Dream Come True - Chapter One - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, we meet Melissa and learn of her fate, for better or for worse.

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DISCLAIMER: Admittedly, overall, this story is inspired by a combination of Swishy's Kate Draffen story, Issy's Changing Cal, and all of the works by Bad Guru (FictionMania). I've seen several iterations of the tale elsewhere, too. However, having not dealt with the holidays in a favorable manner, I've had a dark cloud over my head. It's been impeding my work on ChangeDay: Advent. I needed something to uplift myself. If I've plagiarized anything without permission, I apologize. That was not my intention. I, personally, needed to tell a story like this. Maybe there are others who derive the same feelings that I hope to convey in this tale. Yes, it is in fact quite autobiographical, with names and situations changed not only to protect them but also add to the fantasy. I hope it makes the readers feel the same way I hope it makes me feel.

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— Chapter One —

“Full Name?” Came the cold, clinical bite of the woman’s voice. If social workers really hate what they do so much, why can’t they find a better job?

“Melissa Deanne Sterling.” Was my reply, somewhat proud and happy with the fact. Sadly, though I’d been working on it for almost a year, my voice didn’t sound as feminine as hers did. Which was a blow to my self-esteem because she sounded as though she’d chain-smoked in her younger years.

“Age?” Again, cold and monotone. Did I hear her sigh?

“Twenty-five. I just had a birthday…” I was trying to make small-talk. Obviously, an exorcise in futility.

She cut me off. “Sex?”

“Female.”

Again, she sighed. “Look, Mr. Sterling, it won’t do you any good to lie on legal paperwork. You know you could be held in jail for perjury?”

Suddenly, my cheeks flushed. I knew. I just didn’t want to admit it. Obviously, this woman had received no manner of sensitivity training when dealing with people like me. I cleared my throat. “It’s Miss Sterling, thank you. Are you aware of state statute…”

Now, she was getting grumpy. “I’m aware of the non-discrimination law that was passed eighteen months ago, Mr. Sterling…”

Now, I stood. “Look, this is difficult enough as it is. You don’t have to continue to patronize and disrespect me. I haven’t done that to you, so would it kill you to show a little common decency?”

She put her pen down. “I don’t care what you think. It’s my job to place you and you are making it more difficult with each question you lie about. If you’re going to act insubordinate, then our business here is done, Mr. Sterling.” She slammed the window shut.

That was my last nerve. “How fucking hard is it to say MISS Sterling?! Fuck off, you god damn prejudiced bitch!”

That was not the smartest thing I’d done all day. Angrily, I grabbed up my purse and began placing my identification back into the bill fold when I heard heavy footsteps behind me.

“Is there a problem here?” From the sound of the keys, it sounded as though one of the security guards had been alerted to the scene. When I turned to look, my conjecture was confirmed.

“Not with you, sir.” A sigh spilt from my lips as I continued my labor.

“Look, Mister…” He began, causing me to growl. “…if you’ve got a problem with the social workers, then you’ve got a problem with me. That’s just the way it is.”

Finished, I spun and stood to face him. He towered over me, but my resolve made me feel ten feet tall. “I am NOT a ‘mister’ and I am NOT a ‘sir’, thanks! Is there any way I can speak to a supervisor?!”

“I’m afraid not. They’ve all gone home for the day. If you behave yourself, maybe you can come back tomorrow and sort everything out?” He may have been trying to be polite, but I understood his innuendo: they wanted me out of the building and they wanted it five minutes ago. Social services really do have terrible “customer service”.

“You want me gone? Fine! I’m out of here!” I could feel the tears well up in my eyes as I made my way through the sea of the hopeless toward the door.

This was supposed to be my way out. I hate this town.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Water droplets cascaded downward from the heavens, splattering against all manner of surfaces. Clad in only my coat for protection, the hood was lifted over my head but provided little protection for the rest of my body. My jeans, socks, and shoes were soaked clean through. I could hazard a guess that the wheeled luggage performed a similar job of protecting all the clothing I had in the world from the same abuse the rest of me was receiving. Laundry day was only two days ago. Now, I’d have to find a dryer if I wanted to keep any of the clothes. With the smattering of droplets, my glasses did little to help my eyesight. The only good thing about the rain: it hid the tears flowing down my cheeks.

My life had never been this dismal before. Certainly, it wasn’t great, but I didn’t have much to complain about. I had a decent upbringing. My parents were both stably employed through my entire childhood. Albeit small, I had grown up in a decent community. The schools weren’t too bad -- about on par with the national average. We never went hungry. We always had clean clothes and a new pair of shoes every year. I was able to indulge in some hobbies, but not too many.

Despite it all, I was still miserable, even then. I was living a lie.

I was always relatively feminine, compared to my peers. I never really did fit in with the guys. There was always an inherent empathy for the girls. However, acting on these impulses usually got me hurt. At school, I’d been the target of school yard bullies ever since I can remember. It never stopped and it seemed I had a new nemesis in every school. As a survival mechanism, I went on autopilot and became emotionally numb. Their enjoyment and fulfillment taken from them, the bullies eventually sought more responsive targets. To do so, I had to exhibit a kind of hyper masculinity that would make me “one of the guys”. I hated every second.

To make matters worse, school wasn’t the only place where I experienced such abuse. If it wasn’t enough that the kids were putting me down and beating on me at every available opportunity, there were similar experiences waiting for me once I got home. My parents had divorced when I was still in diapers, so I don’t remember spending extended periods of time with my own father. Then, my mother had married my step-father. To say he was an “alpha male” is an understatement. He demanded respect and control at every opportunity. My brother and I were typically the objects on which he asserted his power. Through intimidation, physical abuse, and psychological torment, he asserted the legitimacy of his regime. Living in China was likely better than being under “his” roof.

Needless to say, I engaged in as many extracurricular activities as I could get my hands on to avoid going home at night. Again, to assert masculinity, I’d joined the football team in high school (my step-father had forbidden me from doing such in junior high). I wasn’t a half bad running back, but far from the star of the offense. I was a little more effective on defense, but not by much. My small build and lack of sufficient muscle tone did me a disservice. There were also the many years spent in one choir or another which honed my voice into something I was very proud of. I wasn’t the best, but I wasn’t far from the top. My detriment was that that teacher didn’t’ think as highly of me as others in the class. Where I shined, though, was on the stage. Our school had a very good drama department and a great auditorium with which to work in whatever could be imagined. My only joy and acceptance through school came when I was on stage and it made high school culture much easier to deal with. I also learned two foreign languages, which have come in handy in my post-secondary school life.

The culture in my hometown was stifling, however. The rural, small-town, conservative atmosphere is what had caused my problems in the first place. Thus, in order to move forward with my life, I had to do everything I could to get out. In one last effort to attempt to “prove” some semblance of masculinity, I joined the Armed Forces after high school by enlisting with the Navy. It was not to last. I was discharged under the ten-year-old “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy when my stash of panties was discovered during a surprise inspection and they didn’t believe my “conquest trophy” excuse. They were, of course, ignorant to the fact that I didn’t even know what my sexual orientation was, at that time. They didn’t care, either.

My parents didn’t want me back, so I was on my own. Apparently, I had brought the family some kind of ultimate shame that was simply unforgivable. That’s when things went downhill and I was plunged into my current situation. Invisibly, there was another homeless veteran on the streets. The one concession was that I was near Seattle, Washington, and had all the benefits of living in a liberally-minded area of the country. Not only did the city have a non-discrimination policy considering sexual orientation and gender identity, but the state had a similar, albeit more comprehensive, law in place, as well.

One beacon of light was when a friend of mine had brought down to Lambert House, thinking it was just fine for me, given the terms of my discharge. If I ever see her again, I’m going to have to thank her. The place was good to me and I was finally able to be myself in a social setting. Gone were all my pretences and defense mechanisms. Through the program, I’d been given a stable place to live and all the meals I’d need while I tried to put my life back together. They also referred me to councilors and medical professionals that finally brought light to my feelings. I am a transsexual. For a year, I had state aid for my hormone medications and any appointments my therapist set. I was even able to get my name legally changed and update all my documents.

Then, I aged out of the program and the state cut back social programs. Economic recessions are a real bitch. I had, officially, fallen through the cracks.

No employer has hired me in a year and a half. My previous employer fired me because I’d begun my transition, but I couldn’t prove it nor did I have the financial means to hire a lawyer who could. All my money had run out a long time ago. Now, I had to deal with the adult shelters who were most unkind to someone like me, both “clients” and staff alike. I was back to my autopilot and numb emotions as I trudged from one soup kitchen to another, barely nourishing my meager existence.

Speaking of which, it’s feeding time. Slowly, I stood, grabbed my luggage, and began to trudge down the alleyway. The only sounds besides my soft sobs were the plastic wheels coming in contact with the asphalt and the distant sirens blaring through the downtown towers.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

You have to be really bored or a major insomniac to count the little dots on ceiling tiles. Yet, that was my current activity. All around me, there were snores and other evident sounds of people sleeping. I was hardly so lucky. Tonight, my jacket-turned-pillow offered little comfort. It was still fairly damp from the day. There would be no change of clothes, either. They were all in the same shape. The wool-ish rescue blanket draped over top of my body itched like mad. The prison mattress underneath me offered little comfort. I wanted to cry in self-pity again.

“Mel? You awake?” A soft, feminine voice beckoned to me.

For some odd reason, most places would discriminate and deny me access to transitional housing programs for women. However, emergency shelters didn’t care enough to question my ID card. At least I didn’t have to sleep around men who could rape me at any second to show me “how a real woman does things”.

“Unfortunately.” I whispered, trying not to sound distressed.

“Me too.” Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Pretty shitty day today, huh?”

She had no idea. “You could say that.” I finally rolled my head over to my right to face the voice. My eyes landed on a petite brunette who I’d come in contact with on several occasions. If anything, we were acquaintances. She was a year younger than I, but I couldn’t recall her name if you paid me.

“Did you have any luck?” She looked empathetic to my plight.

I gently shook my head. “No. Some bitch slammed the window in my face and kept talking to me like I was a man.”

She sat up. Her upper body was covered by a tank top and no bra. Didn’t the blanket itch her like it did to me? “What?! How can they be so heartless?”

I shrugged. “They’re in social services and there’s no shortage of homeless out here?”

“How do you know they were being discriminate, though?”

“She called me ‘Mr. Sterling’ and seemed to think I was lying about what my real name was. I told her everything that was on my I-D, but she seemed hell bent on denying me.”

“That’s, like, what? The third or fourth place?”

Tears welled up, again. “Yeah.”

She patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mel. There’s gotta be something for you down the line. There just has to be.”

“My faith in the truth of that statement is diminished as the days go on.”

She lay back down. I rolled my head back up to the ceiling. That was typically the extent of our conversations. She’d ask me how I was, I would tell her how bad it was, then she’d tell me it’ll get better. I wish I could believe that.

To make matters worse, I thought I might be coming down with something. I felt that my joints were a little sore and the room seemed both warmer and colder than it probably was all at once. Great. Just what I need.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Funny. I don’t remember falling asleep. Yet, there I was becoming aware that my eyes were closed, yet the sounds of my surroundings were very strange indeed. I could hear a bit of talking and the sound of a heart monitor somewhere nearby. Just on reflex, I decided to shift a little and my body felt as though it weighed a ton.

‘Lovely,’ I thought. ‘I am sick. How much is it going to cost, this time?’

I tried to vocalize something, but all that emitted from me was grumbles and moans. Next was to try and open my eyes. The moment I tried, there was much regret. My vision was really blurry and the lights were really bright. Immediately, the effort was abandoned. What the heck is wrong with me?

Suddenly, I could hear shuffled footsteps come from my left, cross at the foot of the bed, and move over to my right side. “Well, hello, there.” I heard the sweet, maternal voice greet. “How are we feeling?”

I tried to answer, but nothing seemed to be obeying my commands. The most I could muster was incoherent moans and grunts. At least, they sounded vaguely feminine. I was always afraid I’d come off sounding like a man.

“Ah, having a few difficulties? That’s pretty natural after a seizure like you had.”

WHAT?! Seizure? How? When? Why? My body stiffening seemed to convey the message I was trying to get across. She gently patted my shoulder.

“It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to answer or move around too much. Dr. Michaels is on your case. You’re in good hands, sweetheart. Thirsty?”

Slowly, I managed a nod. My throat felt like a desert. Somehow, my bed began to tilt upward. Was I on a gurney? Then, she helped me open my mouth, bringing a plastic cup to it and slowly pouring in the liquid. I could scarcely believe how much effort it was taking just to swallow. The effort exhausted me.

“Okay, dear.” She lifted the cup away from me. “That should be good for now. Why don’t you rest some more and I’ll see you when you’re stronger. Remember: you’re safe, now. No need to worry.”

I managed to groan out some form of “Thank You” before I lost consciousness once more.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

There is no way for me to know how much time had passed when opened my eyes again. Yet still, for some unknown reason, I awoke with a start, sat straight up in bed, and let out the most androgynous scream I’ve ever heard. Thankfully, the lights were turned out and the room was in a state of twilight. My eyes darted around and came upon linoleum flooring, cinderblock walls, and white everywhere. Apparently, I was situated in a corner with just a curtain separating myself and whoever happened to be my neighbor. Instantly, my mind recognized this to be a hospital. Whatever had scared me awake, I was a little more scared to know where I was.

The curtain was pulled to the side slightly and a plump older woman who, oddly, looked quite a bit like my mother entered the area. She had a nice maternal smile on her face, though. That helped.

“Well, well…” She began. “She does live. Everything all right?”

For whatever reason, I slowly shook my head and started to cry. Whatever the nurse happened to be carrying, she set on a table nearby and rushed to my side. Before I knew it, I was being embraced and soothed. On reflex, my body fell into her arms and soft sobs were the only thing coming out of me for the next few minutes. Soon, it seemed that just as quickly as they had come, my tears dried up and I was regaining some composure. The nurse let me go.

“There.” She stated sweetly. Who was this woman? “Feel better?” All I could do was nod and sniffle. “Good. Lovely to have you awake, finally.” She smiled as she pulled the table over. “My name is Janet and I’ve been your attending nurse.”

I liked her already. “Where am I?” My voice sounded like a bored frog.

“Welcome to Virginia Mason, my dear.” Another smile. Sensing some mild confusion, she continued. “You’ve been here about five days now. You’d be at Harborview were it not for your doctor’s insistence that you be placed here.”

Five days? Must have been some serious flu! “Yes, his office partners with you guys for patient records reasons.”

She nodded. “A good thing, too. We’ve got your whole chart here, so no need to fret about that.” She began to fiddle with my IV. Thankfully, they’d placed on the back of my hand, rather than in the bend of my elbow. I’d explained that preference to my doctor, so I was glad a note like that was communicated well.

“Why am I here, anyway?”

“Well, the majority of that will have to be answered by the doctor when she comes in. She should be along shortly. Though, the rest is easily answered. Do you have a history of febrile seizures in your family?” The quizzical look on my face delivered the answer. “Um, seizures when you have a fever?”

My mind wandered for a moment, searching for the intended information. “Yes, actually, but those only happen during early childhood, right? My mom and baby sister had them, but I don’t think I ever have.”

She nodded. “The doctor expected as much. After a CT scan and cranial MRI, we couldn’t find any evidence that you were epileptic and it isn’t in your chart, either. So, it was our thought that you experienced one of those febrile seizures. Though, yes, it is extremely rare for someone your age. Though, you did have a fairly high fever when you were brought in.”

My eyes closed as I tried to absorb the informational assault. Before I could continue, someone else announced their presence by clearing their throat. My eyes glided over to the form of the newcomer. She was quite pretty, I must say. Taller than average, for a woman, she stood almost silhouetted against the hallway light. Her blond hair was tied back in a somewhat messy bun. Silver wire framed glasses set on her nose and almost hid her blue eyes and well-manicured eyebrows behind them. She had a fair complexion with no visible blemishes. After that, she was clad in a lavender blouse, navy pencil skirt, nylons, and sensible flats adorned her feet. Over it all was the typical white lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck. Her smile was as warm as the nurse’s.

“Good morning, Melissa. Feeling well?” She glanced over at the nurse. “Hello, Janet. You may stay, if you’d like.” The nurse nodded.

There was only one question on my mind. “Is it really morning or are you just saying that because I’m awake?”

She giggled. Since when do doctors giggle? “Nope. It really is morning. It’s about 7:30, to be exact. I’m sure it’s a little weird for you, having been here so long and actually wake up in the morning.”

All my body would do is nod. “Yes, pretty weird.”

She moved over and set down some kind of computer pad she was carrying and moved over by the bed. “I’m Dr. Kaitlyn Michaels. You can call me Dr. Michaels or Katie, if you’d like.”

There was a lot of nodding going on this morning. What’s one more? “So, what’s the damage, Doc?”

Again, another smile. It helped that she was so pretty. “Well, we’ve got some lab results coming back in about an hour or so, but the overall prognosis is fine. You haven’t had a fever in two days and I’m glad to see your white blood cell count come down. Any headache, joint pain, or even a little nausea?” I slowly shook my head. “Then, I would say that you were the picture of health, but I want to see those lab results come back so that we can find what put you in this situation in the first place.”

“Yes, Janet was telling me that I had a fever, then a seizure?”

“Yes, very uncommon for someone who isn’t in Kindergarten. You can understand my reservations, then?”

“I guess so, yeah. So, no idea what’s causing all of this, yet?”

“Oh, I’ve got a couple hypotheses, but I’d like to have some conclusive results before I jump into telling you my master plan.” She smirked. “So, for right now, let’s see about getting the diodes off and taking out the IV just before getting you fed. Once I’ve had a chance to look over the labs, I’ll be back in here. Okay?”

“Sounds like a plan, Doc. Thanks.”

She smiled and gently squeezed my arm before she turned, grabbed her computer pad, and turned to leave the room. I was left alone with Janet, but I wasn’t complaining much.

The next several hours passed by quickly enough that they’re nothing but a blur. Most of it, I spent surfing the modest amount of channels on the TV. At times, Janet would come in to check on me and we’d engage in short conversation before she had to move along to her other patients. The culminating moment for me was during lunch. They brought me the first decent cheeseburger I’d had in a long time, such was not on the menu at shelters and soup kitchens. Though quite hungry, I savored as much of it as possible. Strangely, I didn’t really notice that I wasn’t actually wearing underwear. For obvious reasons, they had taped me into an adult diaper, but Janet defended her decision based on my financial situation and the cost of a catheter. Of course, she had also considered my comfort level, given my current biological status. Though utterly embarrassed, I thanked her for her foresight. After she helped me into the bathroom, I took the thing off and she handed me a clean pair of panties as mine were stashed away with other belongings. Thankfully, Janet had carefully removed all the IV tubes, so I didn't have those to fumble over. Still, she left the IV in if there was a chance they'd have to take more blood, I guessed.

Soon, there was nothing interesting on television. It’s a common lament, but how can there be even 50 channels and nothing of substance being broadcast? I let out a sigh. As if on cue, Dr. Michaels poked her head around the curtain and gave a smile. Politely, I shut off the TV and sat up.

“Are you decent?” She asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “As much as I can be while wearing a hospital gown. Why?”

She used her head to signal behind her. “I have a couple of men with me that are eager to meet you. Is it all right that I let them in on our conversation? They have some things to add.”

One thing came to mind: specialists. “Okay, Dr. Michaels, what’s going on? I thought this was just about blood test results.”

She didn’t answer. She moved into the room and two men followed her, as she’d stated. The first looked to be in his forties with a receding hairline, salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and a few wrinkles. He wore a navy blue three-piece suit. He was some official, I conjectured. The second man seemed closer to fifty, but he’d shaven his head bald. He was an African-American in a lab coat, an unfortunate rarity. Though, with his wire frame glasses and well-manicured mustache/goatee combination, he reminded me of Denzel Washington. My apprehension rose into my throat.

The black doctor spoke first. His smile was as warm as Dr. Michaels’. “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Abraham Carver.” I shook his hand anxiously. He pointed to the official. “And this is Agent Anthony Donovan…”

“C-D-C.” Agent Donovan interrupted.

“Wait, Centers for Disease Control? What the heck is going on, here?” Now, I was frightened.

Dr. Michaels quickly dismissed that it was as bad as I was thinking it was. “No, Melissa, it’s not like that. You’re not infested with the Black Plague, I promise.”

“Then, what do I have?”

Dr. Carver cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Before we answer that, I’m going to ask you a series of seemingly redundant questions. Are you okay with that?”

“Did a doctor just tell me he was going to ask me some dumb questions? I better mark this on the calendar!” The mood was lightened. Everyone but Agent Donovan had a good chuckle. “Go ahead, I guess.”

Dr. Carver opened up a manila folder of some kind. “First: Have you traveled outside the United States to Canada, Europe, Mexico, Central America, South America, Australia, Japan, or the African continent anytime during the past 12 months?”

“No. I can’t afford to pay attention, much less travel anywhere.” Dr. Michaels hid a giggle while Dr. Carver managed a smirk.

“Next: Have you eaten any questionable food in the past 3 months?”

“I’m homeless. To me, it’s all questionable.”

“That answers the next question about whether your living environment would contribute to expedient disease communication. We’ll move on to the next question: Have you participated in any clinical trials in recent months?”

“Yes. Three. One for depression. Another one for birth control. And, the last was for anxiety.”

“What type of birth control?”

“Some new oral contraceptive. ‘The pill’ is evolving, I guess.”

“Why did you engage in such a clinical trial.”

I blushed. “I’ve been cut off the state Medicaid program. It was an easy way to get some kind of hormones.”

“They let someone like you participate in a female-only clinical trial?” Agent Donovan interjected.

“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” I growled.

“Agent Donovan, you’re upsetting my patient. If you cannot control your outbursts, I will not hesitate to ask you to leave. Am I clear?” Dr. Michaels stepped in. He grumbled something incoherent and folded his arms. Then, she moved over to the bed and held my hand. “Melissa, we found something in your blood work. A virus, we think, or evidence thereof.”

“Well, I had assumed that. I mean, I somehow fell asleep in a temporary shelter then woke up in a hospital five days later. I know that I had a high fever and then a seizure resultant from that. What else is there to tell?” My thoughts spilt out of my mouth as I tried to grasp the situation.

“Well, what we have to report could either be good news or bad news. Though, given your situation, I’d hazard it was good news.” Dr. Carver smiled, again.

Dr. Michaels nodded. “Yes, probably good news. What we found is something we think to be some kind of retrovirus, but I’ve only seen something like this before in medical journals. You, however, are the first recorded case in the United States.”

“First case of what?”

“Well, it’s been called a number of names, but we’re sticking with Human Transmutation Virus, or H-T-V for short. We’re not sure of the causes or how it’s spread, but I’m sure you’ve heard of the common vernacular of ‘Girl Flu’ coming from the United Kingdom or Australia. Have you heard of it?”

My brain performed a self scan, but for all that was in me, I couldn’t pinpoint anything relevant. “I don’t think so. I haven’t been up on current events, I’m afraid. Surviving takes up a lot of a person’s day, it seems.”

Dr. Michaels smiled again. “Well, then this is your lucky day.”

Dr. Carver nodded. “Indeed it is. HTV seems to affect its host differently with each case, as one would suspect, but the end result is always the same. I’m sure you’ve heard the term ‘sex change’ before. To my knowledge, HTV is the only thing known to man that can actually accomplish that task. As the retrovirus takes its course through the body, it takes the host from one biological, genetic, and physiological sex directly to the opposite sex.”

“Wait… does this mean… ?” The blood left my face.

“Yes, Melissa. When this is all over, you will be female, totally and completely. Not even a gynecologist like myself will ever be able to tell that you had once had a male body. HTV even changes your DNA.” Dr. Michaels explained.

The world went black.

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm

Dream Come True - Chapter Two - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, we learn what has happened to Melissa and a few details. Also, Melissa's transformation begins to show itself.

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(For the Disclaimer, see Chapter One)

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR: I would first like to thank everyone for the kudos and comments in Chapter One. They made my day for several days running. Thank you for all the kind and encouraging words. I hope this and future installments of this tale continue to live up to the expectations. Lots of love all around! xD

HUGGZ!!

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— Chapter Two —

There was some hope deep within me that another five days hadn’t passed. Thankfully, it was only about twenty minutes until I regained consciousness. When I did, the lights were on in my room. This time, they didn’t hurt my eyes as much. In fact, I was glad for them. The room was beginning to feel like some sort of cave. Grunting, I pulled myself up into a sitting position and glanced around the room. The doctors and agent had left the room. Janet was nowhere to be seen. I heard someone clear their throat. Startled, my eyes darted in the direction my ears had said the sound had come from.

There, in a rather comfortable looking chair, was a short, round, balding man. The hair that was leaving his head had migrated to his chest and arms. His dress was appropriate to his station, like I’d always seen him. He wore a plain white button-down shirt, grey slacks, and brown Oxford shoes. He also wore a satisfied smile that made his comforting gray eyes sparkle.

“DAVE!” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. I leapt off the bed and gathered him up in an embrace. He was, after all, about three or four inches shorter than me when we were both standing.

He chuckled. “Hello, Melissa. I see you’re feeling better.”

By obligation, a nurse poked her head past the curtain. I wish she hadn’t. Apparently, my gown was a little more revealing than I’d have liked in the back. I released the man, turning to face the nurse with a blush forming on my face. He merely stood.

“What in the world is going on back here?” She demanded.

“Everything’s okay,” He stated. “I’m Melissa’s P-C-P, David Halden.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t a primary care provider be a doctor?”

He shook his head. “Advanced Registered Nurse Practitioner, actually.”

She nodded. “Oh. ARNP, huh? Carry on.” She turned and left. He probably had better credentials than she did.

I shuffled back over to the gurney, sat down, and covered myself as much as possible with the blankets, feeling very much exposed, now. “So… how long have you been here?”

“Only a few minutes, actually.” He stated, returning to his seat. “It seems I missed the announcement, though.”

“I guess so…” I trailed off.

He smirked. “You still think it’s a dream, don’t you?”

In point of fact, that’s exactly what I was thinking. For a moment, I hesitated. Then, got brave and actually brought my hand up to meet with my face. The sound of a loud slap echoed through the room. “OW!” Okay, not dreaming.

“Melissa, please don’t hurt yourself. You are certainly not dreaming, though I can empathize with your belief that you are.” He chuckled.

I rubbed the sore spot on my cheek for a moment. As I thought, it was a little rough from a couple days’ worth of growth. I suddenly felt embarrassed that two strange doctors and an agent from the CDC had seen me in this condition. That was a fleeting thought, though. There was a strange sensation on my arm and part of my neck. I pulled my hand away from my face to see several small, dark hairs on my palm, fingers, wrist, and upper arm. My eyes widened in disbelief.

“Okay, that’s not normal!” I announced.

He shot out of his seat and took my hand, giving it a look over. Then, he glanced at my cheek. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s already happening.”

“What?!” A sense of horror washed over me.

He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Oh, don’t worry. Melissa, your beard stubble is falling out.”

“It is?” Deep down, I’d always wished that it would without any help from expensive procedures like electrolysis or laser hair removal.

He continued his examination. “Well, not all of it, but I’d say give it time. Admittedly, it is very fascinating to watch you simply wipe it off your face. I’ve heard some whispers about HTV, but I thought it was nothing more than some elaborate hoax. I never thought I’d have a patient diagnosed with it.”

“Well, lucky you. I hadn’t even heard about it.” I was still staring at my hand.

“I had no intention of giving you some sense of false hope and I will continue to do that with the rest of my transgender patients. It would seem like you’ve won that lottery you keep fantasizing about.” Finished with the examination, our eyes met. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and have a look? Besides, you can wipe away the strays while you’re at it.”

All I could do was nod while he moved to the side and allowed me to trudge over to the bathroom, dumbstruck. All hyperboles aside, I was never as hairy as one would believe someone with Central European or Scandinavian heritage to have. Granted, I shaved both my arms and my legs but even those produced less hair than my brother had. The embarrassing place where I had hair was on my butt. I hated that with a passion. Yet, even with all of that, the single worse place was on my face. It had been the subject of a great many crying fits. The rest was just annoying. For the majority of society, any evidence of hair on someone’s face meant “man”, even though I’d met several women with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome who could grow better beards than me.

Slowly, I made my way up to the mirror. For the most part, it was my reflection staring back at me. My long, straight, brown hair rested on my shoulders. My eyebrows could use a little attention from a pair of tweezers. There wasn’t much special about my blue eyes, but I loved that I’d always had long, thick, feminine eyelashes. I never liked my face. My nose seemed too big. My brow bone was always too prominent. My cheekbones weren’t prominent enough. My jaw was somewhat angular and too masculine for my liking. Then, it all came down into my “Jay Leno” chin -- which was a hyperbolic statement but it looked huge to me. I watched my Adam’s Apple rise and fall as I let out a sigh. However, right there in front of me was the patch where I’d rubbed my face after slapping myself. More than half the hair was gone.

My eyes shot wide as dinner plates. I moved closer to the sink, leaned forward, and began to run my hand along my beard stubble. Sure enough, as I rubbed my face, little hairs were literally falling off my face! I was looking right at it and still couldn’t believe it!

“Holy shit!” I giggled with glee.

“Told you so.” Dave’s voice echoed from the room.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Remorse filled me even as I labored through a much needed shower. It had been five days and I could smell my own stench. A girl’s got to have standards, right? The fact that my doctor (not really a doctor, but that’s how I saw him) was waiting for me had not escaped me. I simply rationalized that it would be more polite to save his nostril hairs from burning away than having him wait the ten-or-so minutes it would take me to practice a little personal hygiene. Thankfully, they had small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. None were the brands I typically used, but I was thankful to have them, regardless.

While I went about my routine, the marvel of the mirror had overtaken me and I began a little personal inventory. With my heritage, there was always a bit more hair on me than I assumed to be average. There was always thick, dark hair on my arms which extended onto the backs of my hands and a bit on my knuckles. In my teen years when shaving it off would mean ridicule, I could hold my arm under a shower head and the hair on my arm would actually part along the bone. Gross. Then, there was the hair on my legs. It was thicker and I would typically have two or three hairs that seemed to sprout from the same follicle. Disgusting. I also had a “happy” trail and a veritable forest in my crotch. Not to mention, the hair on my posterior I mentioned earlier. Unfortunately, there was also a few hairs on my chest and around my nipples that drove me crazy. As a child, my worst fear was becoming a huge, hairy gorilla with a Polish sausage in my loins. Sadly, I wasn’t too far off, which caused me constant distress.

However, there was a lot of hair in the tub when I finished and I hadn’t even touched a razor, yet. Just looking down at myself as I stepped out of the shower basin was enough to tell me that I was considerably less hairy. Gone was about eighty-five percent of the hair on my arms and it had vanished from the back of my hand and knuckles. Gone was the “happy trail” and about fifty percent of the hair in my crotch area. Only about seventy percent of the hair was gone from my legs and they were considerably smoother, though I’d probably still have to shave every few days, or so. There was still hair in my armpits, but it was also not as dense and much finer. Thankfully, the obnoxious hairs on my chest and buttocks were all gone. I was very happy to see both those areas smooth as a baby’s bottom.

Even with all this happiness, there was still my naked body to contend with. I had always hated being naked. Thankfully, I was always on the short end of male height standards, coming in at a meager five feet and seven inches. My arms were okay and my legs weren’t too bad, either. Though, both were still on the end of “too masculine” for my liking. My shoulders were more narrow than my mothers’, but that was overshadowed by the broadness of my ribs. Add to that my narrow hips and my torso is a breeding ground for unhappiness. My hands weren’t too large, but bigger than the average woman’s hands. Then, there were my feet. I cursed whatever twisted soul had made my physique rather petite but gave me freakish clown feet. Being slightly above average female height, wearing a size 5/6, and toting around an off-the-rack bra were nice, but it was an act of Congress to get a pair of shoes that fit. I was a size 10, which is in the “large” category of women’s shoes and greatly limited my choices in footwear. Thus, for every small positive, there was a huge negative.

Speaking of which, we finally come to the bane of my existence. There are no words to describe how uncomfortable it made me to have that phallus strapped to my pelvic region. The thing was disgusting and cumbersome. While a year’s worth of hormones had given me softer skin, a more radiant complexion, approximately “A cup” small breasts, softer eyes, and a clear sense of mind, it had done nothing to decrease the size of the monstrous thing below my waist. It pained me to know that the thing was larger than most men that I have ever met. It’s especially sad when you can put your own boyfriend to shame. I hated it and often cried myself to sleep because of it. I was very much a prime candidate for sex reassignment surgery… which I would likely never be able to afford.

Rather than depress myself further, the decision to get dressed again was easily made. I quickly patted myself dry, shuffled into the panties, and slipped the hospital gown back on. Using a second towel to wrap my hair in, I returned to the hospital room. Thankfully, my doctor was still there and wearing a smile on his face.

“Feel better?” He grinned.

“Yes, very much. Thanks for indulging my ‘girly habits’ on that one.” I smiled back.

“Well, I didn’t want to be rude and just outright say you smelt like you’d been in a hospital for a few days.” We both had a small chuckle. “Why don’t you have a seat? Curiosity is getting the better of me and I’d like to perform an examination, if you’d be okay with that.”

“Not a problem on my end.” As requested, I sat down on the gurney once more. “I’ll probably be a lab rat for a while. I’d rather it was you than anyone else.”

He set right into his examination, starting with my feet and legs. He merely glanced at them from a couple different angles. “I thought you liked Dr. Michaels. She seems sincere and caring.”

“Yes, she strikes me the same way. I guess she’s okay.” I shrugged.

He blinked and did a double take. “I guess whatever effects they’ve foreseen have already begun. That little patch of hair on your feet is gone and your legs would be about on par with any other young woman your age.” He moved to my arms. “It would seem that your arms are in the same boat. I’m guessing you’re happy about that?”

A lovely smile creased my lips. “Very happy.” Then, a little sigh came out. “So, what can I expect with this HTV thing, realistically?”

“I’m not really sure, Melissa. Like I said, I’ve heard about it but assumed it a hoax. Though, with what some of these doctors here are suggesting, there probably won’t be a need for me to write that letter to the surgeon we’ve discussed.” He glanced at my torso. “Would you be averse to taking off the gown for a more thorough examination?”

“Nope. Besides, I need you to bring me back into the real world if I’m imagining anything.” I smirked, slipping off the gown.

First, he gazed over my entire form, probably making a mental checklist. Then, he went about poking and prodding at my little breasts. “Well, the hair growth all over your body has greatly diminished. I hadn’t expected that. Also, it would seem that there has been no atrophy of your breasts as a result of you suddenly coming off your hormones for an extended period of time. That’s some good news.”

“Well, I hadn’t expected much change. I mean, I just caught the bug, right?”

“Exactly. According to our results, the pathogen has been incubating in your system for nearly a month, now.” A deep, unfamiliar voice stated. Both of us in the room turned to the voice, only to discover that Dr. Carver had returned with Dr. Michaels accompanying him.

“I thought that breast exams were supposed to my territory, Mr. Halden.” Dr. Michaels smirked.

While I went flush in embarrassment and quickly covered myself, he nodded to the other two. “Usually, it would be. However, I currently know Melissa better than either of you, from both a medical and personal standpoint. All either of you can do is speculate as to what her hormones have done up to this point and what can be attributed to HTV.”

“Touché.” I giggled.

“So, what did we miss?” Dr. Michaels asked.

Dave glanced at me, then back to them. “Well, I would hazard a guess that her body is mandating a more feminine hair growth pattern, but that’s just conjecture.”

“Oh? How so?” Dr. Carver spoke up, taking notes.

Dave waved them over and pointed to a few points. “Well, you can see her arms and legs have much finer hair than before. She’s always been self-conscious about a few stray chest hairs and the hairs surrounding her navel. Those are gone, now. We found this after she slapped herself to prove she wasn’t dreaming. When she rubbed her face, her facial hair started falling out. As you can see, I would say that sixty percent of it doesn’t exist anymore.”

Dr. Carver leaned in and examined my cheeks, chin, and upper neck. “Fascinating. I haven’t seen many of these early stages before. Melissa, I’d imagine this is a very happy day for you.”

Nodding, I stated clearly. “I’ve always said that if I never had to shave my face again, it would be too soon. Does this mean that I’ll likely never have to shave my face again in a few days?”

Dr. Carver nodded. “I could agree with that estimate. Usually, the HTV process takes an average of three months. For some, more. For others, less.”

Dave seemed surprised. “Three months? That’s quite fast!”

“Yes, Mr. Halden. It’s not just the virus that boggles the minds of modern scientists, but the transformation process itself. Like I told Melissa before, in three months’ time there isn’t a gynecologist on the planet that will be able to tell that she was ever male at all.”

Dave smiled at me. “Sounds like a dream come true, right Melissa?”

Tears formed in my eyes. “A dream I’ve had since I was very little.”

“So, this begs the question: what happens to Melissa while this transformation is taking place?” Dave began. “I saw in the logs that a representative from the CDC was here earlier to ascertain the situation.”

“Agent Donovan was only here to assess any threat to the general population. As it stands, Melissa is well beyond any fathomable contagious period for any known pathogens.” Dr. Carver explained. “However, with so little being known about this particular pathogen, he is reluctant to release her into the general population.”

“Wait… are you saying that I’m being quarantined?” My mind wondered.

Dr. Carver nodded. “In a way, yes. I know that’s not very good news, but being the first case of HTV in the United States has its limitations. They’ve had time to deal with this in the former British Empire. With the UK, Australia, and Canada having already documented several reported cases, they’re not as paranoid as the United States. They used to be. There’s always got to be a first.”

“I have to be honest, here.” Dr. Michaels added. “The thing I’m most afraid of is the press getting wind of this. If they do, Melissa won’t be getting much sleep. They’ll hound her for comment day and night. However, the hospital has already taken precautions regarding that. Security was already a part of the CDC quarantine, but that’s likely to stir suspicion. It’s only a matter of time before they learn about you.”

“Wait. How many people are involved in that or is it just me?” I wondered.

Dr. Carver shook his head. “No, Melissa, it isn’t just you. Everyone in that same shelter the night you were brought in has been relocated to a safe house nearby. Also, anyone who has had contact with them has been brought in. There’s a day center downtown that has been shut down, closed off, and quarantined.”

A chuckle escaped my lips. “Oh, you’re doing them a favor, Dr. Carver. Bringing the federal government in means federal money. They’re probably sleeping in better accommodations than they have in almost a year, a lot longer than that for some of them. Believe me, for them, it’s a step up from the prison mattress we usually sleep on.” Then, I paused for a moment of reflection. “Wait, they closed down and quarantined Angeline’s? I always thought the place needed it, but that’s a bit much.”

“They’re not taking any chances. Any potential spread has to be eliminated. Think about it: a retrovirus capable of changing people’s sex that we understand so little about?”

He had a point. One fact did plague my mind. “So, you’re telling me that HTV affects natal females as much as it does natal males?”

“Yes. In respect to age and original birth sex, HTV is indiscriminate. It changes females into males just as it changes males into females. However, none of the research shows that it is as dangerous as the CDC would like to think. In fact, compared with other retroviruses, it’s very benign and relatively harmless. Also, it’s not as communicable as influenza or even small pox. I have reason to believe that it only affects people with a certain genetic marker. I can’t prove it, but it is a theory.” Dr. Carver shrugged.

“For those in the room that don’t know, Dr. Carver is the foremost North American authority on HTV. He flew in from Montreal two days ago.” Dr. Michaels smiled.

“So, you’ll be performing some extra tests on Melissa’s blood to see if you can pinpoint some kind of commonality?” Dave spoke up.

“Yes, if I have permission.” Dr. Carver glanced at me.

All I could do was shrug. “I don’t really care, Dr. Carver. I’ve already resolved that I’ll probably be a lab rat until this all washes over, so test away. Far be it from me to stand in the way of scientific discovery.”

“Thank you, Melissa. I didn’t want to proceed without some form of permission.”

“Well, with concerns about the media, I happen to know a publicist or two. If you’re interested, Melissa, I could give them a call and have them come down to talk to you. I know the public will expect some kind of statement soon, but you shouldn’t rush it.” Dave stated.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Halden.” Dr. Michaels spoke up.

“Oh, I do.” Came my firm reply. “I’m well aware that I’ll have to speak to the press at some point. I’d rather it was on my terms, so a publicist isn’t a bad idea.” Glancing at my doctor, I continued. “I can’t really pay them, though. I don’t think publicists do ‘pro bono’ work.”

He merely grinned. “The ones that I know do. Like I said, only when you’re ready. My concerns are to my patient, first and foremost.”

Now, I giggled. “Thanks, Dave.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

The next week or so passed by like one long blur. Again, there wasn’t much on television, but I did find some programs that I liked. Watching reruns of Mythbusters is always entertaining. For lapses in entertainment, Janet brought me a few books. Unfortunately, most of them were romance novels I would have never read, even if you paid me to. Once I communicated my preferences, the science fiction and fantasy novels were much more common. When she brought me Twilight, I would have liked to have regurgitated. Still, she was doing her best and I was thankful for the effort.

As predicted, the changes I was experiencing were subtle, at first. After two weeks, it was confirmed that I had a body hair pattern synonymous with a young woman of my age and heritage. The hair on my arms was soft, light, and fine, yet only occupied my upper arm between my wrist and elbow. The hair on my legs continued to thin out until the furriest part was my lower legs. My thighs were almost completely devoid of dark hair. My armpits were about the same as my shins. Interestingly enough, the hair even fell off my scrotum, which seemed a little odd to me. Finally, my face was completely smooth. Like my father, my facial hair had grown halfway down my neck, but there was no evidence that it ever existed anymore. When the last hairs fell out, I yelped out an elated “Woo hoo!” and my voice cracked into a higher register, which only served to make the experience that much better. Other than that, the hair on my head seemed a little more oily but that was the extent of it.

On the other hand, I was eating… a lot. During my teen years, I never really experienced the whole “eat your family out of house and home” thing most guys go through. Granted, I could put away half a large pizza and not blink. It was even funny to see the reactions on people when a girl as thin as I would devour a cheeseburger. I liked to think that, when I was able, my appetite was fairly “healthy” and “normal”. In the past week, I was putting away about six meals that were all about the size of the average “value meal” from most fast food chains -- just the regular size, not “super sized”. The nurses were a little worried that I was eating too much because I’d been half-starved by homeless shelters. However, Dr. Carver quickly dismissed such ideas by stating it was not uncommon for someone being affected by HTV to have similar eating habits. Essentially, my body was saying that it needed the extra energy and, as far as Dr. Carver was concerned, that was a good sign.

Today, however, I was having a case of the tummy aches. It wasn’t excruciating by any means, just an annoying dull pain that made it hard to take naps. I really didn’t think much of it until my doctor and Dr. Michaels came in for a check up in the late afternoon.

“Hey, Dave.” I smiled when I saw his grinning face.

“Hello, Melissa.” He greeted back.

“Hey, Mel.” Dr. Michaels stated with a toothy grin. This was definitely her “hello” smile that most women greet each other with.

“Hey, Dr. Michaels.” I returned with my own "hello" smile.

“How’s our girl feeling today?” Dave took a seat near the gurney.

I let out a sigh. “Not that great. I’m almost completely bored out of my mind and I’ve had a dull tummy ache all day.”

Dr. Michaels set down her computer pad. “Really?” She rushed to the bed side. “I’ll do an abdominal exam. You just let me know where it hurts. Sound good?”

Lazily, I shrugged. “I guess so.”

She pulled back the blanket and formed her hands into some odd shape. She had one hand over the other and all her fingers were extended. Then, she carefully applied pressure with her fingertips around my abdominal region, starting in the area near my stomach, then over to my liver, then down over my intestines, then down into the lower abdominal region. I winced.

“Hmm…” She softly announced. “Well, no problems with your gastrointestinal tract, from what I can tell. Your liver seems fine. The problem seems to be in your pelvic region. Have you been having issues urinating? No burning sensations or anything?”

Shaking my head, I replied. “No, not really. I doubt it’s a bladder infection or anything like that, seeing how sanitary everything is around here.”

“One can never tell. It helps to rule things out. Given the circumstances, I may have to examine your groin. Would you be okay with that?”

“I don’t see why not. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Probably not, but let’s check to make sure.”

Again, she pulled the blankets back. Now, Dave stood and moved to the gurney. She moved over to a counter, picked up some disposable gloves and handed Dave a pair while she slipped a pair on herself. Then, she proceeded to lift the hospital gown and pull down my panties. Flushed with embarrassment, I turned my head to the side. I could feel gloved hands messing with my… junk… for a few minutes and then my panties were placed back on my hips.

“That is incredibly interesting.” She stated with a heightened tone to her voice.

“Indeed.” Dave agreed.

My head snapped back to face them as she pulled the hospital gown back on. “What? What’s going on?”

She pulled off the gloves and smiled at me. “Well, it would appear that you no longer have testicles, my dear. They’ve ascended into your pelvis. Usually, patients say that’s pretty painful.”

Another shrug from me. “Didn’t even notice. I learned a technique a long time ago to pop them up into that little pocket near my pelvic bone whenever I tuck myself.”

She nodded. “Probably why it didn’t hurt. Either that, or you were asleep when it occurred. There’s something else, too.”

Dave smiled. “The tissue of your scrotum is beginning to stretch down along your perineum, to prepare itself to be your labia minora, I’d assume.”

“I concur, Mr. Halden. That, and the sides of your perineum seem a little… what’s the word?…” She paused to think. “Oh, yes, I believe it applicable to say ‘puffy’. Yes, they look puffy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And that has what kind of significance?”

“Well, if you were a twelve-year-old girl, I’d say that your mons pubis was beginning to define itself.” She smiled.

“And that is…?” Okay, so I wasn’t up to date on gynecological terms. Sue me.

Dave took this one. “You know that little mound just above the vulva?” I nodded. “Well, that and the labia majora make up the mons pubis, or ‘pubic mound’.”

“Wait… that’s starting, already?” You could hear the slight elation to my voice.

“Yes, I would say that it is. I don’t know how common that is until I confer with Dr. Carver, though.” She stated plainly.

“But, that’s not what’s causing the abdominal pain, is it?”

“No, I don’t believe so. What I would believe is happening is that your internal organs are beginning to form. I’ll have to call Dr. Carver down here to examine you, but I think I’m right on this.”

I lay my head back, let out a nice sigh, closed my eyes, and smiled. “Awesome.”

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm

Dream Come True - Chapter Three - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, by way of a leak every news organization in the country learns that there is now a case of HTV in the United States. Melissa's transformation is in full swing and coming to a head. Plus, she gets a special visitor.

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(For the Disclaimer, see Chapter One)

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR: Again, thank you everyone for your kind words of encouragement and all the kudos. It keeps me going. For those with questions, I hope that some of them are answered here. If not, don't fear, Chapter Four is in full swing and many more may be answered then. I can feel that this tale is going to be quite a long one. Exactly how long? I have no idea. Like BioWare says before they release a game: "When it's done, it'll be done." I hope that you've been enjoying the ride as much as I have. I'm on a roll! xD

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— Chapter Three —

The television screen revealed a familiar face. He was a man approximately in his late forties. All his hair was white, rather than gray, and he had a full head of it. Due to the framing of the camera, all that could be seen was his chocolate brown suit jacket, white button-down shirt, and blue “power tie”. He was none other than the KOMO 4 News anchorman of several years, Hal Denny. When the broadcast started, I really thought nothing of it. I was merely curious as to what was going on in the local news. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

A graphic filled the right side of the screen displaying “Top Story” and “Breaking News”. Right on cue, a moment after returning from the commercial break, he took a quick breath and began to speak. “In our top story tonight, we’ve been reporting on a strange occurrence. Last week, the day center for homeless women in downtown Seattle, Angeline’s, was closed down and surrounded in a police barricade. Not much was known as to why this was implemented at the center funded by the Y-W-C-A and private donations, but there was a suspected federal connection. Also, many women have been detained and cordoned off in some sections of Harborview Medical Center, Swedish Medical Center, and Virginia Mason Medical Center. This week, the Centers For Disease Control released a statement that explained some of the questions, quote: ‘We are currently investigating the transmission of a rare pathogen introduced into the homeless population of Seattle. Naturally, the environment would only encourage the spread of such a pathogen. Suspect persons have been quarantined for their own safety as well as the safety of the general public,’ unquote.” He took a quick breath. “This news station has attempted to contact the Mayor’s office and the local CDC office for comment, but were unsuccessful.

“Today, KOMO 4 News was able to shed some light on the subject. For that, we go to our correspondent, Monica Kasey.” The graphic morphed to fit both the announcer and the correspondent side-by-side in the same window. “Good evening, Monica.”

She was dressed modestly in a navy skirt suit, lavender blouse, black nylons, modest pumps, and a professional-looking overcoat. I’d always considered her very stunning. She was a junior correspondent, but I assumed that wouldn’t last very long given that she always seemed to break major stories. Being half-Asian, that was an accomplishment at American news stations. It was apparently drizzling outside, so she had both her microphone and umbrella handy. Behind her was an illuminated sign that read “Emergency” and an arrow pointing to an emergency room entrance. However, what I really noticed was the blue and white sign just above that with lettering indicating which hospital she was standing outside of. My eyes widened.

She offered a smile. “Good evening, Hal.”

“There seems to be quite a development in this story. What do you have for us?”

“As you can see, Hal, I’m standing outside of Virginia Mason Hospital and Medical Center here at Ninth Avenue and Spring Street. This is where we’ve learned that most of those women being quarantined are being kept. We’re not certain where, precisely, because the hospital staff is remaining tight-lipped about this entire development. What we do know is that this is all being orchestrated by the CDC and, as you explained, they have not been available for comment. We are being reassured that there is no clear and present danger for the citizens of Seattle, as a whole.” She read off her note card. “Today, however, we learned a piece of information that could shed some light on this topic. Through an anonymous source, we were directed to some of the hospital’s records and ran across a name that many outside a certain population may not know. The day after Angeline’s was quarantined, Dr. Abraham Carver came on duty in the trauma ward here at Virginia Mason.”

The graphic returned to the side-by-side of Hal and Monica. There was a surprised look on Hal’s face. “Would you care to explain who Dr. Carver is for the viewers who are unfamiliar with him?”

Monica nodded. “Certainly. From what we’ve uncovered, Dr. Carver is a physician from Montreal, Quebec, Canada. He is a renowned microbiologist, epidemiologist, and geneticist. What he is best known for has been his work in the past five years. He is considered North America’s foremost expert in the elusive Human Transmutation Virus, or HTV. As you know, the first recorded case of HTV came out of Hong Kong, China, about fifteen years ago. Since then, there have been cases popping up out of Japan, Indonesia, Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Italy, several ‘Eastern Block’ European countries, most of Africa, and some places in the Middle East. There have been a few cases from Central and South America, but some epidemiologists suggest that the majority of cases go unreported, so accurate numbers of cases are almost impossible. Sadly, the majority of HTV victims in the Middle East have been executed due, in part, to religious beliefs of the people involved.

“The Human Transmutation Virus is considered to be a retrovirus that causes a dramatic change in those who contract it. Baffling most scientists, the disease totally transforms the victim from a fully functioning member of either sex into a fully functional member of the opposite sex. Many English-speaking populations have given it the pseudonym of ‘Girl-Flu’ because of the flu-like symptoms at the onset of the transformation.”

Suddenly, I was made aware of some kind of shouting match going on outside, but I just turned up the volume on the television and chose to ignore it.

“Based on this information, are you being led to believe that we may be witnessing the first case of HTV in the United States?” Hal likely echoed the sentiment of most viewers, now.

Monica nodded. “It would appear to be just that, Hal. Digging a little further, we discovered that most of the women here at Virginia Mason are being held communally in a residential area of the hospital. There is one specific patient being treated here in the trauma ward by Dr. Carver, but we were unable to uncover that person’s identity or any information about their status. I am led to believe that it is a woman who was homeless when all of this began, based on what we’ve uncovered so far.”

“So, Seattle could very well have one more male citizen in the wake of all of this?” Hal questioned.

Again, Monica nodded. “It would appear that way, Hal. We can neither confirm nor deny the statement, but it seems plausible, based on the evidence we’ve uncovered so far. We’ll keep you updated as more information becomes available.”

“Thank you, Monica…” Hal stated before the graphic changed again to feature only his visage.

Right at that moment, Janet burst into my room looking rather winded. I hit the mute button.

“Melissa…” She breathed.

I turned to her nonchalantly. “The cat’s out of the bag, now.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

To say that there was a media firestorm after that would be no hyperbole. News organizations of every imaginable type descended on Seattle and surrounded the Virginia Mason campus. Representatives from all the major news networks -- ABC, CBS, NBC, and even Fox News -- had correspondents and cameras strategically placed that were spinning their own variety of conspiracy theory. Local stations from Seattle, Tacoma, and even Olympia were represented as well. The Seattle Times, The News Tribune, The Olympian, and The Stranger rounded out the local newspapers present. Nationally, the New York Times, L.A. Times, Washington Post, Newsweek, and one I’d never heard of, the Huffington Post, were also on hand. Suddenly, it didn’t feel so bad to be under quarantine. However, doctors and nurses from the hospital were getting hounded to make some kind of statement on the matter. I overheard a lot of nurses stating that they had enough stress to deal with at work and would rather not have to deal with it on the way into work. The time had come to make a phone call.

In my own little room, things were about the same. Periodically, a nurse would come in and insert a needle into the IV needle still imbedded in my hand to give me some relief from my abdominal pain. Still, they were keeping me numb enough to feel the annoying dull pain, but stave off everything else. Occasionally, something would spasm and cause me to cringe momentarily, but that was only temporary. Dr. Michaels wanted to keep tabs and know when the pain finally subsided. It had yet to be explained to me exactly what, precisely, was causing the pain. Up to this point, all I had to go on was Dr. Michaels’ conjecture. Now, my joints ached and my whole body felt like one big slab of Jell-O. I brought up the concern that I may be getting a fever to the nurses because I always experienced similar sensations just before I developed a fever. Thankfully, they diligently checked my temperature and there was no fever. I really didn’t want to pass out for another five days.

I was, however, taking a lot more naps. Taking into consideration what my body was going through still wasn’t much comfort. There were too many questions left unanswered and Dr. Carver hadn’t made an appearance in a few days. He had to be around somewhere, though, because the nurses were taking blood samples at regular intervals that I was almost certain he had ordered. Not much, though. Usually, it just a small vial every six hours, or so. Now, I was really feeling like a lab rat. Janet’s visits were really such a blessing. For the most part, she was the only visitor authorized by the CDC.

My eyes fluttered open after a particularly long nap. The reason I knew it was a long nap was because I had apparently fell asleep during the beginning of an episode of Dirty Jobs and now there was some kind of fishing show. I hate sport fishing. I winced a little as I rolled over from my side to my back. Typically, I slept on my stomach but the pain was too much to even try that.

“Sleeping quite a bit, recently?” A male voice softly inquired.

I rolled my head and my eyes landed on him. “Oh… hey, Dr. Carver. Long time no see.” I groaned.

“Yes. I apologize for that, Melissa. My efforts to analyze HTV at its different stages have kept me away. I’ll try to be less of a science geek in the future.” He smiled.

“See that you do.” I breathed tiredly.

He crossed over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Now, I grumbled. “Wish you guys would take away all the pain, but I’m glad for the dull roar, at least.”

“I’m sorry for that, Melissa. It is a necessary evil for the time being. Anything else?”

I pressed a button to bring the gurney to an upright position so I wasn’t being rude. “Yeah, my joints ache like I’ve got a fever coming on and my whole body feels like Jell-O. Care to elaborate why?”

“Certainly.” As if on cue, he took the chair next to the gurney. “Right now, your body is going through what I call the ‘pupa’ stage of development. Everything that is changing is going on internally. After several patients, I discovered that the joint aches are being caused by your body reforming growth plates in certain places. The ‘body jelly’ sensation is muscle reformation. Male and female muscle structures have several differences. I know that it’s uncomfortable and we’re going to do our best to make you as comfortable as we can. Are you satisfied with what has been done so far?”

“In a word: no. This abdominal pain makes it really hard to sleep in certain positions. I’ve taken to sleeping on my side because neither my belly or back is very comfortable.”

“There is a reason for that, I assure you.” He gave a reassuring smile. Then, he quickly glanced down at his clipboard then back up at me. “Would you like some good news?”

“Yes, I would love some good news.”

“Well, with the blood tests, I’ve not only been monitoring the changes with how the virus and your body are reacting. There are several other things going on. You may not know the typical hormone levels in humans, so I’ll elaborate:

“In males, testosterone will hover around four to five hundred nanograms per milliliter, while leaving the estrogen levels somewhere between fifty and one hundred fifty, but typically sixty. In females, there’s the menstrual cycle to take into account. Thus, hormone levels vary greatly and are as diverse as women, themselves. That being said, average testosterone levels are anywhere between six and eighty six picograms per milliliter. Progesterone levels are lowest at ovulation and highest at the time a woman has her period. After ovulation, it climbs above fourteen picograms per milliliter and we know that an egg has been released from the ovary. Estrogen levels can vary from fifty to five hundred nanograms per milliliter, depending on the phase of her cycle and whether she’s postmenopausal or not.”

I held my head to keep it from spinning. “Nanograms? Picograms? Never learned those in any science class I’ve ever taken. You’re throwing me through a loop, Doc.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t learn them until med school. They’re just ways to measure the small amounts that are present in human blood. There’s a lot of chemistry to consider. The short answer: after three consecutive days of testing, your estrogen is about five hundred, progesterone is above fourteen, and testosterone is only nine. I am very happy to pronounce that you are now chemically female.”

A smile crossed my lips a nurse pulled back the curtain and wheeled in a machine that I hadn’t ever seen before. I looked at her quizzically, then repeated the expression to Dr. Carver who only released another chuckle.

“That, Melissa, is a sonogram machine. We’re going to confirm my hypothesis about what is causing your abdominal pain. Are you with me?” He explained.

I slowly nodded. “Oh. Sure, let’s do this.” Then, the gurney began to lower to the lying down position.

Dr. Carver moved over to the machine, setting his clipboard on top of it as he began to power it up. Meanwhile, the nurse was getting me into position by pulling back the blankets and lifting my hospital gown. Dr. Carver took note of the diminished size of the bulge in my panties.

“We’ll take a look at that when we’re finished with the sonogram. I’ve been meaning to examine you, myself, for days, now.” He reassured me.

He didn’t get much more out of me than a nod. The nurse lowered the waistband of my panties, but made sure to protect my dignity for the time being. Looking down my body, I noted the size of the bulge and how different my belly was beginning to look. Dr. Carver had said there wouldn’t be too many external changes yet, but there was definitely something going on. In a moment, he was putting some gel on the business end of the machine and a little on my abdomen as well. It was so cold that goosebumps started to form. Yet again, he flashed a reassuring smile as he set to work.

I tensed up a little as the little wand-looking roller thing was placed on my tummy. In half a second, a picture was being sent back to the main unit. Dr. Carver rooted around for a few minutes and I could barely tell what anything was that I was seeing on the screen. Then, he stopped and I could see something I’d only ever seen on examination room walls. Right before my eyes in black and white was nothing more than ovaries, fallopian tubes, and an actual uterus. Tears quickly welled up in my eyes and began falling down my cheeks. That had to be the happiest day of my life, up to that point.

Ever since I can remember, there was nothing I wanted more than to have my own children. This dream had been shot down and ridiculed by other kids ever since I can remember and even my own family. To them, I was a boy and boys don’t have babies. With the onset of puberty, the cold, hard truth was made apparent. When other girls were blossoming into swans, I was being left behind and turning into some perversion. My doom was to be some huge, tall, broad, hairy gorilla with a Polish sausage between my legs. It had been the reason why so many tears stained my pillows when I was a teenager. I had not known any greater pain.

As I crumpled into a crying mass, Dr. Carver saved several frames of the sonogram and made ready to print them out for me to commemorate the occasion. He cleaned the machine and the nurse did her best to get me cleaned up as well, holding my hand the whole time. Her name was Heather, I found out later. Soon, I regained my composure and Dr. Carver stood at the end of my bed with yet another reassuring smile.

“Well, chalk this up as just another of a great many pieces of good news, today.” He stated softly. “Are you settled enough for a more thorough examination?”

Slowly nodding as I wiped away tears, there wasn’t much more movement I could coax out of my body. “I don’t know if I can handle much more good news, but let’s go for it.”

He chuckled. Thus, the panties came off the rest of the way and he set about his examination. Geezus, the little monster looked small, now! Dr. Carver had taken measurements when I’d first come in while I was unconscious. Flaccid, I was six inches long and only about an inch in circumference. When erect, he believed that I was about nine and a half inches long and about two inches around. Like I said, Polish sausage. Now, though, the little bastard was still about three inches long and there was no hope of him growing erect because my libido was pretty much gone. Looking down, I could see and Dr. Carver confirmed that my mons pubis and labia majora that my phallus was shrinking into were fully mature. I couldn’t see anything below that, though.

“Well, well…” Dr. Carver thought out loud.

“Care elaborating, Doctor?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, Melissa, given the development, I‘d say that your abdominal pain should subside either tonight or tomorrow. You are now the proud owner of a healthy, nearly developed uterus. Also, you no longer have a scrotum. I would now call this tissue nothing more than labia minora. It’s fully extended along your perineum and has begun to split. In the next couple of days we’re going to have to be careful. It will take about twelve to sixteen hours for your urethra to reroute itself into the labia. So, I’m cutting down your fluid intake until that happens.”

“So, in a day or two, I’ll actually have to sit to pee, instead of choosing to like I’ve done for the past few years.”

He nodded as he helped lift my panties back onto my hips. “Precisely. Also, over the next couple of days, that little phallus with fold over, connect itself to the labia, and continue to shrink until it becomes your clitoris.”

My head fell onto the pillow, then I smiled as tears once again welled up in my eyes. He was right. There was a lot of good news, today.

“Dr. Carver? Could you do me a favor?”

“Yes, Melissa. What do you need?”

“Could you call my doctor for me? On one hand, he should hear the good news and you should send him a copy of the ultrasound. On the other hand, I think it’s time to call that publicist.”

“Are you sure it’s best to involve the publicist, now?”

I sat up, which didn’t feel too good. “Yes, there isn’t a better time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Look,” I began and let out a sigh, “I may be effectively trapped in this hospital room, but I’m not blind to what’s going on outside. I know that every news organization imaginable has descended on this hospital, even some I’ve never heard of. The nurses have been stating for the past couple of days that the reporters are harassing them as they come in to work. You can’t tell me that they haven’t been trying to get a comment out of you, either. They mentioned you, specifically, on KOMO the other night.” Again, I let out a sigh and the tears welling up were of concern rather than happiness. “You guys work hard enough as it is. You don’t need all the harassment.” I looked directly at Heather, who then smiled. “None of you do.” Then, my eyes returned to Dr. Carver. “What they want is me. If I give them what they want, they may focus their attention on me and leave you guys alone.”

A smile crossed his lips that was beyond my comprehension to decipher. “Melissa, did it hurt?”

I was taken aback. “Did what hurt?”

“When you fell from heaven. Did it hurt?”

It was corny, but everyone in the room shared a good laugh, even if it caused me to wince in pain.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Some kind of explosive pressure release had awakened me from a confusing, but not unpleasant dream. Honestly, my body wanted to just ignore it and go back to sleep. My mind had other ideas. It was working overtime to try and decipher what that sensation of warmth spreading around my pelvic region was. Grunting, I rolled over and tried to sit up, hearing some strange sound as I did so. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, pulled back the covers and let out a startled scream. I found that I was, again, wearing a diaper. But, that wasn’t the most startling revelation. My scream was a girl’s scream.

“Holy shit! Was that me?” My voice was beginning to sound very unfamiliar, but not in a bad way. I had trained it into a female speaking register years ago, but screaming had proved impossible. I hadn’t screamed properly since I was about eleven years old.

Janet burst in from behind the curtain, clutching her chest. “Heavens! Melissa, are you all right? Where did that scream come from?”

My eyes big as dinner plates, I tilted my head toward her. “In a manner of speaking.”

She blinked. “Melissa… your voice?”

I swallowed. Through the training, I could actually restrict the size of my larynx. Now, it felt a little strange, so I relaxed it. “Yes…” I stopped. Usually, when I relaxed, it landed in a male register. My hand shot to my throat. The Adam’s Apple I’d been cursed with at seventeen was nowhere to be found. “Oh. My. GOD!” I squeaked. “It’s gone!”

She rushed over to the bed, smiling. “Yes, it would appear something’s gone. To what are you referring?” I lifted my head and ran my hand slowly up and down my soft, smooth neck. “Your Adam’s Apple? Well, Dr. Carver did say that a lot of internal changes were happening, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did.” I was still marveling over my voice. It sounded right. Sure, I’d trained it to sound correctly female before, but this was a little different. I sounded like a proper twenty-something young woman… and I didn’t have to try. “God damn… I don’t think I’m going to get over this one.”

“Watch your mouth, Missy. Now, why did you scream?” She gave me a stern look. “Congratulations on the ability to scream, by the way.”

Now, a grimace crossed my face. I firmly pointed at the mass of cotton, plastic, and polymer between my legs and fastened to my hips. “Um… what the hell is this doing here?”

She tilted her head to the side in a maternal, yet condescending, way. “Honey, that’s no big deal. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past twenty hours. If Dr. Carver hadn’t explained that it was normal and not to worry, you’d be hooked up to a lot of machines, right now. During that time, your urethra disappeared. We couldn’t take any chances. It was explained that you’d be incontinent for a few days while your body recovers from not having a way to dispose of fluid waste for… how long was it?… oh, about seventeen hours.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” My voice was naturally rising and falling in pitch, out of habit I’d developed over the years. Now, I was reveling in how pretty it sounded.

“No kidding, my dear. What woke you up, by the way? I’ve been trying for hours, now.”

I blushed in embarrassment. “Something happened. I don’t know, but I think I wet the bed. There was a bunch of pressure, then, suddenly, nothing but warmth.”

“You’re sure?” She glanced down and nodded. “Yep, it happened. Good, we can stop dehydrating you, now. What can I get you, besides a fresh diaper?”

“Well, hold the diaper and get me some coffee.”

She shook her head. “Don’t have a choice with the diaper, missy. I’m not taking any chances. You don’t want soaked sheets, trust me. I’ll get you a small cup of coffee and some vitamin waters. Sound good.”

I grumbled… femininely. “Fine, if you insist.” I let my body forcibly fall back onto the pillow while I pressed the button to raise it into the sitting position.

While Janet was away, I decided to distract myself from the feeling in my crotch by humming scales. After a few minutes, I began to lightly sing them. First, I tested to see the lowest note I could possibly hit. I was enamored to find out that I couldn’t sing any lower than Fiona Apple -- whereas before, I could give most bass singers a run for their money. Then, I tested my range by starting at that lowest note and going up and singing the “Do, Re, Mi” song from The Sound of Music. The higher I got, the happier I became. I could feel my voice jump into a female falsetto and climb ever higher. Without testing with a vocal instructor, I surmised that I was likely in the mezzo soprano range, which was very delightful. Not a full soprano, though. I couldn’t hit the high C note without screaming and alerting the nurses for no good reason.

Janet reentered the room with her hands quite full. She had two twenty-ounce bottles of Vitamin Water (the flavored stuff), a twelve-ounce coffee, and a white plastic crinkling thing. I dreaded the latter, but smiled at the other two. Once she reached me, she placed the drinks on the table to my left and then moved to my right side. She presented the offending plastic thing but gave me a sweet smile.

“I realize this can be a little embarrassing, but it’ll serve a double purpose. Try to think about it positively?” Janet requested.

“I can try, I guess.” My arms folded.

“I’m going to need you to lie down, though, hon. It’s easier that way.”

Rolling my eyes, the gurney began to lower into the lying position again. I was not going to like this in the slightest. I flinched as I heard the tapes being unfastened.

“Hey, honey, it’s this or a catheter. What’s it going to be?” She sternly scolded.

“It’s just embarrassing, okay?”

“Yes, dear, I get that. I’m not here to make fun of you and neither is anyone else on my staff. Think of it this way: it’s strange enough to have someone slowly transforming into a female under our care. In the big picture, the diaper thing is very small.”

“You may have a point, there.”

“See?” She immediately stopped and stared at my crotch, which mildly annoyed me. “Melissa, have you seen this?”

I lifted myself onto my elbows. “What?” Then, I caught sight of it. “Okay, the voice is no longer the flavor of the day.”

My crotch looked almost alien to me. There was a mild dip from my belly to my crotch, but then there was a mound. Beyond that, a void. Nothing. Nada. Nichts. There was no longer some deformed bulbous thing looking back up at me. How long had I been out? My eyes were beginning to dry out, they were so wide.

“Hang on a moment.” She pulled the soaked diaper out from under me, rolled it up, and taped it closed. Then, she opened my legs a little further. “Honey, we have got to get you a mirror! That’s one of the prettiest pussies I’ve ever seen!”

“That’s a little soon! Dr. Carver said it would take a couple of days before the little monster disappeared! How long have I been out?!”

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Shh, honey… calm down. I told you that you’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last twenty hours, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, I thought you’d be happy to find out that the one thing causing you the most emotional pain for all of your young life was gone.” A smile creased her lips. “And she’s an adorable little rosebud, too. That’s not all, though, honey. You have a vaginal opening, now. You are officially a member of the female species.” She winked.

“No shit?!”

“I told you we have to get you a mirror. That’s one gorgeous vulva you’ve got there.” I let out another happy sigh as she moved back to the right side of the bed, unfolding the plastic thing. “Now, lay back down so we can get this over with. Don’t get too used to the coffee, dear. We’ve got to get your fluids back up.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Daytime television is seriously boring. Ever notice that? If you’re not a shut-in housewife or drama queen, there is nothing to watch! Again, I was engaging in the sport of channel surfing. I should get a gold metal in this.

On top of that, I had a smooth, empty crotch and couldn’t even enjoy it. I had an offending sheet of plastic, cotton, and polymer so thick that I couldn’t close my legs all the way. I had gotten used to the idea, though, because I had no way to tell when I needed to empty my bladder. It just emptied on its own without much warning. Janet had said that it would be a couple of days until I could use a toilet properly, so I’d started a mental countdown. It was definitely better than a catheter, though.

At the very least, I didn’t have any more abdominal pain. It had moved to my chest, ribs, arms, hands, hips, legs, and feet. Yep, still had the joint pain.

The curtain parted. “Hello, there, Melissa. How’s my favorite patient doing?” It was a male voice.

My head rolled toward the door to come upon the silhouette of my doctor. “Merph.”

“Well, that’s not a very spirited response.” He lamented.

“Yea, well, I’m bored out of my mind, there’s nothing on TV, and I just had my diaper changed about half an hour ago. How, exactly, am I supposed to feel?” I was still amazed with how lovely my voice sounded as it resonated around the room. I’d get used to it, eventually, but I was celebrating inwardly.

He staggered backward. “Melissa… your voice… when?”

“Yesterday. Woke up after my urethra rerouted only to piss myself.” Next, I was less somber. “I did manage to scream, though.”

“A real scream?”

“Yes, a real scream. Like, horror movie good scream.”

“Well, you’re coming right along.” He moved over to his usual spot in the chair on my right side. “Have you experimented?”

Lazily, I nodded. “Yeah, a little. I think I’m a mezzo soprano. Can’t tell until I talk to a vocal specialist, though.”

“And, what were you before?”

“Baritone, I guess. I could sing both bass and tenor.”

He leaned in. “And your Adam’s Apple is gone, I see.”

My head rolled over to him with a huge smile plastered on my face. “That’s not the only offending protrusion that’s gone.”

His eyes widened. “You mean… ?”

“Yep! She’s a happy little rosebud, from what I hear. And, you can forget the surgery. I grew my own, thanks.”

His face brightened up and his eyes sparkled. “That’s wonderful! I’m very happy for you!” He leapt up and gathered me into a hug. I reciprocated. “I have to be honest, I thought it would take longer, even after I received your sonogram stills.” He released me.

“Me too. You should have seen me curse at Janet for messing with me. She told me she was going to bring me a mirror to prove it. Apparently, I have a pretty pussy.” I shrugged.

“I don’t know if I would use that particular terminology with the press. The FCC will assuredly frown on it.” Another, alien, male voice stated plainly.

Okay, now was the time to demonstrate to Dave. I let out quite the blood-curdling scream. It even surprised me. I jumped and clamored to grab hold of Dave, which made my diaper crinkle quite loudly.

“Now, I see what you mean.” Dave stated, covering the ear closest to me and wincing in pain.

“I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. David, did you not tell her I was coming?” The man questioned.

“I was about to.” He grimaced. “Melissa, this is Nathaniel Dobbs. Nathan, meet Melissa Sterling.”

The man approached. First thought: jeez, he’s hot! He looked like a homogenization of Mark McGrath and Ryan Reynolds, with Elijah Woods’ hairstyle. His hair was brown and his eyes a subtle green. There wasn’t much to decipher his body with, other than he looked amazing in a double-breasted suit jacket. And, enter the alien sensations. My nipples tightened and rubbed against the fabric of the hospital gown while there was an interesting tingling sensation in my groin. All the sudden, my whole body became some degrees warmer, my heart beat a little faster, and I had butterflies in my tummy.

He held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Melissa. Dave had told me a great deal. I have to say, though, that none of his descriptions do you any justice.”

Blushing heavily, I slowly took his hand and shook it. “Um… thanks.”

“Well, you’re going to have to find a few more words than that if we’re going to be impressing the press.” He winked. Now, my crotch felt warm and I sincerely hoped my bladder hadn‘t emptied itself just then. “You are the girl of the hour and they have no idea you’re a girl.”

I giggled. ’Geezus, get a grip, Melissa!’. “Y-yes… I saw the piece on KOMO 4... And ABC… And CBS…”

“And NBC, MSNBC, CNN, plus Fox News, for good measure. They’re all clamoring for anything they can get their hands on. I have to say, I’d be honored to handle this for you, if you’ll have me.” He winked.

I was light-headed, but it felt great. “Well… what’s your credentials?” Changing the subject was a good idea.

Dave moved to the foot of the bed, helping distract me from the hunk of man meat. “Actually, Nathan, here, has represented a few people in the past years. He handled the Chris Crocker case and was with Felicia Day, until recently.”

My eyes lit up. “Felicia Day? What’s she like? I love her.” I cooed.

Nathan laughed. “Star struck, eh? Well, Felicia’s a great girl. Maybe I’ll introduce you, once the CDC let’s you out of your cage.”

“That would be awesome.” I tried to sit back and relax. “Now, let’s talk strategy. How’s this all going to go down?”

He slipped one hand into his pocket and began to pace. He had a really nice ass, too. “Well, I’m not going to lie to you. Right now, you could take hundreds of different offers. I don’t know your preference, here, but I’m saying that you won’t have to be homeless after this. First, though, I think we should start light. Seeing that the CDC has you in lockdown until they’re satisfied, I would suggest we come up with some kind of press release that I could read outside for a press conference. That would give them something to salivate over and they’d think they were getting some deeper story. Then, we make them wait. The CDC lockdown is in your favor there. You don’t have to face them until you’re ready and they won’t be bothering you. Believe me, honey, the paparazzi are ruthless when they want to be. In here, you’re safe from that.”

I lowered my head to contemplate his proposal. It was a damn good one, too. My mind decided to linger on one particular, point, though. I glanced up at him with one eyebrow raised and my nose scrunched. It had to look really cute. “Wait. Are we talking monetary compensation, here? You said something about offers.”

“Yes, Melissa, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not going to sugarcoat anything, here. You could stand to make a great deal of money from this. I mean, you are the first recorded case of HTV in the entire United States. Before, you were homeless and wandering the streets for a place to lay your head. I want to see if we can get you enough to get a home of your own.”

Either that was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard or I was seeing this through the rose-colored glasses of unadulterated lust. At that moment, I could have cared less. At least my libido was back. “Well, in that case, you had me at ‘hello’. Let’s get this ball rolling, then.”

He smiled. “I hoped you’d say that. Think you can write up a press release in three days?”

“I might be able to manage that. I don’t have anything to write with, though.”

Until that moment, Dave had been digging through his bag and had largely gone unnoticed. Then, he turned around and presented a relatively flat, black, electronic device. “My gift to you, Melissa.” He grinned widely.

‘Holy shit, he bought me a laptop!’ I stared at it blankly for a minute. “Dude… you got me a Dell?”

They both laughed.

“Actually, it’s a Sony Vaio. They’ve got a little more power.” Dave corrected me.

Taking the laptop, tears welled up in my eyes. “Yea, but there’s no good joke with that brand.”

More laughter.

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm

Dream Come True - Chapter Four - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, the public learns Melissa's name as a press conference is held, but no one sees her face. She gets two special visitors and the transformation takes a turn toward scary. Also, a rite of passage that most women dread.

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A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Again, I'd like to thank everyone for the comments and the kudos. As I've said before, it's kept me going on this. Honestly, this chapter was finished almost immediately after Chapter Three. I just waited a couple of days to post it. That was one VERY productive day! xD

So, kick back, relax, and let's see what Melissa gets herself into, shall we? *incredibly deceptively cute evil grin*

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— Chapter Four —

Both Janet and Heather had found replacements for their shift. Today was the day. They had joined me in my room and we had snacks, drinks, and plenty of good conversation to go around. Admittedly, I was nervous as a bunny at that moment and very glad to be behind the CDC quarantine. We had all decided that tuning into CNN would be the best course of action because the local stations probably wouldn’t cover the story until later that night. Also, they had a lead in and were constantly showing a live feed from the press conference outside. Thankfully, Janet had brought in a 42-inch flat screen from her house for the occasion. The little 20-inch in my room just didn’t seem to be enough and there was no way we were all going to huddle around the 17-inch monitor on my laptop. Yes, they were streaming the press conference online, too. It was crazy!

Through the camera lens, I could see a couple hundred people. Some were the actual reporters, others were just the cameramen and sound crew. Thankfully, they were rather subdued, regardless of the revelation they were about to get. The reporters were all sitting in a semi-circle around a podium placed just outside the hospital. There was even a little carpet leading from the entrance to podium. Thankfully, the police had shut down the block of Ninth Avenue in front of Virginia Mason days ago, so there were no traffic issues. As if downtown Seattle needed any more traffic headaches, anyway.

As soon as Nathan and Dr. Carver stepped out of the hospital, the flashing of cameras started -- yet another reason I was glad that I wasn’t out there.

“Holy crap, Melissa! You weren’t kidding! That man is hot!” Heather stated enthusiastically.

“Yes, he is a luscious piece of man meat, isn’t he?” Janet agreed.

I giggled. “I do not lie about hunks like that.”

“Shh! It’s starting!” Heather was thoroughly engrossed.

Outside I could hear shuffles and the curtain opened. There was no fourth wall to my room. It was just a curtain between me and the nurses’ station. A crowd was gathering to watch the broadcast.

Nathan cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press: on behalf of my client, I’d like to thank you all for coming, this morning. I know that many of you have been here for at least a week, now, so thank you for your diligence.” He pulled a piece of paper out from his jacket pocket. Janet had printed my statement after using her jump drive to transfer and access the hospital’s printer. “First, I will go ahead and read my client’s statement and then we will have a brief question and answer segment. Dr. Abraham Carver has graciously agreed to help answer the questions that I may not be able to.”

He unfolded the piece of paper. So far, so good. He cleared his throat again as he began to read my prepared statement. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press: thank you for showing interest in a humble young woman with a humble past. My name is Melissa Deanne Sterling, spelling provided. You can now put a name to your stories, though the face will have to wait. I’m not done changing, yet.

“Just one month ago, I was a homeless transsexual woman with no home, no future, and no hope. This has plagued my existence for a few years, now. I grew up in Southern Idaho with a conservative family in a conservative environment. As a way out, I joined the United States Navy to, hopefully, see the world and maybe go to college. Sadly, such was not to be. The ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy ended my military career far too early. From there, things went from bad to worse. I fell into a deep depression and only wanted to put my life together.

“Without much thought and even less money, I moved into Seattle. With the status of my discharge, not even the Veterans Administration would help me, so I turned to the state. For a year, I began to see a small light in all the blackness. I was able to see a psychological therapist, procure a primary care provider, and a pharmacy who all showed me not only compassion, but kindness. I was finally able to start my transition, like I’d always dreamed I could. I could finally be a whole person.”

Tears flowed down my cheeks as I recalled my past while he read it. This was harder than I had originally thought.

He continued. “Good things never seem to last. The entire nation was plunged into the worst economic recession since the Great Depression and many states, including Washington, found themselves with massive budget shortfalls. Major Depressive Disorder and Gender Identity Dysphoria (my term) are not as important to some as Schizophrenia, Bipolar Disorder, or drug and alcohol dependence. I could not meet the new standards to remain on the Medicaid program; thus, fell through the cracks. I would like the Governor and the Department of Social and Health Services to know that I do not fault them for doing what had to be done, it was likely a very difficult decision to make and I am not the only victim. I don’t know if I could ever make that decision.

“For a year and a half, I have been roaming the streets of Seattle, never knowing where I would be laying my head at the end of the day or where my next meal was coming from. I applied for and was denied access to so many transitional housing programs that I have lost count. Though it has been illegal in the State of Washington since 2006, I suspect the denials were because some believed me to be a man in a dress, but I cannot prove these allegations. I also did not win the Section 8 lottery held through the Seattle Housing Authority and Housing and Urban Development office. Frankly, I stopped caring some time ago. This kind of disappointment eats at the very soul of a person.

“The last thing that I remember was not being able to sleep in the temporary night shelter at St. Mark’s Cathedral, counting the divots on the ceiling tiles, while a compassionate soul attempted to cajole me after a particularly heart-wrenching denial. Then, awakened in strange surroundings. The kind nursing staff informed me that I had been unconscious for five days and I thank them for their diligence in my case.”

Janet and Heather turned to smile at me before snapping their heads back to the broadcast.

Nathan continued. “It wasn’t long after that when I met Dr. Carver and Dr. Michaels. They immediately informed me that I had suffered a febrile seizure, which runs in my family, and had contracted the Human Transmutation Virus, or HTV and commonly referred to as the ‘Girl Flu’ unceremoniously. To be honest, I didn’t know how to feel, initially. Though, now I am celebrating this turn of luck, as I see it. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of during the entirety of my young life. After twenty-five years of hardship, something was finally going my way and a birth defect would begin to right itself.

“Dr. Carver, Dr. Michaels, and the entire nursing staff here at Virginia Mason have worked tirelessly on my behalf to monitor my well being. Sometimes, they were a shoulder to cry on and offered a hug when I really needed it. At other times, a firm scolding was just the thing I needed. My body is helping itself, but they have been helping my mind mend itself. They are all very hard working individuals and I ask one simple request of every single member of the press: leave them alone. They have enough stress in their lives and do not need more piled on. If you have questions or comments, please field them through my representative, Mr. Dobbs. Thank you for your time.” He folded the piece of paper and placed it back in his pocket.

There was quite a long pause. Deep inside, I was really hoping for someone to raise their hand and ask a question. However, the silence alerted me to soft sobs and sniffles around the room. I glanced over at Janet and Heather. Both were crying. Then, I glanced over at the spectators. The men were stoically silent. Among the women, there wasn’t a dry eye between them. Suddenly, I felt a little guilty.

Thankfully, Nathan raised his head and pointed at one of the reporters. “You’re first.”

A woman in her forties stood. “Kelly O’Donnell, NBC. Is there a date when Miss Sterling will be released from the hospital?”

Nathan shrugged. “That, we can’t know. That decision falls to Agent Donovan from the CDC. We can’t get much information on that, sorry.” He pointed to the next person.

Another woman stood. “Abbie Boudreau, CNN…”

“Ah, well, be sure to thank your network for the live coverage, this morning.” Nathan winked.

“I will.” She took a breath. “Is Miss Sterling seeing any visitors?”

He nodded. “Yes, she is seeing some visitors, but very few. Any and all visitors need to be screened by the CDC representative at the hospital. Thus far, it has been Dr. Carver, Dr. Michaels, a few nurses, her primary care provider, and myself.”

“Who is her primary care provider?”

“David Halden, ARNP. Spelled H-A-L-D-E-N.”

“And two more visitors can be added to that list.” A male voice in the room stated.

I was so engrossed in the broadcast that I hadn’t expected it. Again, I jumped and screamed. It was just my doctor, Dave, so I quickly calmed back down. “You people have really got to stop giving me heart attacks. You come out of nowhere.”

Dave laughed. “I have found two visitors for you that I have been trying to reach since you were admitted in here. They’ve come a long way to see you. Are you willing to accept guests?” The spectating nurses began to disperse.

I shrugged. “I guess. Who is it?”

A man and a woman rounded the corner. The man was six feet tall, even, and was carrying a spare tire around his middle. His black hair was cut short and there were two “widow’s peaks” extending from his forehead on either side, but he wasn’t going bald as they were always there. He wore a full beard, under which a smile could be seen. His eyes seemed to light up as he saw me. He was dressed plainly in a T-shirt (his very hairy arms exposed), some kind of multi-pocketed vest, sweatpants, and tennis shoes. The woman was just shorter than him, standing five-feet-nine-inches. Her salt and pepper hair had curls to spare. Her gentle blue eyes also sparkled when they landed on me. Her smile was sweet and matronly. She was dressed in a blouse and skirt combination, probably because she’d just come from work.

This time I screeched, a happy screech. “Daddy! Mom!” They were my father and step-mother, the only truly supportive family I had.

My father bent over and winced. “Geezus, Melissa!” Twenty years in the Navy, many of them on an aircraft carrier flight deck, had taken a good deal of his hearing. He only had one good ear that was quite sensitive.

My hands shot to my mouth. “Sorry, Daddy!”

“See what I mean?” Dave chuckled.

My step-mother giggled. “Yes, I do. Our daughter has quite a set of pipes on her.”

Janet and Heather quietly excused themselves, shutting off the television. Janet closed the curtains as my parents entered the room and Dave excused himself, leaving us alone. My father was still recovering from my screech, so my step-mother approached and gripped me in a tight hug. I reciprocated, though a little harder. I was very glad to see them.

“When did you guys get here?” My mouth barely translated what my brain was telling it to say. I was way too excited to filter anything.

“Just before the press conference started, I think.” My step-mother answered as she took a seat on my bed. “That Agent Donovan is a real piece of work. He put us through the ringer down there.”

“Yes, and though I have a legal concealed carry permit, he relieved me of my weapon.” My father lamented as he, too, gripped me in a hug. Tears fell down my cheeks.

“Well, dear, it’s not like you’re really going to need it in a hospital.” She hated my father’s constant need to carry a gun, but he was a bullheaded Second Amendment believer.

He released me. “I gave it up without question didn’t I?”

She giggled and glanced at me again. “So, how are you feeling, darling dear?”

I let out a long sigh with tears still coming down my cheeks. “Better, now that you guys are here. It’s been pretty lonely around here.”

“I’ll bet. What, with nothing short of a government shutdown and media blackout?” He grunted.

“They can’t be too careful, Daddy. They still don’t know how HTV is transmitted.”

“Physically, sweetheart, how are you doing? They didn’t tell us much.” She really seemed to be quite worried.

“I’m fine, mostly. I’ve got joint aches all over the place. My chest hurts. I’m wearing a diaper because my body hasn’t recovered after seventeen hours without a urethra. It had to reroute itself. All of that, plus my body feels like Jell-O. I can’t move around too much.” I explained plainly.

“Wait, your urethra rerouted?” His puzzled expression was priceless.

A large smile found its way onto my face. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, it’s a girl!”

Both their eyes widened. “You mean… ?”

I nodded. “Yep, it finished forming a couple days ago. Dr. Michaels, my gynecologist, will perform a full examination when everything’s over, but according the nurses it’s all there.”

My father plopped into the chair to my right, dumbstruck. “I don’t believe it.”

“Sometimes, neither do I, Daddy.”

My step-mother moved closer and placed both her hands on my face, feeling it. She also glanced at my neck. “Well, it looks like you’ll never have to shave again. And, your Adam’s Apple is gone, which would explain the voice changing a bit.”

I nodded. “The voice is a new development. The hair fell out about two weeks ago. I really need to shave my legs and armpits, though. They’re starting to itch and annoy me.”

“Would you like us to pick you up a razor and some blades?” She asked.

I shrugged. “I would appreciate it, but don’t feel obligated.”

Her smile had something of a mystery behind it. “We’ll see. What sizes do you wear?”

I didn’t even process the question before answering. “Well, the outward changes will start soon, but I’m inclined to stick with current sizes. Panties are a 5. Pants are a 5 or 6, depending on brand. Tops are almost always a medium. Dr. Carver said that I might be surprised that my shoe size changes, but I kind of doubt that. I get most of my stuff in the Juniors’ department.”

She ran fingers through my hair. “A young woman like you? Would you get them anywhere else?”

“No, I don’t want to look like I’m forty.”

We all shared a laugh.

Again, tears welled up in my eyes. “I’m really glad you guys came.”

“Well, we haven’t heard from you in a month. We actually called search and rescue looking for you.” My dad gave me a look from over the brim of his glasses, which told me he was serious in a slightly joking manner.

“You did?”

“Yes, honey, you had us worried sick. I mean, sleeping where you have and living like that? Any number of things could have happened!” Now, there were tears in my step-mother’s eyes.

My own tears rolled down my cheeks. “I’m sorry I worried you so much. They haven’t allowed me any contact besides my doctors and Nathan.”

“We know. Your doctor called us two weeks ago. Thank you for listing me as your emergency contact. That Agent Donovan wouldn’t allow us access until he heard about the press conference this morning and Dr. Carver drilled into his feeble, bureaucratic mind that you weren’t contagious.” My father reported.

“Your father has been here several times roughing it out with that man. He told me that he was yelling he didn’t care if he started turning into a woman, he had a right to see his child. On top of that, he called Governor Gregoire, Representative Rick Larsen, Senator Patty Murray, and Senator Maria Cantwell to give them a piece of his mind.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

More tears rolled down my cheeks. “You did that for me?”

His nonchalant demeanor was comical and sweet. “You’re my kid, aren’t you? I’d take on the Devil, himself, if it meant I could keep you safe.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.” My gaze returned to my step-mother. “You, too, Mom.”

“We know, honey.” She smiled back. “Love you, too.”

My father stood. “Much as we’d like to stay, that Agent Donovan has us on a time limit. Besides, we’ll be in town. There are a few errands to run and I’m going to call your mother to let her know you’re okay.”

Again, we were sharing hugs. Both of them kissed my forehead after the hug.

“Get well soon, honey.” My step-mother requested.

“Hang in there, kiddo. You’ll be out of the woods soon enough.” Dad grinned.

Tears rolling down my cheeks, I waved as they slowly and reluctantly left the room.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

The next three weeks really were the worst of the whole ordeal.

On the positive side, Mom and Dad stopped in two days later to shower me with a few gifts. They had bought several pairs of panties from Victoria Secret, a top-and-bottom pajama set in lavender with little hearts and stars on them, a sleek silk nightie in plum with pink lace along the neckline and hem, a pair of sweatpants in navy with two pink stripes down the outside of the leg, one purple and one powder blue tank top with a shelf bra built in, and a hoodie that matched the sweatpants with two pink stripes running down the outside of the sleeve. Not having many options for shoes, they simply got me a purple pair of slippers and called it good. On top of all that, they bought me a Schick Quattro for Women with enough blades for a month and a little shaving cream for good measure. After signing a Power of Attorney form, Nathan was able to procure me a new Android smart phone, so we could keep in touch.

On the negative side, there isn’t much of that time that I remember because I was kept so drugged up. There were a lot of pain medications flowing through my blood stream. Truly, the last thing I remember was slipping into the nightie, turning out the light, and waking up in some pretty nasty pain the next morning. After Janet administered the pain medication, the rest is a blur. It’s just a bunch of flashes of incoherence when I managed some consciousness, which usually meant I was in pain. They’d put some more medication into my IV and I’d pass out again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

When I woke up, I thought I was still dreaming. As I tried to breathe, though, I gagged something fierce. There was something inserted into my throat that was incredibly uncomfortable. Though, as much as I heaved, I couldn’t so much as cough. Suddenly, about a hundred alarms started going off. I heard somebody shout out ‘Code Blue’ and, like a trained army of ants, four nurses and Dr. Michaels burst through the curtains. Immediately, they set to checking the devices and manually checking my vitals. I think I punched somebody as my stomach continued to heave. My eyes still refused to fully open themselves.

“Geezus, she’s awake!” Dr. Michaels sounded panicked. “Melissa, are you in pain?”

The most I could muster was to shake my head and touch some sort of machinery in my mouth, repeatedly.

“Janet! Help me get this tube out! Heather! Shut off those damn alarms and call off the Code Blue! Courtney! Richard! Hold her down!” Dr. Michaels responded pretty well under pressure. When she turned back to me, she wasn’t barking orders anymore. She sounded kind and maternal. “Melissa, honey, this is going to feel really weird but you’ll feel a lot better once we get this feeding tube out of you.”

‘Feeding tube?! What the fuck is going on?!’ All I could do was ask myself that question. Two tubes stood in the way of my vocal cords operating as well as stifling any regurgitation.

In seconds, two nurses were holding me down while I felt some sort of pulling. Now, I knew what it was like to feel the entire length of my esophagus. It seemed to take forever for that tube to come out of my body. Every other second, my stomach was protesting and I’d heave again. All the alarms were suddenly silenced, thankfully. In the next moment, I felt the tube finally emerge from my mouth. There was no time to celebrate. Now, there was coughing and dry heaving. I was immediately lifted to a sitting position by I don’t know who. Thankfully, my eyes finally opened and were tearing up as I heaved. Someone was reassuringly rubbing my back. My breathing was labored, but I was fine for the most part.

“What… the hell…” I managed through breaths. My voice was horse, but still recognizable as a female voice.

“You were in a lot of pain, honey. We had to induce a coma so you wouldn’t feel any of it and inserted a ventilator with feeding tube. I’m sorry, but you’re out of the woods, now.” Dr. Michaels explained.

“How long?” My breath was coming under control, now.

“Three weeks, honey.”

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck?!”

“Language, young lady!” Janet chided me.

“Janet, I love you, but can it! You sleep for three weeks and we’ll see how you react!”

She brushed off my verbal assault. “So, you’re really not in pain, now?”

Quickly, I performed a mental checklist and relayed my findings. “My whole body’s heavy, but there’s something tugging on my chest. Besides that, my hips are a little sore, but no more than a mild headache.”

“That’s good to hear.” Dr. Michaels replied. “You’ll be pleasantly surprised about that extra weight on your chest, I think.”

There was one small problem. “I hate to say this, but I think I really have to pee.”

“Just let it loose, honey. We were almost ready to change you, anyway.” Janet requested.

“I’m going to pass. Could you guys please help me to the toilet? I’ve got to learn how to use the new equipment sometime.”

Janet scoffed. “Okay, I’m in. Kaitlyn?”

“I suppose we ought to. I mean, we kept her in a coma for three weeks. It’s the least we could do to make up for it.” Dr. Michaels agreed with me.

The helped me lay back down while Janet went about removing the diaper. In moments, I was being lifted again and helped off the gurney. I did the best I could to stand on my own and wasn’t doing too bad, really. Moments later, they helped lift my nightie and I sat on the toilet for the very first time. In half a second, the dam burst, startling me. My back straightened and my eyes widened as I heard a sound I’d only heard from the next stall in the ladies’ room. Now, it was me making that sound. The sensations bordered on sensory overload, but I wasn’t complaining. The flow steadily slowed until it was just drips.

“Front to back, honey.” Janet instructed, handing me some sheets of toilet paper.

“I get the concept. I’m fine.” Came my retort as I stuck my tongue out at her.

After wiping and satisfied I was dry, I simply dropped the wad into the toilet and flushed. Then, steadying myself on the handicap rails, I lifted myself to my feet. Janet and Dr. Michaels remained close, should I show the slightest sign of falling over. It felt strange but exhilarating to walk and feel my thighs rub together with an empty crotch between them. However, my center of gravity had definitely changed and would take some getting used to. Not to mention, there was some jiggling on my chest that was mildly annoying but more exciting.

I stopped at the sink to wash my hands and glanced up the mirror. I lost all concentration to wash my hands. My eyes would have liked to bulge out of my sockets. There was no doubt that the person in the mirror was a young woman. Her features were soft and smooth. Her eyes were stunningly blue. Her nightie prettily accentuated her supple figure and kept her modesty in check by concealing a pair of ample, perky breasts. Gone was the prominent brow bone. The nose was smaller and flowed harmoniously with her forehead, coming to a slight point at the end. The cheeks were full and youthful. Gone was the angular jaw, replaced by a sloping, curvaceous one. There was no more “Jay Leno” chin, either. It came to a soft, almost pointed finish.

I had seen pictures of my mother when she was younger, about the time she’d given birth to my brother and I. If this girl in the mirror didn’t look an awful lot like that woman, no amount of convincing would make me believe that the girl in the mirror was really me. She even mimed my movements as I brought my hands to my face and gave my cheeks a little stroke. Only, they weren’t really my hands, either. They were smaller, more dainty. Then, my eyes fell to my chest. Gawd, they looked huge! A pair of smaller hands gripped them simultaneously and gave a little squeeze. Why did that feel so good? Still, there was no denying that these were my breasts, alright.

“Talk about your dreams coming true!” I thought out loud, again my melodious mezzo soprano voice echoing through the room.

Dr. Michaels stood behind me. “To you, it’s a dream. For us, we’ve watched that pretty little body of yours change on an almost daily basis. I think Janet or Heather started recording a time lapse video for you to see when you’re ready.”

“That was Heather.” Janet admitted. “She knew Melissa would be dumbfounded when she woke up, so we caught the whole thing on video.”

I smiled at Janet, by way of the mirror. “Thanks, you guys.” I gave myself another look over. It was hard to really gauge all the changes when all I could see was my torso.

“There’s a full-length mirror in your room. Also Heather’s idea.” Janet smiled back.

I slowly made my way back into the room while Janet guided me over to the mirror. At first, there was some reluctance to look into it, but once I was there it was all over. There was that girl again. She turned to the side. Boob to ass ratio looked proportionate. The silhouette was stunning. Then, she turned facing the mirror. Her shoulders were the same width as mine, but her neck had thinned out. Her ribs had much less volume than mine ever did and her waist was well defined. Then, there were the hips. Slowly, the torso sloped into them, but they were an inch wider than her shoulders. Yep, those were my mother’s hips. Though hairy, she had really gorgeous legs. Then, she turned around, craning her head to see the whole thing from the rear. The nightie dipped a little past her shoulder blades, showing off the soft smoothness of her back. Everything formed a “V” into her waist, then flared out again to the hips. Her butt was full, round, and youthfully pert. I’d always thought my ass was my best feature, but now it seemed to be one of many very nice assets I now possessed.

On impulse, I ripped off the nightie and stood there, naked. She followed my lead. This prompted Janet to jump over and close the curtain. Everything was where it should be, though. Pretty face, lovely skin, perky bosom, little waist, flaring hips, shapely thighs, and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. I’d always been a fan of my rear end, but I loved it even more, now! Most importantly, the cleft of my new vulva was clearly visible, even with the 1970’s porn bush surrounding it. I squealed and jumped with glee, “I’m fucking hot!” I instantly knew that I was going to look amazing in a bikini.

“A lot of energy for somebody who just emerged from a coma.” Janet almost grunted. “Now, Miss Pretty Little Thing, would you stop streaking the hospital and put some clothes on? You’re making me jealous.”

Stopping, I turned my blushing face to her. “Sorry about that.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

“There’s some good news to deliver this afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.” Nathan was doing his thing with the podium again. “After three long weeks in a drug-induced coma for her own safety and comfort, we were hoping and praying for the best. Early this morning, the breathing tube and ventilator were removed from Miss Sterling and I am pleased to inform you that she is doing perfectly fine. In fact, better than that. She’s positively bursting with happiness. All the doctors are giving her a clean bill of health. She will undergo a complete physical this afternoon.” Secretly, I was dreading that. “But, we’re confident that she will come through with flying colors and the CDC will be satisfied that she is not a threat to anyone. Thank you very much for your words of encouragement during this trying time.”

He waved at the crowd, turned, and reentered the hospital.

Sitting up on the gurney with one leg bent Indian-style and my arm resting on my other knee, I was clad in a simple outfit. Wearing one of the pairs of panties my parents had bought (No, I’m not telling which one.), I had covered myself in the sweatpants, hoodie, and the purple tank top. There was a grin on my face about how much cleavage I was showing off with that top. Heather had leant me a scrunchie for my hair, too. Having it hanging to the middle of my back was becoming cumbersome.

Shutting the TV off, I wanted to slam back down onto the gurney and take a nap. With Dr. Michaels in the room, there were other plans. Dave was there, too, but mostly for moral support and medical history reasons. What was about to happen was largely out of his hands.

“Are you ready to begin?” She asked, holding her computer pad against her chest.

“No.” I moaned. There was still the marvel of how pretty my voice had become. The time to get used to it hadn’t existed before I was induced into the coma. “But, it’s a necessary evil, right?”

She nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

I swung my legs off the gurney and slipped my now smaller feet into my purple slippers. Purple is my favorite color, if you hadn’t already guessed. Over the course of the day, the drugs had worn off and moving around was a lot easier, now. Grudgingly, I followed behind Dr. Michaels with Dave pulling up the rear. There was no preparing for what came next.

Dr. Michaels pulled back the curtain and stepped out. When I emerged into the corridor, the whole ward erupted into applause. All the nurses were standing. I hadn’t received a standing ovation since high school, so it was a little daunting. My cheeks became warm as I blushed and I smiled back at the applause.

“Thanks everybody. I owe you a lot.” I greeted through choking back tears.

The applause continued as Dr. Michaels led me away and slowly died out. As we walked through the hospital, all of the staff applauded me. Blushing more, I simply waved to them. Once we reached Dr. Michaels’ offices (which took forever), the novelty was over. It was now down to business. Dave opted to wait in the front area. First, she set me up in an examination room. Then, she set about checking my vitals, my ears, my eyes, and my throat. Typical doctor’s check up. Then, we went out into the hallway to check my height and weight.

“Well, well… you’ve shrunk, my dear.” She smiled.

“I have?” A frightened expression crossed my face.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s only an inch. Though, amazingly, you’ve gone from one-forty-five all the way down to one-twenty-four. Some of that can be attributed to three weeks of coma, but also to the decrease in bone mass.”

“So, I’m five-six, now?”

She nodded and led me back into the exam room. Next, she was breaking out a tape measure. “Okay, off with the hoodie.” She measured my chest, over top of my breasts, my waist, my hips, and (for some odd reason) my wrist. Again, she was smiling. “Well, missy. It seems you’re now a thirty-four C, you have slightly under a medium frame, and you shouldn’t worry about your dress size changing. I’d say that was about the same. Now, sit up on the table.” I acquiesced as she picked up one foot, slid the slipper off, and measured my feet. “Well, I’ll be…”

“Is that a good indication?”

She nodded, putting my slipper back on. “We can share shoes, now. You’re an eight.” She winked.

“My feet really shrank?”

“Honey, with your ribs and your hips, are you really that surprised?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay, let’s get you initiated. Strip the lower half, including your panties.” She started setting up something I barely recognized. Stirrups.

I gulped and nervously began to slip off the sweatpants, then slid out of my panties. As wonderful as it would be to never have to tuck ever again, what was coming up didn’t delight me. She turned and slipped on a pair of gloves. Once my lower half was fully exposed, she motioned for me to put my feet up in the stirrups. Reluctantly, I complied. Next, she grabbed… a mirror.

“Janet was right. You want to see?”

“See what?”

She let out a sigh. “Your vagina, pussy, clam, flesh taco, twat…” She cringed. “…cunt.”

“Hey, I’ve never used that last one and never plan to.”

“Good. Still, want to have a look.”

“Before you violate me with all those contraptions? Sure, why not?”

She turned the mirror around and zoomed in on my crotch. My eyes shot open. There it was, the one thing I never thought I’d ever own. The mons pubis was nice and puffy, the labia majora seemed to be framing things nicely, the labia minora were small and taut. Then, she opened up the labia to reveal the pink bliss inside. Methodically, she pointed out the separate parts: my clitoris, my new urethral opening, and my vaginal cavity itself. For good measure, she stuck one finger barely inside, which caused me to try to leap back in retreat.

“Hey! You’ve got to do the warm-ups before the spelunking can begin! You know that!” I protested.

She giggled. “Sorry, no time and I’m straight. Besides, you‘ll get my equipment messy if I get you going.”

I glared at her. “Very funny. She is very pretty, though. I‘ll give you and Janet that much. I still think I need to trim the hedges a little.” She turned and grabbed some kind of device that looked like a lobster claw. “Hey! Where are you going to put that?!”

Another giggle. “Don’t worry, silly. This is a caliper to gauge the size of your clitoris, nothing more. Now, lie back.”

Again, reluctantly, I acquiesced. I winced and almost sensed as if I was about to loose my new little friend, but she was done before I knew it. Now was the tricky part. She put a healthy amount of gel on some metal device and I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see. Then, I felt something cold insert into me and then spread me apart. It was all so surreal. After that, there was nothing from her for a few minutes. I began to wonder what she was doing, but she spoke before I could.

“This is amazing. Melissa, not only do you have a fully-functional vagina, but there’s also a hymen in there. Honey, you’re effectively a virgin, again.” She announced. “I wouldn’t recommend any sexual activity for a while, yet, but when you do be prepared for a little pain down here.”

“Great. Just what I need. More pain.” I groaned.

“Welcome to womanhood. Just wait until you have your period.”

A smile creased my lips. “I can’t wait. It’ll hurt, but it’ll be confirmation, y’know?”

“Before today, I never thought I’d meet anyone that was glad when they started their period. Though, given the circumstances, I can see your point of view.” I couldn’t see her smile. “Now, get ready, you’re going to feel a little scratch inside, but I’m going to do a Pap Smear, okay?”

“Mother of All Q-Tips, time?”

She giggled. “Yes, something like that.”

She was right. The sensation startled me, but it was gone as soon as it came. A moment later, the spreading feeling was taken away and I could feel her cleaning me up a little. Good, that part was over. How humiliating, though. And, to think that I’ll have to go through this once a year for the rest of my life. Oh, joy.

“Okay, Miss Pretty Pussy. Get dressed. It’s time to get acquainted with the twins.”

Slipping my panties back on, I shot her a puzzled look. “How so?”

She merely grinned. “Mammogram.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

After being poked, prodded, and thoroughly explored down below and then getting the twins squished into pancakes, I wasn’t in much of a mood for visitors. Regardless, there they were when I got back to my room. Dave was there with my parents. Both of them looked exhausted.

“How long have you guys been here? No offense, but you look terrible.” I pointed out.

“Started off from the house when we found out that you had woken up.” Dad stated rather grumpily. “You look great, by the way. Are you really my kid? You look a lot like Bridget Fonda, to be honest.”

I giggled.

“Yes, Melissa. You look absolutely lovely.” Mom smiled. “So, how was the exam?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “A yearly, plus a mammogram.”

She winced. “Not quite the introduction to womanhood you were looking forward to?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve got a hymen, though. That little bug was really thorough!”

“Whoa! Whoa! Do women talk when I’m not here, would you?” Dad protested.

“How did everything turn out, then?” Dave finally inquired.

I plopped down onto the gurney, making my breasts pleasurably bounce. “Well, let’s see… I shrunk an inch. I’m now five-six. I’m down to one-twenty-four, though I don’t recommend the weight loss plan. My boobs are a C cup. Oh! And I’m a size eight shoe!”

“Wonderful! Should make shoe shopping a lot easier.” Mom knowingly nodded. We’d discussed how utterly difficult it was to find cute shoes to fit my Size 10 clown feet.

“Definitely! I’ll finally be able to fit the adorable shoes!” I squealed with glee.

“Melissa, what did I say about the women talk?”

I threw a pillow at my father. “Oh, hush, Daddy!”

A man nearby cleared his throat. “I… hope I’m not interrupting.”

My eyes darted to the sound of the familiar voice. Nathan was smiling and leaning against the far wall. Was it the lighting or did he look like an angel? That warm and tingly feeling was back.

My father stood and crossed over to him. “Well, this is the man of the hour? What was your name again?”

Nathan stood straight and presented a hand to my father. “Oh, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Nathaniel Dobbs. Call me Nathan. I’m your daughter’s publicist.”

A few muscles in my body tensed until my father took Nathan’s hand and shook it. “So I’ve been told.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sterling.”

Dad chuckled. “Please. My father was Mr. Sterling. Call me Daniel.”

“Very well, Daniel.” He released my father’s hand, crossed the room, and took my step-mother’s hand. “You must be Melissa’s sister?”

It was corny, but she and I both giggled. “Heavens no. I wish I could claim that, just look at the gorgeous little thing. No, Nathan. I’m her step-mother, Ella -- short for Marcella.”

I was blushing again. “Mo-om!” I groaned.

Nathan chuckled. “Well, it seems as though you have succeeded in the motherly pastime of thoroughly embarrassing your daughter. Well done.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Enchente, Mrs. Sterling.”

“Pleasure to meet you, too, young man.”

“So, what’s the plan from here on out, Nathan?” My father interjected.

“Ah, directly to the point. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He turned, winked at me, then turned back to my father. “Well, as you can tell, the press is clamoring for this story. They all want to be the first to break it. Because of the CDC blockade, no one’s been able to get a picture of our golden girl. You really wouldn’t believe the offers I’ve gotten for a piece of her.”

“What are we talking? Thousands?”

“Daniel, this is the 21st Century. That doesn’t cut it, anymore. Try millions.”

My breath had left me. “Mi… millions?”

“Yes, eleven of them. That’s the top bid, dear. And, you’d know that if you checked your messages once in a while.” He scolded me.

“Who’s paying?” Dad was grilling him, now.

“Well, CBS and Viacom have been battling since the written statement. Viacom won’t surpass ten, but CBS offered eleven for her to do 60 Minutes. On top of that, Ellie Girl is offering six million just to get you in a photo spread and do a tiny interview, without even seeing how lovely you are.” He smirked.

“That’s… seventeen… million combined!” Mom was effectively flabbergasted.

“Yes. The current record is nine million, held by an Australian HTV recipient. Not that I’m looking to set a record, mind you. However, when you’re the first, people are lining up at the door to get a piece of you. Daniel… Ella… I told your daughter that I wanted to make sure that she never had to worry about being homeless ever again. I meant every word. That’s why, I’ll have you know, I’m in her employ strictly pro bono.”

“You’re doing all this for free? What do you get out of it?” My father, forever the cynic.

“The satisfaction of helping someone less fortunate. Also, I had a very dear friend of mine who was transgender and homeless when my career was just taking off in San Francisco. I put her up for a while, but the streets kept calling to her. She was a regular on Polk Street and a frequent consumer of methamphetamines.” He breathed a deep sigh. “She took her own life before AIDS had a chance to. I swore I’d never let that happen again, if I could help it.”

Finally, Dad smiled. “Perfect. I approve.”

With a straight face, I looked up at Nathan. Hopefully, he couldn’t tell I was on the verge of tears. “I’ll do it. Both of them.”

“Wonderful.” He grinned. “Now, there’s Agent Donovan to deal with, but I may have a way around that. Today, you’ve been through enough. Tomorrow, though, we’re going up to the Medi Spa on the ninth floor. You’ll be getting the works: manicure, pedicure, facial, massage, and whatever else you’d like. The day after that, 60 Minutes is willing to send someone to the hospital for the interview. Before that, it’s back up to the Medi Spa for hair and makeup. Ella, would you do me the honor of helping shop for a suitable wardrobe for Melissa?”

A bright smile gleamed on her face. “Would I!”

“Excellent. Then, tomorrow, the fun begins. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it all in hand. I will leave you to get back to your lovely evening. See you tomorrow, Melissa.” Again with the wink. Was he trying to get me in the sack?

Blushing, I simply waved to him.

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm