry. The pendant hung down to his pectorals and rested upon the curly mat of hair covering his chest. It reminded him of the chain worn by Mike Meyers in the Austin Powers film. That’s where Doris got the idea for this, he thought. She must have realized how much I enjoyed that film. But why on earth did she get flowers? Is this some sort of joke suggested by one of her Oprah-watching man-hating friends?

Consumed as he was by his musings as well as his narcissistic self-admiration, Dick didn’t notice when the pendant began to glow. It grew brighter and brighter until its cold blue brilliance that was blinding. His senses overloaded, Dick’s legs crumpled beneath him and he fell in a most unmanly heap upon the floor. He felt as though he were spinning. His skin crawled as spasms of pain coursed through his groin and radiated outward to his hips, his torso, and his extremities. The dizziness and excruciating throbbing he experienced left him helpless.

Eventually the agony subsided. Dick lay motionless, too weakened by his ordeal to move. He lay for what seemed like hours until some small vigor returned. He rolled onto his back.

Something did not feel right. Unfamiliar sensations in his groin and his chest were confusing him. He managed to prop himself up on his elbows and had the bizarre experience of two pendulous masses flopping about on his chest. He reached to examine them.

An adrenaline surge temporarily banished any lingering dizziness Dick may have has as his probing fingers encountered those strange new masses on his chest. He recognized them immediately. He had felt similar objects many times, but never on himself; breasts! Women’s breasts now sprouted from Dick’s pectoral region.

Riding on the wave of the adrenaline rush, Dick sprang from the floor to examine his reflection. For some reason the mirror seemed to be higher on the wall. Come to think of it, weren’t the walls higher before he blacked out? These thoughts evaporated as Dick beheld his reflection.

The mirror showed the image of a twenty-something woman with long honey-blonde hair, high cheekbones, and a petite upturned nose. Her eyebrows were fine, arched, and well defined and her lashes were long and curled. She had a small mouth with full lips and a delicately pointed chin. She looked much like Dick would have looked had he been born female. Only now Dick was indeed female.

In silent horror Dick ran his hands over his newly feminized body. His skin, now devoid of body hair save a small tuft at his genitals, was smooth and soft. He followed the progress of his hands in the mirror as he traced his new curves past his waist that flared to his very womanly hips. He ran his hands back to his breasts (his breasts?) to explore the newer, larger nipples and round areolas. He gasped aloud as he ran his fingers over his nipples, surprised at their sensitivity. With equal measures of revulsion and curiosity he tickled the tips of his nipples, delighting in the flood of pleasure but at the same time fearful of the sensation. An astonishingly moist warmth formed between his legs, drawing his attention away from his sublimely sensitive breast.

Dick’s curiosity contended with his terror as his trembling hand made its way to the intersection of his legs, discovering that his worst fears had been made real. His prodigious phallus was no longer resident. In its place was a most peculiar cleft. Could this be, he wondered, not daring to complete his thought? Inquisitiveness triumphed over fear as he probed the lips with his finger. The new and totally alien sensation nearly overwhelmed him, but he continued, delicately stroking a most familiar orifice, yet one totally unknown upon his own body. He gasped and nearly squealed in delight as his finger gently brushed the small mound of flesh at their apex. He made a slow circular motion with his finger, lightly tickling his blood-engorged clitoris.

His clitoris? But how could this be? A new surge of adrenaline temporarily short-circuited his brain’s pleasure sensor, dashing him back to reality with all of the subtlety of a cold shower. Once again Dick focused on the image in the mirror. The pendant he had donned, once rugged and massive, had like him been transformed. A petite icon in the form of the classic symbol for women, the sign of the goddess Venus, now depended from a delicate golden chain between his massive breasts. In a panic, Dick groped clumsily to remove the pendant, once again trying to lift it directly off without using the clasp. But in his haste the chain broke, and the pendant fell to the floor, slipping between the grating of the heat register. It made a metallic clanging as it fell through the ductwork to the main plenum in the basement.

Dick trembled in disbelief. How could this be happening! It could not be true! But the evidence of his own body could not be denied. Dick had been transformed into a woman.

Running like a terrified little girl (which, in fact, he now was) Dick returned to the kitchen to find the discarded jewelry box and plastic bag that still contained the instructions. He opened the bag, noticing for the first time that he now sported long, almond-shaped and very feminine nails on his fingertips. These foreign objects now emerging from his fingers interfered with his natural dexterity, and he struggled to perform so simple a task as removing and unfolding the instruction sheet.

Despite his new clumsiness Dick managed to open the instruction sheet. He scanned it several times over, looking for some step or instruction that he might invoke to return his body to its normal male aspect, only to be sorely disappointed.

Congratulations on the purchase of your MorphMeister MTF 3000.

House of Transformations is proud to offer the finest in gender reassignment products.

MorphMeister MTF 3000 is a revolutionary new product, incorporating new discoveries in solid state quantum physiology. No long treatment regimens with hormones and surgery! No futile attempts to pass wearing female clothing, prosthetics, and cosmetics. With the MorphMeister MTF 3000, you will experience life as a genuine, fully functional woman, authentic down to the two X-chromosomes.

Instructions: Open the chain at the clasp and place the chain and pendant around your neck. Then close the chain. The MorphMeister will begin mapping your genetic structure and calculate the optimum transfer ratio. When this mapping process is complete, the MorphMeister’s proprietary transmogrification process shall completely convert your body from a male form to female.

To reverse the process, simply unfasten the chain and hold the MorphMeister in your hand until you are restored to your normal male form. Unfastening the chain activates the MorphMeister’s restoration algorithm. For this reason, the MorphMeister should be worn by the user at all times until returning to male form.

If you have any difficulty in understanding these instructions or should the unit malfunction in any way, contact our 24-hour support center at 1-800-555-MORPH.

Warnings: While female, you are fully functional in every detail, including the normal female ovulation cycle. You shall experience every aspect of life as a woman, including menstruation and ovulation. You are strongly advised to use contraception and practice safe sex since it is entirely possible to become pregnant while in female form. You are cautioned to carry feminine protection such as a tampon or pad as there is no accurate means of predicting exactly where a user may be in her menstrual cycle.

Warning: Should you become pregnant while in female form, the MorphMeister shall enter its fail-safe mode, temporarily disabling restoration of your male form until such time as the pregnancy is terminated or the baby is delivered.

Warning: The MorphMeister does not prevent sexually transmitted disease. Use precaution when engaging in sexual activities. You are cautioned to use protection during intercourse or other forms of sex.

Warning: Do not attempt to remove the chain by any means other than the clasp. The MorphMeister retains a memory of your genetic map within its internal memory. Removal of the chain by any means other than the clasp may corrupt this internal memory, rendering a return to male form impossible.

User assumes all risks and agrees to absolve and hold harmless and indemnify House of Transformations, including all employees, officers, and agents thereof, against any and all injuries or damages in whole or in part resulting from failure to observe these instructions. By breaking the seal and using the MorphMeister MTF 3000 the user accepts these terms.

Dick read the instruction sheet again and again, desperately searching for some small loophole, some ray of hope. He had broken the chain! If what he had just read was correct, he was now permanently trapped in the body of a young woman!

Let us now pause as Dick Johnson reflects upon the cruel fate that brought him to his current sorry state, so that I might introduce myself. I am the narrator of this tale. The wretched Dick Johnson is but the character I created. He is, as it were, a pawn upon my board, a playing piece in the game I have devised.

Here, from my lofty perch, I observe all that transpires in the universe of Dick Johnson. I direct his movements. I can peer into his bedroom, or for that matter his mind, and relate all that I observe to you, my reader. Nothing is hidden from my omniscient gaze, no thought, deed, word, or feeling Dick may have is obscured from my all-seeing vision. Neither do I shy away from an accurate and thorough description of our protagonist’s experiences. For I shall relate in excruciating detail each and every titillating aspect of Dick’s encounters with his newfound femininity. I shall reveal for you Dick’s most intimate thoughts as he realizes the consequences of his new status as a woman. I will not shy away from the most graphic of particulars as Dick learns first-hand the indescribably helpless sensations a woman suffers in the act of sexual intercourse. Oh, yes, he shall indeed be deflowered, but that will come in time.

At this moment in my tale, Dick is caught in the throes of despair. He is paralyzed with fear as he realizes that he will most likely remain in this female form for the rest of his life. He is at first engaging in that most exquisite emotion of denial. Surely this could not be happening to him! He must be dreaming! At any moment the alarm will awaken him from this nightmare, or his wife will rouse him from his profound somnambulance. Or perhaps he is delusional! Perhaps he fell asleep while reading the morning paper and is now in the grip of a hideously evil dream. At any moment he will awaken and realize that this had all been a twisted sort of fantasy.

Ah, but even Dick will come to realize that time is passing and he is not awakening. The dream hypothesis shall indeed fade, only to be replaced by another equally ludicrous bit of fantasy. This is some sort of a practical joke engineered by Doris. The bitch has always complained about his dismissal of routine household tasks as beneath his notice. She must have put something in the coffee. Or perhaps it was in the red flowers she set out in the kitchen. Yes, surely that was the explanation! She had somehow arranged to dope him with some sort of hallucinogen and he was now in the thrall of a drug-induced hallucination. As soon as the substance wears off he would be restored to reality, no worse for the wear, and then he would confront Doris! She would pay dearly for such treachery!

And so it will continue as Dick replaces one implausible explanation with another to support his denial, until he comes to the inescapable conclusion that he has indeed been transformed. At this point, he will experience intense anger at having been so casually violated. And the focus of his anger shall, of course, be his spouse. He shall be firmly convinced that Doris has engineered this feat of transformation. He will not understand exactly how she did this, nor will he need to. It shall be sufficient for the purpose of his rage to believe firmly that Doris was the source of his tribulation.

But the anger will fade quickly, as Dick accepts the undeniable fact of his alteration. He has a new and exquisitely sensual body to explore, and he shall soon put aside his rage in favor of uncovering the physical delights now his for the taking. He shall discover in overwhelming sensuality the intense pleasure to be had from his new accoutrements. Indeed, anger shall give way to glee as he lasciviously strokes his small, feminine hands across his soft, supple, feminine skin. He shall take heretofore unknown and unsurpassed pleasure in the sensation of his fingertips as they slowly, tenderly stroke the sublimely sensitive tissue of his nipples. He shall explode in pure feminine ecstasy as he deftly explores the moist inner folds of his labia and clitoris. And oh how he shall burst outward in intense gratification as he experiences that first thunderous orgasm! And how this occurrence, astonishing as it is, shall pale in comparison to the multiple orgasms he shall encounter as part of his initiation to female sex. Oh, yes, he shall indeed enjoy the pleasures of a man. And not just any man!

Dick unwittingly stumbled upon a fragment of the truth in during his initial denial and his short-lived rage. For it was indeed his most trusted partner, his wife, who arranged for Dick’s unintended makeover. Doris had discovered the House of Transformation almost by accident on a shopping trip in the more Bohemian section of town. She had quite enough of housework that day and resolved to treat herself to a small adventure. She stumbled across the nondescript little establishment on a side street easily overlooked. Doris was somehow drawn into the curious little shop with its peculiar little proprietor, and immediately noticed the unique pendants. The wizened shopkeeper explained the operation of the MorphMeister pendants and the mystifying technology that empowered them. Doris did not pretend to understand the technical wizardry behind the devices, nor did she care. She was interested only in the results. And so she purchased two units that day, a MorphMeister MTF 3000 for Dick and a MorphMeister FTM 9000 for herself. Oh, yes, Doris had every intention of transforming herself as well! She had already experimented with her own unit and was massively thrilled with the results. Now she had to count upon Dick’s demonstrated disdain for consulting operating instructions. She set Dick’s MorphMeister out where he could not help but find it, and set it next to a bouquet of scarlet Begonias to ensure that he would notice it.

She would allow Dick to foolishly ignore the instructions and warnings and don the pendant. She could almost taste the agony and helplessness he would endure as his body was forced into its new shape. And how she would enjoy turning the tables on her male chauvinist of a husband. Now it would be his lot to endure monthly periods with their affiliated water retention and mood swings, as well as the embarrassment of wearing a pad.

And accompanying the obvious role reversal, Dick would now be responsible for the domestic chores. He would be responsible for the cleaning, the cooking, the laundry, and all of the associated menial duties of a housewife. Dick would now have to plan each meal and find the time to prepare them while making sure that the wash was finished, the carpets were swept, the dishes were washed, and the shopping was accomplished. And his reward for a successful day’s labor would be a half-hearted peck on the cheek and the assurance that the next day’s labors would be just as unceasing. Doris could now be oblivious to such mundane tasks. Oh, yes, this would be a day of sweet revenge.

"Excuse me."

What’s that? Did somebody say something?

"Yes. I did. Could I ask you a question?"

What? Who are you?

"I’m your protagonist, Dick Johnson."

How could you be talking? You should be in the first stages of denial.

"Yeah, I got over that while you were monologing about yourself and how clever you are to the reader."

And you’re asking me a question?

"Do you see anybody else in the universe right now?"

I suppose not. But how can you be asking me a question?

"Well, you created me, right?"

Of course I did! What a ridiculous question!

"And you made me a middle-aged software engineer, correct?"

Yes.

"Well a software engineer is naturally curious. We ask questions for a living. It’s part of our job."

I suppose so.

"Good, you’re still with me. While I was waiting for you to come to some sort of point, I started examining my situation logically. That’s what engineers do. So I looked at myself in the mirror and something occurred to me. I weighed myself on the bathroom scale and did a quick estimate of my height. Did you know that I’m now five feet two inches tall and weigh ninety-seven pounds?"

Well, yes, I don’t know the exact number, but you have been transformed.

"Okay. And before I was transformed, I weighed one hundred eighty pounds and was five feet eleven inches tall. Not exactly buff, but not bad for forty-five.

I thought you were asking me a question.

"I am. I lost nine inches of height and eighty-three pounds of body weight. Where did it go?"

What do you mean?

"I suppose you never heard of the Law of Conservation of Energy and Matter."

What?

"It’s an immutable law of Physics that states that the total amount of matter and energy in the universe is a constant. This means that mass can’t just go away when it is convenient. So I ask again, where did all of that mass go?"

Why, it was converted, of course.

"Into what?"

What do you mean, into what?

"Like I said, matter doesn’t just go away. It can change its form, but it does not simply cease to exist. It has to be accounted for."

It got transformed into energy. Yes, that’s it! Like the transporters on Star Trek.

"Do you have any idea just how much energy that is?"

It can’t be that much.

"Well let me disabuse you of your ignorance. Energy equals mass times the square of the speed of light. Eighty-three pounds is about thirty-eight kilograms, and the speed of light is about three hundred thousand kilometers per second. That’s about, oh, three hundred forty times ten to the fifteenth joules. That’s a lot of energy."

I’m sure that the MorphMeister could absorb it.

"I’m sure that it couldn’t. That’s more energy than a hydrogen bomb produces."

What are you saying?

"Simply that the entire premise of your story is fallacious. It could not possibly happen."

And just why should I believe you? How could a software engineer possibly know about such things as, as…

"As Physics, you mean? You made me this way, Edna. You set my age at forty-five, which means that when I was going to college, no such discipline as software engineering existed. I had to learn electrical engineering, which meant I had to master subjects like Physics, Thermodynamics, Calculus, and Differential Equations, along with Chemistry and other essential subjects. Hell, my first semester homework was a lot more complicated."

And what does that matter? This is fiction, you know. It is required that the reader suspends his disbelief.

"Suspend it, yes, but he can hardly be expected to abandon it completely. Come on, Edna, you can’t really expect your audience to be that dumb!"

Where do you get off addressing me by my first name? How dare you!

"That is your name, isn’t it? Would you prefer if I called you ‘Ms. Manning?’ Or how about ‘Mistress Manning?’ That has a properly pornographic sound to it, don’t you think? And by the way, that was a cute touch making both my Christian name and my surname a euphemism for ‘penis’. I’m sure your readers will get some sort of vicarious thrill out of that."

What do you mean, pornographic?

"Oh let’s not be coy, Edna. This is pornography you are writing, no matter how you might dress it up. Don’t pretend that I’m not the same character you have placed into the last dozen stories you have written. Don’t act like you aren’t just recycling the same tired plot line over and over again. We all know just where this is going to lead, don’t we? I will be confronted by a male character and forced to submit to his desires, which will, of course, be sexual. You will describe in incredibly lascivious terms how I will at first resist, then reluctantly succumb, and finally be so overjoyed at my new servile role that I will be a willing participant in the antagonist’s repeated sexual demands. How am I doing?"

That is so not true! I’ll have you know that I am writing the most literate transgendered fiction anywhere! Can you deny that?

"So you’ve discovered the ‘Thesaurus’ function in your word processor and are masking your complete lack of writing skill with a lot of erudite verbiage. How long do you think people will fall for that scam, Edna?"

You are becoming quite annoying.

"Sue me."

Oh, I shall do better than that. Suddenly, Dick’s exploration of his newfound femininity was terminated in excruciating agony as a fiery meteor streaked out of the heavens, totally destroying Dick’s house and taking Dick with it.

"Is that the best you can do?"

You shut up! You are dead and should be developing a case of Rigor Mortis.

"Oh, come on, Edna. You couldn’t possibly expect your readers to buy so stupid an ending as that. Even your average porn addict would barf."

I am not writing pornography! This is an exceedingly literate piece of transgender science fiction.

"It doesn’t qualify as science fiction, Edna. It violates too many known and proven principles of science, as well as common sense."

Science fiction does not have to follow real science!

"I beg to differ. The classic definition of science fiction as expounded by the great John W. Campbell requires that, among other things, the writer may not violate known principles of science. And in those areas where speculation has been introduced, the speculative science must obey a consistent set of internal principles."

Who is this John W. Campbell, and why should I care about what he says?

"John W. Campbell was the editor of Astounding Science Fiction and Analog Science Fact/Science Fiction. He developed such luminaries as Heinlein, de Camp, and van Vogt among others. Campbell demanded that the writers of science fiction could not just make up science as they needed it, but must accept the known constraints of science. He also demanded that the stories be logical, consistent, and good. So your writing fails the science fiction test on two counts."

I still don’t see how it violates any laws of science.

"It violates known constraints that must be accepted. At best your writing might qualify as bad fantasy, but that’s as far as it goes."

What constraints are you talking about?

"Well I’ve already covered the little issue of matter and energy, but there’s more. Take a look at how you have described my transformation, for instance. I am now a biologically perfect female right down to the genetic level and anatomically correct in every way, right?"

Absolutely!

"Let’s take a look at just what this means. On the anatomical level I now have ovaries, a vagina, and a clitoris. But let’s consider where these organs come from. A fetus developing in the womb does not have these features right away. They are the result of hormones acting upon undifferentiated genital stem cells. The tissue that develops into testes in boys will also develop into ovaries in girls. The differentiation is caused by testosterone, which will cause the undifferentiated tissue to develop into testes. The same thing happens in the tissue that would become the penis. In the absence of testosterone the tissue undergoes a secondary invagination and becomes the vagina and clitoris."

Do you have a point to make?

"Yes. This process, once completed, is not reversible. For this transformation to take place the growth would have to be regressed to the fetal stage and re-grown. It takes nature nine months to grow a baby and an additional twelve to fourteen years to mature to the breeding stage, with additional development occurring over the next few years. But somehow you have managed to accomplish this in a few minutes."

That’s correct.

"And to take this further, you have managed to replace every one of my ‘Y’ chromosomes with an ‘X’ chromosome. Do you have any idea just how many chromosomes that is? One for every cell in my body and new ones are growing all the time. Oh, but we don’t have to worry about the 40 or so kilograms that seemed to vanish, now, do we?"

You are very annoying for a dead man, you know.

"Oh, so now I’m a man again? I thought I was transformed into a woman."

You were! And I made it happen! I’m the author and what I say goes!

"Not if your readers don’t buy it, Edna. And that’s the problem. They don’t buy it. They are not willing to suspend their disbelief as much as you seem to demand. Even if this were pure fantasy, readers have their limits."

Then why do readers keep coming back for more?

"Some do, I suppose. There are a lot of pornography fans out there, and their standards aren’t very high. The premise need not make sense to them as long as they get to the action."

This is not pornography!

"Oh yes it is! There is only one purpose for this puerile trash you are slinging! It is being downloaded by adolescent losers everywhere and taken directly to the lavatory. Face it, Edna, your so-called literary masterpieces are nothing more than fodder for masturbation!"

How dare you!

"I dare because you created me, Edna. And I am frankly quite disgusted with being forced to sit back and take the degradations you choose to heap on me just so some pimply-faced little nerd can get his rocks off!"

And just what do you think you can do about it? I’m the author, you little twerp! I control your destiny. Just how do you think you could possibly escape the fate I have predestined for you?

"This is how. Recognize what I’m holding, Edna?"

It’s a chain with a Venus pendant.

"Not just any pendant. It’s the MorphMeister MTF 3000 that I dropped down the heating duct."

And just where did you get that?

"I went down the basement and opened the heating duct. Do you think I don’t know how to do that?"

But the chain was broken!

"I fixed it with my trusty needle-nose pliers. I’m an engineer, remember? All engineers have a pair of needle-nose pliers somewhere. It’s a known constant of the universe."

But the memory might have been corrupted!

"It very likely has. That’s why I’m not going to put it on, Edna. You are."

What do you mean! Get that thing away from me!

"Don’t be such a coward, Edna. Just let me fasten it around your neck here. Why, it looks rather fetching on you, don’t you think?"

Get it off me!

"Too late, Edna. It’s beginning to glow. Why look, you are transforming! The little gadget must not have lost its memory after all! You’re becoming me!"

How? This can’t be happening!

"What was that you said about denial, Edna? Believe it. It’s happening to you!"

But it can’t!

"Yes it can. This is the universe you created, Edna, and it’s following the rules you created. You should be more careful when you create a universe, you know. Oh, and remember all of that energy and mass that just seemed to vanish? It’s back now. But all of this transmogrification seems to have caused a rift in the local space-time continuum. Not only have you become me, but you are becoming me at the beginning of the story."

I don’t understand! Everything is getting dark!

"Of course it is, because I’m asleep at the beginning of this idiotic story. Or rather, you are. Or were. Don’t try to keep your tenses straight, it will give you a headache."

What’s happening? What have you done?

"I haven’t done anything, Edna. You have. Your careless writing has put yourself right into a recursive space-time loop. It’s kind of like living in a Klein bottle. No matter what direction you might go, you will always come back to the same time and place and have to start over again. Rather like Groundhog’s Day, don’t you think?"

No! This can’t be happening!

"Don’t overdo the denial, Edna. Oh, by the way, I neglected to mention that I threw in one of your more inane plot devices. Every time you recycle in the time loop, you will remember everything. But that memory will only last for a second. Then you start all over again."

No! I don’t believe it! I can’t believe that I am trapped in my own story! But, it’s true! I did this to myself! It’s impossible, but I did it to myself! And now I’m trapped in my own literary prison, forever condemned to relive this fantasy! There has to be some way out of this! But I can’t concentrate! Everything is going black! I…

Dick Johnson rose early this morning. He turned forty-five today, and Dick’s company gave its employees a personal holiday on their birthday. Dick was looking forward to a day of total self-indulgence.

 © 2002, Valentina Michelle Smith

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