How do you feel when your husband is no longer a man?

I had a great marriage, with a husband better then I even dreamed it will be possible. It all looked like a perfect life. Then, I found him wearing my clothes. A accepted and allowed him to cross-dress in the house. Then, he found my guilty secret, that I wanted to be a shemale... and he brought me a strap-on. Even so, it still was passion, it was a nice and interesting experience. All, until Syracuse, one of the 12 mafia leaders, found out. He forced Aslan to become more feminine, even to wear a woman's name, Kira. He forced me to wear my strap-on 24/7, then forced us to work for him. Until now, it was pleasure, but now, it no longer is. We know very well where this is heading. People here have a great repulsion for homosexual relations... and being a cross-dresser is associated with this. If anyone will find out, we risk to be killed. Now, Syracuse can do whatever he wants with us.

since I found Aslan practicing cross-dressing, I started to document myself about this subject. I heard that many men in his situation like to be submissive, like to be forced, humiliated. But not this! It is clear that he doesn't like things up to this level. And neither do I. I guess fellow cross-dresses from America will say "I envy you" for this situation... but not us.

As we go to bed, I just cannot sleep. Seeing him with painted nails, with painted hair, with his exercises to feminize voice, almost makes me cry. He tries to hug me, like in every night. I accept, but not with pleasure. I take his hand in my hand. I am thinking further. How can I have sex with him when he will become even more woman? Then, I keep thinking about the danger that lurks in the air. When people will find out... if they will... What will happen? I think about the worse possible scenario: that they will kill us. But will they? I close my eyes and think. They will start beating us, laughing at us, throwing with garbage at us. We will have to leave, to save our lives. But where? We don't have the money to go to the Civilized World. And even if we will, I've been there once. Those people are so strange to us. They are all like robots.

"What a fuck!" I whisper, slowly opening my eyes.

Aslan is sleeping, holding me in his arms, like in every night. Outside, it is quiet. I close my eyes again, feeling the small strap-on between my feet. It has a small rubber penis, similar to that of a man when it's small. This thing made me very happy when Aslan gave it to me. I was so excited at that time. I thought about secretly wearing it under my skirt on the street. But now, I will have to wear it by force, so that Syracuse can expose me when I don't do what he wants.

I feel to sleep. I have an unusual dream. It is like we are somewhere in the future, in some sort of large cavern. It is huge, a few km large. Above, it is a fake sky. There are many people down here. Aslan is with me. We all look similar, with knee-long trousers and a blouse, with pantyhose and sandals. We are all smoking. Aslan looks like a girl, with long hair and has my height. Then I notice everyone is the same. We all look like women, but we all have penises. A shemale community. Then, we all start to stroke together. A public masturbation session.

Aslan wakes me up. It is now time to start a new day. He comes from the kitchen with a sandwich, a few cookies and two glasses of tea. For a few seconds, I have in my mind everything: the dream, my thoughts about what wrong might happen and thoughts about Syracuse and our new jobs. It hurts me a bit to see him dressed like a woman and looking quite like a woman. The point of no return was the moment I painted his hair.

I eat in a hurry, then dress myself. We both enjoy the quiet time of smoking a cigarette. I keep thinking about the scenario they want us to make. Aslan is now Kira and is my cousin, not my wife. I will tell people that Kira does not know well our language and that's why she is so quiet... and that Aslan left to the Civilized World, for work. It is all a lie... but I feel like a part of Aslan really left. Where is the man I married? Am I going to live with a... woman?

We both leave the house. This time, I advised Aslan not to wear pantyhose, because women in summer usually don't wear and because he is not prepared yet and will destroy them. I am also not wearing them. I can see some sadness on his face for this. Well, it will only be for a few days, not much longer. Then, we will start wearing pantyhose again, when he will feel more confident to himself. Now, it's only the second time he dresses as a woman in public and the second time I wear a strap-on under my skirt in public.

We open the door and walk to the railway station. It is morning. People are going to their daily activities and don't pay attention to us. I am thinking about anything that can pass wrong, anything that might make people suspect Aslan, I mean Kira, is not a woman. It comes from little gestures, that shows who you are. It is not enough to look like a woman, you must act like one. And the main problem is his voice, which still resembles that of a man, even if it is a bit feminized.

We reach the railway station. Things are like always here. People, boxes, cargo, lots of garbage and the old, rusted trains. We will enter the third door, the green one. On the door, it is written: "Railway employees only". We stop for a few seconds, then open.

Inside, there is a large room, with a few people. Someone comes and says:

"Your cards!"

I remember the two cards Syracuse gave us. I show them.

"Number 117 and 118", the guardian says. "I was told you will come. Take a seat and wait!"

There are benches along the walls. Some people sit down, others stand, others just pass by. We sit down. Aslan carefully sits with one foot over the other, as I told him. I look around. Some people are smoking, so I light a cigarette too. There is no smoking ban in this area of the world. People smoke wherever and whenever they want. I am thinking about everything that may go wrong. Even with all make-up, with women clothes and everything we done, Aslan still has something that may betray him. There is something in the bone structure of the face, in the mandibular bone, that is specific to a man. Also, women usually have a smaller torso then men. It is also a small difference in how a woman's crotch looks like. Will they find out?

Time passes and nobody looks at us. Then, a fat woman comes and asks something the guardian. She looks different, with expensive clothes on. I bet she is Syracuse's wife. She then comes to us.

"Who are you?" she asks.

"I am Abida and she is Kira, my cousin from Over The Mountains", I say, trying to look as natural as possible.

She smiles, knowing that Kira is in fact Aslan.

"Follow me", she says.

We pass from this room, through a hall with many doors. I hear beeps. All railway stations communicate by radio, using the Morse code. This must be it. Then, we enter a door to a small room, with a desk and some papers on. The woman sits down and lights a cigarette.

"This is my desk", she says. "I understand that you are new with this job. Don't worry, you will get used to it".

I feel a bit relaxed. She doesn't seem t be aggressive.

"This is what you will have to do. Sometimes, one will be at the office and the other one on terrain, sometimes both will be here and sometimes both will be on terrain. You will change places between you. First of all, you must know that you are not alone. There are others doing the same job. Our company's law is 'your left hand must not know what your right hand is doing'. So, it is strictly forbidden to give anyone any information of who you are and what you are doing. You might pass close to others and they will not know you as you will not know them. Understood?"

"Yes", I say.

"Understood, Kira?"

"Yes".

"You know the dictator-executor-informator principle?" she asks, looking straight in our eyes. "I see you know something, but not all. This is how all works, here and in any other company. The dictator takes orders and commands each aspect of what must be done. The executor is actually the person which does a job, no matter what that job is. Finally, the informatory is that person which reports back that the job was done... or not. However, you cannot trust anyone. A dictator might use its power for his own advantage, to force executors do his own work. An executor can lie, not do what must be done or hide a part of the profit. An informatory can also lie, take bribery from a dictator or executor. So, it is very important to keep an eye on everyone. The system works because nobody knows who is who, but I do have information about things that shouldn't be like that".

I know the system. It is dictators who give orders, who supervise everything. They decide all aspects, but often they abuse of their powers. Informators are always hidden and report back. Workers are executors.

"You know well how things are. The trains must flow. The grass must flow. The wood must flow. The coal must flow. People must flow. Everything must flow and the railway is the only thing that moves staff and people in this country. But operating it, is costly and there are many points where people can steal. Your job will be to keep an eye on what is happening. Your job is complex. You will gather information on the terrain, then analyze data on a computer. don't play the wrong way, I have other people doing the same job as you do. And I know I can trust you. You know well why".

Yes, we know.

"I know you are not a woman", she says, pointing at Aslan. "And I know what you have under your skirt", she says, pointing at me.

She rises from her chair and comes to us. She takes something from her desk. At first, I don't know what it is, then I realize. They are two fake breasts, with a tube of glue. She handles them to Aslan, saying:

"Put them on, now!"

Then, as Aslan executes her order, I help him. They are large, larger then mine. They hardly fit in his bra. Then, she pushes me below my belly, until she can feel the small strap-on. She sits back and looks at us. I feel like a knife is touching my neck. Forced feminization.

Then, she asks us to come close to her. She puts a laptop on her desk. All I can see is endless numbers, in an excel format page.

"Now, your training begins", she says. "look! Here are measurements of how many people are on each train. The next table shows how many boxes and other cargo are passing. And here, you can see consumption of diesel fuel for each train and maintenance costs for each railway. I have another table with delays, for each rail sector. All this information must be gathered. The program itself detects fluctuations and anomalies. You can see data for each day of the week, for example. It is normal that there will be less people on Friday if the area is populated by Muslims or on Sunday if the area is populated by Christians. However, if data shows unusual changes, there must be something. There are a few tests which shows us if a change in data is correlated with something or if it happened just at random. If you see the same fluctuation occurred only once and only on one railway, it should not be a problem. But if you see this on many railways in the same time or... what is worse... associated with a single employee, then it is a problem".

She stops for a few seconds, to make sure that we understood.

"Now", she continues. "This table shows reports from each one. Each controller and each engineer has to complete a quiz. They don't have names, just numbers. You will never use and see names. They are all numbers. Each train, each rail line, each station, each person, they all have numbers, including you two. Your and others' surveys will reveal the real amount of people and cargo passing by, as well as the nature of all this. By comparing data with those surveys and what controllers and engineers declare, we can see differences. As long as differences are below a critical level, everything is ok. When they are higher, come to my office and tell me. You will also have to check on delays for each rail sector. Many times, people lie about the railways, saying they are too damaged, but in reality, many times they demand fake repairs to steal money and materials. The same happens also with diesel fuel".

We watch all this, starting to lose the point. Then she says:

"I know our employees are stealing, but as long as it remains down to a small level, I accept this. However, this must be kept under control. If things are going the wrong way, I have to take action".

She starts explaining us how this works. She starts to learn us the way to insert data and to calculate. Oh mine! I feel my head is exploding. Only numbers. Only numbers and nothing else! The main railways are numbered between 0 and 9, with branches counting on. Each station has a code number. Each train has a code number. All is in numbers. She gives us a sheet of paper with all lines and all stations, each one with its numbers associated. another sheet shows schedules for all trains. There are four pairs of trains on each railway.

Then, she asks us to insert data from a sheet of paper into tables. We do this carefully.

"Do the first test", she says.

It is a test that compares numbers. We do this. Result is 0.85.

"This is acceptable", she says. When you are inserting imaginary values, after a while, your brain starts to repeat numbers. For example, you might get a fixation with repeating 2 after 4 or adding too much of 6 and no 5. The test is passed. If result were above 1, it could mean that numbers are not real and were wrote randomly. If you get a result above 3 once or many results above 1 for the same informatory, it means data is not real".

It is a lot of work. We do another test, comparing values from two tables. Same train, data completed by the controller.

"You see this?" she says. "Differences ranked at 1.37. That controller knew that an informatory was in the train and worked correctly. Data match with what the informatory told us, with a value of 0.71, so it is ok. But then, when the controller was alone, we have a difference of 1.37. So, there is something strange. Someone is stealing something".

Again, we compare some data. The difference this time is 0.21.

"Too small differences between what the controller reports and what the informatory reports. They are probably working together, stealing together".

"But what if the algorithm used is wrong?" asks Aslan. "I mean, it might be a coincidence".

"I know what you are thinking", she says. "Many new informators are afraid of a possible fake positive result. We are talking here about probability, not about 100% sure things. You will also bring false positive results. The problem arises when they are too many, above a certain limit".

"I see..." I answer.

"Also, problems arise when two different people get different results with the same calculations", she says. "This happens from time to time, as human errors are common. However, if it is too often, it means that there is something wrong. Don't try to lie when you are making your own calculations, even if the data is gathered by yourself. Someone else will also work with the same data".

Finally, after hours of exhausting explanations, we are free. She gives us a laptop to work on and more instructions. Starting from now, we will work at home. We will come here daily, to take data to analyze on a stick and to drop results on another stick. We will take and drop them in a box at the entrance.

Secrecy is the rule here. Nobody must know what we are doing and we must not know anyone. The computer will self-generate our jobs and our schedules: on what train we will go, what we will do, anything.

"Only one thing", she says. "For the beginning, you will go together. At least until you are completely behaving like a woman. And if anything bad happens, in the worst case, show your cards. They guarantee your protection".

**********

We leave, exhausted and with our heads filled with numbers. Who could invent such a complicated system to keep things under control? I know how informators work and that in many cases they rely on math to calculate probabilities, but this is too much. We are too exhausted even to think about how to act in public on the way home. We just walk through the town, trying to clean our heads. This is such a madness!

We go back home, walking directly through the center, through the bazaar. It all happens in such a natural way, like this is how it should be done. Surprising! Maybe, this is the way! Nobody looks surprised at us.

Back home, we enter and fall down on the first coach. I turn on the TV to hear something, to recover my brain from all those numbers. It slowly works. But, the more I recover, the more I realize that Aslan is less Aslan and more Kira. Now, he has fake breasts. He looks like a strong and fat woman should look like.

Where is all this madness going to go?

TO BE CONTINUED